It’s been a few weeks since I ended up in this bizarre world, and I’m still clueless about how or why I’m here. Did I just get kicked the bucket for working too hard and have the audacity to thrive a little too much lately? So, doing well comes with divine consequences now? Ha.. I don't know anymore. Understanding this place feels like trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. But I’ve managed to pick up a few things along the way.

First, this world is ruled predominantly by men. Women hold no leadership roles, and the king seems like useless figurehead trash while the prince is a royal pain in my ass. There’s no flashy magic—no fire-breathing dragons or water-wielding witches like what I expect in a fantasy world. They rely on brute force and an obsession with leftover dragon power, especially the prince, who seems fixated on it. I mean, I can probably understand him if that power can help me levitate!

The natural world is just as strange. There’s a waterfall in the middle of a desert, of all places. From the historian’s office window, I can see just how this place defies reason. And then there are the Arcanographica scrolls, which look like an ancient, fancy version of Jejemon text, full of swirls and twists.

The historians have decoded three scrolls so far, with six more in progress. They said there are eleven scrolls in total—eight are here, while the last three are in the Homonhon Empire. After Aldo Kingdom fell, only two remain unclaimed. Marquess Nixon mentioned “the last piece,” and I can’t help but wonder how many wars they’ve waged to complete this set.

Do they think this is some sort of collectible?

“This is amazing, Tuk!” Leon exclaimed, his eyes wide as he looked over my progress. Apparently, my name became as plain as me.

“It’s incredible how you managed to decode these in just three weeks! How did you do it?” Marco asked, appearing out of nowhere as other historians gathered around, their eyes bright with excitement.

“Well… your notes really helped me get a feel for the scrolls. But it’s not like I cracked the whole thing—just figured out a few words here and there,” I replied, downplaying my work. “Maybe growing up as a peasant gave me a knack for understanding words they don’t use much in this kingdom—uh, empire.”

Leon smiled and patted my head as I quickly corrected myself. I was still trying to wrap my head around their system, but I was grateful for Leon, Rowell, and Marco’s support. Not everyone was so friendly, though; Albert, Easton, and a few others kept their distance, but I didn’t really care. Their not good-looking anyway.

I knew my situation was shaky, and the only person I could really trust was myself. Just last night, I’d had a close call. I was wrapping my chest tighter than usual to keep my secret when Leon almost barged in. I barely managed to throw on a shirt before he entered, asking me about a translation. His eyes lingered a bit too long on my hurriedly fastened buttons. “You okay, Tuk?” he’d asked, his brow furrowing. “Yeah, just… sore from all the running,” I replied quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed anything. I can’t afford mistakes.

“Honesty is the best policy,” they say, but if I applied that here, I’d surely lose everyone’s support. If they ever found out I was a woman, the friendliness would vanish. My goal is to learn as much as possible, maybe even find clues to get back home, while hiding my true skills and offering just enough translations to maintain my cover.

“Still, having you on the team has definitely sped up our progress,” Rowell said with a shy smile, dropping a stack of books on Leon’s table.

“Uh… what’s all this?” Leon asked nervously, eyeing the mountain of books.

“It’s all the notes and progress we’ve made on confirming the scrolls’ content,” Rowell explained.

“Oh, I actually asked Sire Rowell and Sire Marco for a shared study. I thought I’d need their guidance since I’m new to this historian role,” I added, thinking it’d keep suspicion at bay.

“That’s a great idea! We should celebrate each breakthrough. How about I join you too? I’ll treat everyone to dinner tonight!” Leon offered cheerfully, but Marco quickly shot him down.

“No thanks, I prefer to study alone. I can’t stand your loud personality.” Marco declined without a hint of regret.

“You’re as rude as ever. So, the three of us should be fine, right?” Leon asked hopefully.

“Sorry, Leon. I wanted some alone time too. But thanks for the offer!” Rowell said, bowing multiple times before following Marco out.

“T… then Tuk?” Leon’s hopeful eyes landed on me.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Sorry, I wanted to practice transcription alone, but I’ll definitely join you for the free meal.”

Leon’s heart seemed to break a little, but he hid it behind a brave smile. That night, he drowned his sorrows, telling me his troubles while I listened, enjoying the free meal and keeping my own plans safely hidden.

The next morning hit like a brick to the face.

"TWO MORE LAPS!"

One, two… One, two…One, two…

What am I doing up at this ungodly hour?

Hours earlier, I was blissfully drooling on my pillow, dreaming of uninterrupted sleep when the world was shattered by a crash. Apparently, His Highness wants even historians to be battle-ready. One of the warriors auditioned for "Breaking Down Doors 101" instead of just knocking. Still half-asleep, I was yanked from bed and thrown into a lap-running frenzy. Apparently, we’re expected to survive the battlefield alongside decoding ancient texts.

"This feels more like a death sentence than a workout," I mumble, my head spinning. At least I had the presence of mind to secure my chest the night before—it’s the only shred of dignity I have left.

So this is what they meant by assigning us a warrior. They’re not here to protect us—they’re here to turn us into muscle-bound freaks.

During my near-death experience, my “demon coach” roared for another lap. My vision blurred. Marco had already collapsed after six laps, and Leon looked ready for a zombie movie. Rowell had lost his soul somewhere back in the first mile.

“Ha… tell me, Sir Leon… why the hell are we doing this so early?” I gasped, collapsing in the dirt, sweat pouring off me.

After a quick break under the gaze of disappointed warrior coaches, I felt like a corpse. My head spun from last night’s hangover.

“His Highness’s order… we need… to train… for the war…” Leon replied, gasping.

“Then why not just have them protect us? Do we really need to train like this?”

“It’s His Highness’s will… we must abide…”

“Why? Why do we have to follow every crazy whim of that prince?” I demanded, almost wanting to cry in my frustration.

“Hey! Watch what you say,” Leon warned, glancing around nervously.

I slumped to the ground. “I don’t even care anymore. Just let me die here.” As the sun rose, I wondered if this was some cosmic punishment for my lazy habits.

"Still, for someone who can decipher ancient texts as quickly as you, you’re a huge help," Marco, who had somehow regained his breath, chimed in.

‘Seriously? Is this world playing a prank on me? Am I getting thanked just for being a Jeje?’ I scoffed internally at the universe, which seemed to take great delight in toying with me.

Surviving each day felt like an epic battle—mostly against my own laziness. The torture changed daily, but it was always brutal. The first week was all about endurance: mile after mile, with the distance getting longer every day. I swear, by the end, I could practically see the finish line mocking me, like it was running away from me.

The second week? Pure agony. Endless planks, holding the position for what felt like hours—though it was probably just a few minutes each time. Thirty to sixty seconds, but still, I could feel my soul leaving my body.

By the third week, they handed us wooden swords and made us swing until our arms were nothing but jelly. By the time I made it back to the historian’s office, I could barely lift a pen. My arms were shredded from the sword training, and my legs were jelly from all the running. But the weirdest part? I was getting faster. Sure, I was still exhausted, but now I could run longer before I collapsed. The first week, I crumbled after just a few laps. By week three, I was managing double that before my muscles gave out.

Despite the pain, I couldn’t deny my body was slowly adapting to the torture.

"But this is not what I signed up for!!” I grumble, sprawled out on my bed. “I’m all for strong women, but if this keeps up, I’ll be a cripple before the month’s out. Give me back my midnight office hours over waking up at dawn to exercise myself to death. I miss my phone, my games, my never-ending list of online novels and comics..."

I sigh, staring up at the ceiling. "But here I am, trying to survive this torture. Honestly, I’d rather stay a fan of strong women than try to become one. If this were a novel, there’s no way I’d be the female lead—I’m more of a brain than a brawn kind of person. I just wish this world came with a cheat sheet or a handy guide, like in those cliché isekai stories."

Then, just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the ultimate punishment hit me the next day: I got my period. 🩸

I was utterly doomed. I’d completely lost track of my cycle, and now this was the cherry on top of my hellish sundae. I rushed to the restroom, scrubbing at the bloodstains on my bedsheet like it was on fire.

‘What do I do? What do I do? Argh, these cramps are killing me!’ I kicked the walls in frustration, I tried to figure out how to manage without any pads. Most of the people here were men, and the only two female servants I trusted—Rowena and Lea—were nowhere to be found.

Why must I suffer this torment?

After scrubbing the sheets clean, I hung them over the shower pole and rummaged through my closet. All I found were uniforms, a few spare clothes, and a blanket—absolutely nothing useful for my current crisis.

“One more lap!” the warrior assigned to Rowell shouted as we watched him struggle through his final round.

“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Marco asked, noticing I hadn’t taken a break during each session.

“I’m fine. I want to get my legs used to standing, since I’ll be sitting later on during decoding,” I lied. Truthfully, I was terrified of staining my pants. I barely managed to sneak away to change the ragcloth every hour, desperate not to let anyone catch on. One last set of sword swings, and I was done for the day. RIP to my hygiene, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“I…I survived.”

I collapsed in my bathroom after the day’s training. My entire body ached, and my stomach felt like it was hosting a civil war. We were supposed to shower before heading back to the historian’s office, but I honestly didn’t have the energy. My hormones were on a rollercoaster ride today.

Why is my life become so difficult? This won’t do—I need to think of an excuse! Something that I do best. That’s right, I needed a plan

Operation “Employee Tactics 2.0” was a go. Step one: Look sick. I shuffled into the historian’s room like I’d barely survived a zombie apocalypse. Step two: Convince them I was really sick. I put on my best dramatic cough and scribbled weakly in my notes like I was barely hanging on. Step three: Act dizzy and on the verge of collapse. I wobbled around the room, almost tipping over, and voilà—hook, line, and sinker.

“Are you okay, Tuk?” Leon, bless his heart, finally noticed.

cough** cough**

“I’m not feeling well, sire. Could I leave early today?” I croaked, putting on my best groggy voice.

“Of course. Should I call a physician—”

“No, I’ll be fine if I just rest a bit,” I quickly interrupted, trying to sound as pitiful as possible.

“Y…yeah, sure. Please, go and rest for now.”

Yes!

“Thank you, Sire Leon. I’m sorry, everyone. I’ll make it up to you later.”

“Don’t worry, Tuk. We understand. Please take care of yourself. We’ll manage here,” Rowell said, and Marco nodded in agreement. The other historians didn’t seem too concerned, so I thanked them again and practically bolted out of the room.

For the first time in ages, I got a full night’s rest. Ironically, the next day, I actually caught a cold and had to visit a physician, who gave me some medicine and excused me from training for a week. Meals were served to my room, and I could finally breathe comfortably without the chest bandage.

Who knew getting sick could be such a blessing?