Ren stood outside the Puddlewick Adventurers’ Guild, staring up at the cracked wooden sign hanging above the doorway.

  “Puddlewick Adventurers’ Guild – Glory Awaits! (Terms and Conditions Apply)”

  Underneath, someone had scribbled “Now accepting idiots” in chalk.

  He took a deep breath, adjusted the crooked strap of his beat-up sword, and nodded to himself. “Alright… new world, new life. Time to start strong.”

  Without hesitation, he stepped forward and shoved the heavy door with both hands.

  Nothing.

  He blinked. Tried again. Nothing.

  “…Huh?”

  He leaned in, shoulder-first, and shoved with all his weight.

  The door stood firm like it was judging him.

  Then he looked up.

  Written clearly across the top in glowing blue runes: “PULL.”

  “…Right.”

  He glanced around. No one had seen that, right?

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  Wrong.

  > “It’s a pull door, genius.”

  The voice echoed in his head like a smug little mosquito. The system—his ever-present, ever-sassy partner in crime—never missed a chance to roast him.

  Ren cleared his throat, grabbed the handle of the right door, pulled… and it flew open like it had been waiting to embarrass him all day.

  Caught off balance, he stumbled forward, tripped over the threshold, and slammed into a coat rack. It fell with a loud clang, taking Ren down with it in a heap of wood, cloaks, and shame.

  A nearby adventurer glanced over from the bar. “Another one. The door claims another victim.”

  Someone else muttered, “Put him on the wall. That’s five this week.”

  Ren peeled himself off the ground, face burning as laughter rippled through the room.

  A boot had landed on his head somehow. He tossed it aside and tried to act like nothing happened.

  He marched up to the front desk, soaked in what smelled suspiciously like ale and regret. Behind the counter sat a woman with short silver hair and a bored look that screamed she’d seen a hundred idiots today and wasn’t impressed by a single one.

  “You here to register?” she asked without looking up.

  “Y-Yeah,” Ren muttered.

  She finally looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You smell like my uncle’s failed tavern. First time?”

  Ren nodded, trying not to slip on the puddle he’d created.

  “Name?”

  “Ren. Just Ren.”

  She scribbled it down. “Occupation?”

  “…Adventurer?”

  She stared.

  > “Strong start,” the system chimed in.

  “Right. Yeah. Adventurer,” Ren repeated.

  The woman—her nametag said Becka—sighed, pulled out a paper, and handed him a quill. “Sign here. Initial here. Check this box to confirm you won’t sue us if you’re eaten by slimes.”

  “Wait, that’s a thing?”

  “Big thing.”

  He hesitated.

  > “Come on, Ren. You already lost to a door. You can't back out now.”

  “...Fine.”

  He signed.

  Becka stamped it, shoved a rusty-looking bronze badge into his hand, and handed him a rolled-up scroll. “Congratulations. You’re now officially one of the lowest-ranked adventurers in the kingdom. Try not to die.”

  Ren blinked. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. Welcome to the bottom.”

  He looked at the scroll. A basic quest—slime extermination in the nearby forest.

  Of course.

  > “Ah, yes. The classic slime starter pack. At least they bounce when they hit you.”

  He clipped the badge to his shirt and turned around.

  The same door that tried to assassinate him earlier? A group of kids walked in through it. Smoothly. Effortlessly.

  One of them nodded at him. “You that guy who ate dirt at the entrance?”

  Ren grumbled, “It was a tactical roll.”

  “Sure, man. Good luck out there.”

  As they passed, someone muttered, “Dead by dinner.”

  Ren took a breath, pushed open the door (correctly this time), and stepped out into the sun.

  “Alright. I got this.”

  > “Let’s be real… you don’t. But hey, it’ll be fun to watch.”