Jukai woke up to the distinct sensation of being face down on a stone floor that smelled vaguely like the instant ramen he usually eats at home.
Wait. Isn't he home?
His first thought:This bed sucks.
His second:Wait. This isn't a bed, this is a cold floor.
His palms pressed against rough, gritty stone. Not tile. Not carpet. Definitely not his gaming chair.
He groaned and sat up far too quickly — his neck popped with a crack like someone stepped on a twig. His vision blurred for a second. Then the details began to register: a flickering lantern overhead, smoky air that made his nose twitch, and wooden beams above, crooked and ancient like they'd groan if you stared at them too hard.
He heard faint chanting in the distance — or humming? No. It sounded like soup was being stirred rhythmically while someone whispered a prayer or cursed at a pot.
He blinked slowly."…This isn't my room," he mumbled groggily.
A gruff voice answered from nearby, sharp and irritated."Nope. This is my kitchen."
Jukai turned his head. Slowly.
Standing behind a blackened iron pot was an old man. His skin was rough, half-scorched, with burn marks crawling up his arms like angry tattoos. A massive ladle hung from one shoulder like a weapon, and his eyebrows looked like they'd once been singed off and grown back with a vengeance. His aura screamed ex-chef who has fought in at least one noodle war.
The old man glared at him like Jukai had just insulted his broth.
"You crashed through my roof two days ago," the man said flatly. "Broke my shrine shelf, scared off half my customers, and set my cat's tail on fire."
Jukai blinked."…Ah," he said, nodding, like he totally understood what was going on. "So I'm dead."
The man didn't blink. "No. But you will be if you don't pay off the damages."
Jukai tilted his head slightly. "Cool, cool."
He looked around, as if expecting a camera crew to reveal this was a prank show. Or a hallucination. A vivid one. Maybe this was a lucid dream caused by the 3 AM curry cup he'd eaten half-cooked.
"Is this... like, an isekai situation?" he asked slowly. "Am I in another world? I feel like this is another world."
The old man squinted harder, if that were even possible. "Now you're spouting nonsense. Maybe I should've taken you to the temple medics instead of wasting good broth on your unconscious face."
About ten minutes later, Jukai found himself outside the shop, sitting on an old wooden crate that creaked with every movement, slurping at a bowl of watery noodle soup. It was hot, bland, and slightly burnt—the taste of shame.
He stared at the cobblestone street in front of him, half-expecting a car to drive by and take him back home.
Okay. Let's piece this together.
He remembered his name: Jukai.He remembered being 16, chronically indoors, and terrible at math.He remembered watching Narmuto in bed with potato chips on his chest — the kind that always left a greasy imprint on his shirt.
Then... nothing. Just black. Then the stone floor and the angry soup man.
And now?
He was in a medieval city, possibly cursed, probably broke, and definitely owed someone money for damages he didn't remember causing.
He had debt now.He didn't even know how he got here.Maybe a goddess summoned him? Maybe it was fate? Or maybe he slipped in the shower and this was a coma dream.
Classic.
Something soft and warm brushed against his leg.
A black cat jumped onto the crate beside him. Its fur was singed slightly at the tip of its tail, and its red eyes shimmered with unnatural intelligence.
It stared at him for a long moment.
Then it said, "Human. Ya forgot this."
And with the smug grace only a talking cat could pull off, it tossed something to him.
Jukai instinctively caught it. It was a scorched iron ring, thick and cold, pulsing faintly red. Etched runes spiraled around the outer edge, glowing like dying embers.
He turned it in his hand. "This isn't mine…"
The cat sat, licking its paw like it hadn't just spoken.
Jukai studied the ring. It was heavy. Old. Kind of... warm?
The runes glowed softly, flickering like a candle struggling against the wind.
He squinted. "Looks cursed."
He turned it over a few more times, squinting."…Might sell for a lot though."
The cat looked up at him. "I wouldn't sell that. Unless you want to explode."
Jukai flinched. "Explode?!"
"Just kidding." The cat paused. "Sort of."
Jukai flipped the ring between his fingers. It didn't shock him. It didn't scream. It didn't summon any eldritch whispering. That was a good sign, right?
"I mean, I've seen this in anime," he muttered, holding it up dramatically. "The hero gets a mysterious artifact. It awakens his hidden powers. Cool transformation. Sick background music. Probably a cape."
The cat yawned. "You talk to yourself a lot?"
"I'm narrating."
"…Right."
He slid the ring onto his finger.
Immediately, the air shifted.
It wasn't dramatic. There wasn't a lightning bolt. No ghostly voice screamed "YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE" in Latin. Instead, the lantern beside him flickered slightly. His breath came out in little wisps. The cat's ears twitched.
And something inside his chest—deep and small—kindled. A warmth. No, a flicker. A single spark, like someone had lit a match in his lungs and blown it out a second later.
"…Oh," he whispered. "That felt weird."
The cat, now definitely watching him closely, narrowed its eyes. "Your Spark lit. You're a Flamebearer now."
Jukai lit up. "I knew it! I knew I was special!"
He stood, extended his hand dramatically, and pointed at a nearby puddle.
"Alright. FLAME ON!"
Nothing happened.
The cat blinked.
"…Okay, wait, I wasn't ready," Jukai said. He shook his hand. "This thing has a warm-up time, obviously."
"Sure."
"Alright—let's go! Fireball Jutsu!"
Still nothing.
He puffed his cheeks, focused, grunted like a constipated Dragon Ball character, and tried to force the warmth in his chest to move. Just a little bit.
And then—finally—a tiny spark burst from his index finger.
Like, tiny-tiny. Birthday candle level. Maybe a weak lighter.
It hovered for a second, popped audibly, and vanished.
"…Was that it?" Jukai whispered.
The cat nodded solemnly. "Truly... terrifying. The gods tremble."
"Shut up."
He slumped back onto the crate, defeated.
The ring was glowing faintly on his finger now, the runes rotating just slightly, like they were trying to spell LOSER in slow motion.
"That was supposed to be my shonen awakening," Jukai groaned. "I was supposed to scream, level a mountain, discover I'm the reincarnation of some ancient fire god or whatever—"
"You can barely light soup," the cat said, tail flicking.
"I can get better. I've seen like, fifty anime about this. It's called a slow-burn arc."
"More like no-burn."
"I hope your fur falls out."
The cat snorted. "Too late. You already burned my tail, remember?"
Jukai rubbed his face. "Okay. So I have magic. A tiny bit of it. What do I do now?"
"Train. Survive. Repay the ramen god you owe money to. Maybe don't die horribly when the local cultists sniff out your spark and try to eat it."
"Wait. Cultists?"
The cat jumped down from the crate. "Yeah. Flame cults. Lots of them. They love sacrificing newbies like you to make their toast crispier or whatever."
"…Why is this world so broken?"
"Budget cuts."
Jukai stood up, looked at his finger, and tried one more time. This time he focused, not on rage or shouting or anime power stances, but just the warmth. The little spark. The thing inside his chest that said, You're not entirely useless.
And again, a little flame appeared. No bigger than a match tip.
But it danced. It didn't flicker or sputter. It moved like it had intent, like it was watching him back.
It was small.
But it felt… alive.
Jukai smiled, just slightly.
"…You're weird," he whispered to the flame. "But I think I like you."
From the shadows of a nearby alley, a figure watched.
Eyes glowing behind a porcelain mask. A priest of the Church of Wounds. Flame robes gently rippling without wind. Watching. Waiting.
"So… the Hollow Flame has lit again."