“Why are you wearing a nun’s habit?”
This was a world without faith. Unlike his original world, with Buddhism and Christianity, there were no widespread religions here—just a few obscure churches.
So what exactly did Sister Lilian believe in?
It was a strangely awkward question.
At his words, Sister Lilian continued wiping the skylight. Though it lasted only an instant, her delicate frame trembled visibly. With her back to Sang, she stayed silent for a long moment before climbing down and gently wrapping her arms around him.
“Child, this world needs hope…”
Her movements flowed smooth and natural. Sang couldn’t catch a glimpse of her expression.
He realized he’d said the wrong thing. Adults had their own fantasies too—they weren’t as unbreakable as kids imagined. Sang returned Sister Lilian’s embrace, wrapping his arms gently around her.
“I’m sorry, Sister Lilian.”
“It’s okay…”
In the end, though, the boy still had no idea what her faith truly was.
…
As for the tangled emotions between Sang, Luna, and Adolf—their childhood friends…
Frankly, in Sang’s eyes, there was no real romance. They were just kids who’d grown up together. With the culture so backward, children matured late. They often got engaged without understanding a thing, then crammed with basic sex ed just days before marriage. Average lifespan? Thirty or forty years, then poof—gone from the world in a flash.
So aside from Sang, who was unusually mature as a transmigrator, Luna and Adolf felt pretty much the same toward the other orphanage kids: familial love, friendship, and some vague, unnamed stirrings.
Especially between Sang and Luna. One picked up in the daytime, the other at night—not real siblings, but closer than blood.
That kiss from Luna? Probably just a birthday gift. Nothing more.
This world’s time flowed much like his original one: twenty-four-hour days, twelve months across four seasons, spring through winter. The holidays were different, though—no unified ones to speak of. No need to dwell; maybe later if the chance arose.
After all, teenage Sang wasn’t sure he’d live to see the next holiday.
A few days later.
Nightfall.
Dinner was its usual meager affair: a long loaf of bread, mashed potatoes, and a cup of plain water. Not even a shred of meat. Sang sorely missed the food from his old world. Back then, he’d griped about his mom’s cooking; now, it seemed like the finest cuisine on earth. Too bad there was no going back.
Once dinner ended, the other children headed to their rooms to rest.
Sang, Luna, and Adolf did the same.
But halfway there, Dean Lilian suddenly called out to them. “The day of 【Grace】 is almost here. You three all turned fourteen this year—officially adults. The odds are slim, but there’s still a chance you could be chosen. Tomorrow, we’ll head to the town square for the blood-drawing ceremony. Wake up early, and no breakfast.”
Her words hit like a stone.
The other children, who’d been walking away, turned back with eyes full of worry fixed on the trio.
Sang, Luna, and Adolf exchanged complicated looks. They hadn’t forgotten—it was just easier not to dwell on the unknowns.
【Grace】 was a rite in this world where humans came of age at fourteen. Every summer after, local nobles would collect blood from all the new adults and ship it off to the Central Blood Bank. The nobles, from highborn to low, would then select their favorites, claiming the owners of those blood samples as Blood Servants. It was every human’s mandatory duty under Blood Race rule.
Rumor had it every person’s blood tasted unique, and every Blood Race had their preferences.
Oh, right—one more thing: 【Grace】 only ran from ages fourteen to sixteen. Make it through those three years unselected, and you could probably live out a normal life.
Of course, no need to panic too much.
Like his old world, this one lacked everything—except people. With such a massive population, the odds of being picked as a Blood Servant were low.
What was the general attitude toward becoming one?
Simple: sheer terror.
Once you were a Blood Servant, you were just “food.” The Blood Race were powerful and arrogant, proud beyond measure. Human rights? Not a concept. To them, Blood Servants were penned livestock; the rest of humanity, free-range game.
If you got lucky and landed with a decent Blood Race master, you might eat your fill and stay hydrated. Even then, your lifespan wouldn’t be long—frequent blood offerings led to anemia and early death. Get unlucky, draw an abuser or a glutton, and you’d bleed out in days.
Dean Sister Lilian noticed the teenagers’ unease. Clasping her hands over her abdomen, she offered a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, we’re not scared!” the three chorused.
“Get some early rest. Big day tomorrow.”
“We got it.”
…
For all their united front, all three were a bit scared—especially Luna. For all her bratty attitude, she was timid at heart.
Adolf wasn’t much better, just putting on a cool front.
Sang was probably the most optimistic of the bunch.
Not that it had anything to do with being a transmigrator. Mainly, his memories included dying once already. He wasn’t quite at “life and death are but a dream,” but he was tougher than most.
As the trio walked from the orphanage hall back to their rooms, Luna kept her head down, silent. Her delicate little hands clutched tightly at her clothes.
When they reached her door, Sang flashed a cheeky, slightly sleazy grin. “Luna, it’ll be okay! Neither you nor Adolf has anything to worry about!”
Luna forced a smile. “Yeah… Watermelon!”
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
Kaen Town’s orphanage was really an abandoned church—run-down and ragged, but spacious with plenty of rooms. Most held two to six kids. Beds? Little more than wooden planks topped with a sheet. Hard as rocks, murder on the back.
Sang was clever, though. He’d scavenged straw from town to pad his.
He shared a room with Adolf. Luna bunked with the other girls.
That night, Sang sprawled on his bed, reading by moonlight. Sure, his dream was to live like a total slacker, but he was still an eighteen-year-old from a modern world with nine years of compulsory education under his belt. He got the whole “knowledge changes fate” thing. Might as well study when boredom hit.
If you’re ugly, you gotta hit the books extra hard.
In this backwater world where the average education topped out at preschool level, illiteracy was everywhere. In their orphanage of thirty-odd kids, Sang was probably the only one who could read.
He didn’t know the hour when hesitant footsteps echoed outside. Curious, Sang got up, opened the door—and there stood Luna, face etched with worry, on the verge of tears.
