Mike walked deeper into the forest with uneven steps, his breath still unsteady from the mushroom fiasco.

  The floating tutorial orb drifted beside him like a very cheerful reminder that he was utterly unprepared for the world he now lived in.

  The forest was still warm with late-afternoon sunlight, but the shadows between the trees were growing longer, thicker. The sun had begun its slow descent, and the gentle golden glow that once felt comforting now looked… fragile.

  Birds chirped overhead.

  Leaves rustled in a soft breeze.

  It would have been peaceful.

  Except for the distant roars.

  And the knowledge that the System thought “nighttime tutorial hazards increase by 300%” was somehow fine to mention casually.

  Mike rubbed his face. “So… I need shelter. Preferably something sturdy. Something with walls. Something not currently occupied by a monster.”

  Correct, the orb chimed.

  Recommended shelter types: hollow tree, cave, or System-generated beginner hut.

  “That last one sounds good.”

  Probability of finding a beginner hut: 1.4%.

  Most are claimed already by other candidates.

  “Candidates? You mean… other humans?”

  Not exclusively.

  Mike paused.

  “…What does that mean?”

  This universe contains many species classified as ‘living.’

  All were integrated. Some may appear here.

  Mike’s mouth went dry.

  “You mean I might meet… what? Bears? Wolves? Octopuses? Bacteria? Aliens?”

  Most bacteria are too small to qualify for humanoid tutorials.

  But yes. Some non-human sapients may manifest in similar arrival zones.

  Mike swallowed.

  “Are any of them friendly?”

  Unknown.

  Friendliness varies.

  Though statistically speaking, 74% of early interactions between new candidates end in violence.

  “Why?!”

  Resource scarcity, fear, panic, territorial instinct, or poor communication skills.

  “I have great communication skills.”

  You punched a rabbit.

  “That was self-defense!”

  The rabbit disagrees.

  Mike dragged his hands down his face.

  “This is awful.”

  Correct.

  Please continue searching for shelter.

  Nightfall approaches.

  He kept moving.

  The forest thickened as he walked. The trees grew denser, their roots tangled like massive serpents snaking across the ground. Strange glowing flowers illuminated narrow paths. Small mana motes drifted lazily through the air like fireflies.

  Despite the beauty, Mike’s nerves tightened with every step.

  He needed shelter.

  He needed safety.

  He needed—

  A shadow flashed in the corner of his view.

  He froze.

  The orb dimmed slightly.

  Alert: movement detected.

  “Where?”

  Direction: forward-left.

  Distance: 30 meters.

  Unknown lifeform.

  “Unknown? Is it big?”

  This unit is determining size…

  …processing…

  …still processing…

  …processing error.

  Mike’s voice cracked. “What does an error mean?!”

  Possibility 1: The lifeform is too small to register properly.

  Possibility 2: The lifeform is too large for this unit to categorize.

  Mike took a slow step backward.

  “Let’s hope for a mouse.”

  Probability of that: 0.2%.

  He didn’t ask what the other 99.8% included.

  He tightened his fists and moved cautiously forward anyway.

  Not because he wanted to face anything — but because night was coming, and he needed shelter urgently.

  Then he saw it.

  A cave mouth hidden behind massive ferns.

  Dark inside.

  Deep.

  Shadowed.

  Potential shelter.

  “…That might work,” he whispered.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Cave detected.

  Depth unknown.

  Interior threats: unknown.

  Risk: Moderate.

  “I’ll take moderate over absolute death.”

  Mike approached slowly.

  Halfway there, he noticed something odd.

  The inside of the cave flickered faintly.

  Not light.

  Not movement.

  More like… a distortion.

  A ripple in the air.

  “Is that…?”

  Probability of spatial distortion: 68%.

  Probability of mana pool: 23%.

  Probability of monster nesting site: 71%.

  “Those add up to more than 100!”

  Correct. This cave contains multiple hazards.

  Mike froze in place.

  But then — a different sound reached him.

  Soft.

  Whimpering.

  Pained, like a wounded animal.

  He stiffened.

  Someone — something — was inside.

  Not a monster roar.

  Not the monstrous sound from earlier.

  A whimper.

  A cry of pain.

  Human?

  Animal?

  Something else?

  The orb hovered close.

  Advice:

  Entering without preparation is not recommended.

  Mike bit his lip.

  He should leave.

  He should find somewhere safer.

  But then the whimper echoed again — weak, breathless.

  Someone was hurt.

  He exhaled.

  “…Damn it.”

  He stepped forward.

  Inside, the cave was darker than expected. The air was cool, damp. His eyes adjusted slowly. Faint glimmers of light reflected off stone — luminescent moss, shimmering faintly. The cave widened into a small chamber ahead.

  Then he saw it.

  A creature — curled up against the far wall.

  Small.

  Shivering.

  Covered in fur.

  At first glance, it looked like a fox.

  Then the details became clear.

  Six tails, each glowing faintly gold at the tips.

  Long ears.

  Thin frame.

  Wounded — a deep gash along its side.

  Blood — shimmering silver — coated the ground beneath it.

  The fox flinched weakly when Mike approached.

  Beautiful.

  Terrified.

  In pain.

  Mike’s heart clenched.

  “Oh god… hey. Hey buddy. I’m not here to hurt you.”

  The fox snapped weakly at the air — defensive, scared.

  Mike didn’t step closer.

  He raised both hands calmly.

  “Easy. I get it. You’re scared. So am I. We can be scared together.”

  The creature’s breathing was shallow.

  Its eyes — too intelligent to be a normal animal — flicked toward him, then away, then back.

  The orb hovered near Mike’s shoulder.

  Lifeform identified:

  Luminfox Cub

  Rarity: Rare

  Threat Level (healthy): Moderate

  Current Condition: Critically injured

  Behavior: Defensive but non-hostile

  Cause of injury: Predation

  Probability aggressor remains nearby: 64%.

  Mike stiffened.

  “…Predation? Something attacked it?”

  Correct.

  A larger predator.

  Estimated size: unknown.

  Mike looked toward the cave entrance.

  “…So something dangerous could be coming back?”

  Very likely.

  His pulse spiked.

  But he looked back at the fox. Its tails twitched weakly. Blood glistened around its wound.

  “Can I… help it?” he asked quietly.

  Your class includes potential healing through certain chaos-lightning interactions, the orb said.

  But this unit strongly discourages attempting them.

  They are unstable.

  Unstable.

  Like everything else.

  Mike knelt slowly, not too close, and spoke softly.

  “I can’t leave you here.”

  The fox looked at him, eyes glossy with pain.

  Mike swallowed.

  “Okay… okay. Think. Think. I need to stop the bleeding. Maybe wrap it? Maybe…”

  He looked at his tunic.

  He tore off a long strip from the bottom, wincing at the loss of clothing but committing.

  As he leaned in to place the cloth near the fox, his fingertips brushed its fur.

  Lightning snapped.

  Not much.

  Barely a spark.

  But enough.

  The fox jerked and yelped.

  Mike jerked too. “Sorry! Sorry—!”

  Then something else happened.

  The wound — faintly — flickered with blue-white energy.

  The orb chimed.

  Alert: Unintentional Mana Transfer Detected.

  Effects: Unstable regenerative stimulus.

  Risks: unpredictable.

  Mike froze.

  Then he watched — jaw dropping — as the wound closed slightly.

  Not healed.

  But no longer bleeding.

  The fox blinked, surprised.

  Mike blinked, more surprised than the fox.

  “I… healed it?”

  Partially.

  Inelegantly.

  Unpredictably.

  But yes.

  The fox sniffed him tentatively.

  Its posture relaxed.

  Mike exhaled slowly.

  “Okay. Buddy. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

  He reached toward it carefully—

  The orb turned red.

  WARNING:

  Predator approaching the cave.

  Distance: 40 meters.

  Size: Large.

  Threat Level: High.

  Mike’s veins turned to ice.

  He gently picked up the fox — it weighed less than expected — and held it close.

  “What’s coming?”

  Unknown.

  But it is aware of your location.

  And it is fast.

  “How fast?!”

  Closing distance. 35 meters.

  Mike’s heart dropped.

  He looked deeper into the cave.

  Dark.

  Unknown.

  A risk.

  But outside was suddenly much worse.

  He ran deeper into the cave.

  The ground vibrated behind him.

  30 meters.

  Mike’s breathing grew harsh.

  He entered a larger chamber, shadows stretching across the walls.

  The fox whimpered against his chest.

  “Shh— I got you. I got you. I promise.”

  25 meters.

  The orb flickered urgently.

  Warning: Monster entering rampage state.

  “WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!”

  It will not retreat.

  The roar hit then.

  A deafening, deep, primal sound that made the entire cave tremble. Dust fell from the ceiling. Rocks shifted.

  20 meters.

  Something massive filled the cave entrance as a silhouette.

  Mike stumbled backward.

  “Okay I take it back I hate nature I hate caves I hate this entire tutorial—”

  The shadow moved.

  Low.

  Slow.

  Crawling into the cave.

  Two glowing amber eyes opened in the darkness.

  The orb began flashing red rapidly.

  Threat Identified:

  Nightstalker Alpha

  Level: ??

  Threat Level: Extreme

  Survival Probability: 7%

  Mike went pale.

  “Seven percent?! That’s not survival probability, that’s lotto odds!”

  The creature stepped forward.

  A massive panther-like beast, twice the size of a tiger, fur black as void, muscles rippling beneath its hide. Its teeth gleamed like obsidian shards. Mana mist seeped from its paws.

  Its gaze fixed on the cub in Mike’s arms.

  Then on Mike.

  The beast roared again, shaking the cavern.

  Mike’s survival instincts screamed.

  He backed up until he hit the wall.

  The fox cried.

  The Nightstalker lowered its body — ready to pounce.

  Mike’s body flooded with terror.

  His hands trembled.

  Lightning sparked across his fingers.

  He remembered the Administrator’s voice:

  “You’ll understand when the time comes.”

  Something clicked inside him.

  Fear.

  Panic.

  Desperation.

  Electricity.

  He didn’t think.

  He reacted.

  Lightning exploded from his hands.

  The world blurred—

  He vanished from where he stood.

  Reappeared three meters to the right.

  The beast slammed into the stone wall instead, shattering it.

  Mike stared at the scorch marks under his feet.

  The orb chimed:

  Skill Triggered: Spark Blink

  Side Effect: Unstable displacement.

  Mana cost: 0 (Resonance-triggered)

  Mike gasped.

  “That— that was a teleport!”

  A dash, the orb corrected.

  Mostly.

  Do not rely on it.

  The Nightstalker turned.

  Snarled.

  Charged again.

  Mike activated the instinct again — the spark behind his ribs — and blinked away a second time.

  Lightning cracked.

  The fox yelped as the world warped.

  The beast skidded across the stone, furious.

  Mike blinked again.

  Left.

  Right.

  Up a rock.

  Down.

  Lightning trails marking each frantic dash.

  He didn’t control it.

  It controlled him.

  And the Nightstalker kept getting closer.

  Each time, closer.

  Closer.

  Closer—

  Then Mike blinked wrong.

  He felt it.

  A slip.

  A misfire.

  Instead of moving in one direction—

  He split in three directions.

  This time he experienced all three paths for a single disorienting second.

  The orb shrieked.

  UNSTABLE DISPLACEMENT!

  WARNING!

  The three trajectories slammed together.

  Mike reappeared in the middle of the chamber — dizzy, nauseous, stumbling.

  The Nightstalker saw the opening.

  It leaped.

  Straight at him.

  Claws forward.

  Teeth bared.

  The orb screamed:

  IMPACT IMMINENT.

  Mike held the fox tight and braced for death—

  Thank you for reading!

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