The silence of the Fidalion forest suddenly felt much heavier. Haru’s heart wasn't just beating; it was thudding against his ribs like a drum. He had expected a monster, a snarling beast, or perhaps another cunning goblin. His hand was white-knuckled around the hilt of his bone knife, ready to strike.

  But as the orange firelight flickered across the thief’s face, Haru simply froze.

  It was a child.

  She looked no older than ten, though the pointed tips of her ears poking through her hair suggested her age was a mystery of the Fidalion forest. Her clothes were a disaster—tattered rags that barely held together, stained with the same dark soil Haru had been tilling all afternoon. Her hair was a wild, messy gradient, starting at a pale forest-green at the roots and fading into a ghostly white at the tangled ends.

  Haru let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping. ‘Get a grip, Haru,’ he scolded himself. ‘Forty years of life experience, and you almost pulled a knife on a toddler.’ He focused his gaze, calling upon the game-mechanics of the world.

  [Appraisal Successful]

  Target: Unknown

  Race: High Elf (Ancient Bloodline - Rare)

  Condition: Severe Malnutrition, Exhaustion

  Level: 1

  “A remnant of a forgotten era. High Elves are said to be the heartbeat of the forest, though this one seems to have missed a few beats.”

  Pity, sharp and cold, washed over him. His "40-year-old Dad" instincts, suppressed by the panic of survival, came roaring back. He didn't see a "Rare Spawn"; he saw a kid who was freezing. Without a word, Haru retreated into his cabin and returned with a large, cured hide made from Horned Rabbit skins.

  The girl hadn't moved. She was still munching on the stolen rabbit skewer, her jaw moving in a slow, rhythmic chew. Her eyes remained locked on his—wide, vacant circles, and her mouth a perfectly flat line. It was an expression of total, deadpan indifference—so much like a certain "One-Punch" hero from his old world that it was almost unsettling.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Haru kneeled on one leg, trying to look non-threatening. "Hey there... Umm... You see, those are my skewers. I worked pretty hard on those."

  "..."

  The silence was deafening. Haru felt the heat crawl up his neck. He was a 40-year-old man in a teenager’s body, currently being out-maneuvered in a social interaction by a three-foot-tall elf.

  "But... you know what? You can eat them," Haru continued, feeling embarrassed. "I've got more."

  "..."

  "I'm Haru," he tried again, his voice dropping into a calm "Dad-mode" rhythm. "Do you... have a name?"

  He expected more silence, but then, a tiny, raspy whisper broke the quiet. "M- Ma... Martha..."

  Haru’s heart melted. The "Saitama" face was still there, but in that moment, she was the most precious thing he had seen. ‘Oh no,’ he thought. ‘She’s devastatingly cute. This is a trap.’ As he monologued, a tiny, dirt-streaked hand reached out, clutching the hem of his tunic.

  GGRRRRRRRRLLL.

  A thunderous grumble erupted from her tiny stomach. Martha didn't flinch or look embarrassed; she just kept her deadpan stare fixed on Haru’s shirt.

  "I see," Haru whispered, a genuine smile tugging at his mouth. "One skewer wasn't enough, was it?" He draped the warm rabbit skin over her shoulders. "Wait here, Martha. I’m going to make enough to fill that stomach."

  Haru moved with a practiced fluidity. His 17-year-old hands were steady, guided by the memory of a man who knew his way around a kitchen. He pulled fresh rabbit meat from his inventory and used his bone knife to perform delicate surgery, trimming the meat into small, uniform pieces that Martha could eat easily.

  He pulled out one Forest Karot and one Magic Potato, carefully skinning and chopping them into bite-sized squares. He grabbed eight sticks and pierced the ingredients systematically: Meat, Karot, Meat, Potato. He placed them around the fire, the "Magic" in the potato glowing with a faint blue hue as it caramelized.

  The loud crackling of the fire soothed Haru. He looked at Martha, who was watching the skewers with the intensity of a predator. ‘She’s like a little forest spirit,’ he thought. ‘A very hungry, very deadpan forest spirit.’

  [Notice: Hidden Condition Met]

  Reward: Cooking Skill has evolved to [Nurturing Chef - Level 1]

  As the meal cooked, Haru began revising his blueprints. ‘I’ll need to expand the cabin. A second room. A proper bed.’ Suddenly, a small weight collided with his side. Martha had moved instinctively, hugging him tightly. Haru froze, then gently patted her head. She seemed even calmer now, the tension finally leaving her frame.

  When the skewers were done, he handed one to her. Martha took it with a delighted expression—well, as delighted as one can look while maintaining a completely flat, deadpan face.

  Time passed. The moons, silver and violet, watched over them. Eventually, Martha’s eyes grew heavy, and she fell asleep peacefully on Haru’s lap. He lifted her with a "Dad’s" care and placed her on the bed inside the cabin.

  As he tried to pull his hand away, Martha’s fingers instinctively clamped onto his sleeve, terrified he might disappear. Haru’s heart sank. Whatever history she had, it was clear she had been left alone for too long.

  He didn't leave. He dragged a chair to the bedside, let her keep her hold on his sleeve, and leaned back. As the 40-year-old soul in the 17-year-old body drifted off to sleep, he realized his "Solo Survival" game had just turned into something much more important.