"Meow... Meow... Meow..."

A cat's meowing echoed near his ears, dragging him reluctantly out of sleep. Groggily, he opened his eyes, only to be blinded by harsh sunlight.

"Why is it so bright?" he muttered to himself, squinting against the glare. His hands instinctively shielded his eyes, trying to adjust to the intensity. Slowly, his vision cleared, and he sat up.

"What the heck is going on?"

His first thought was pure confusion. He was outside. But why? As he rubbed his eyes and fully woke up, he looked around.

The scene surrounding him was unfamiliar—barren trees stood in the distance, and several weathered stones slabs were planted in the ground.

He was lying on grass, his fingers digging into the grass beneath him. It felt cool and prickly, far from the comfort of his bed. His gaze wandered over the stones, and his stomach sank when he realized they were tombstones—this was a graveyard.

A graveyard?

Confusion washed over him like a cold wave. He had no memory of going near a graveyard, let alone sleeping in one.

His mind scrambled to piece together what was happening.

Just as he was trying to piece together what had happened, another question surfaced: "Why am I speaking in English?" The words flowed out naturally, with a fluency that startled him. He hadn't spoken English like this in years.

Panic briefly washed over him as he switched to other languages, including his mother tongue. Relief settled in—he could still speak them. But there was something strange.

His voice—smoother and deeper now—felt oddly charming, even to his own ears. And though he could still speak his old languages, English had somehow become his primary one.

"Is this some kind of prank?" He glanced around, frowning, trying to make sense of it all. His thoughts were interrupted by a soft, insistent meow.

Looking down, he saw a small black cat seated beside him, casually licking its paws.

"Eh? A cat?"

The cat looked up at him, its striking blue eyes locking with his. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

The cat meowed again, and though the sound was ordinary, Mark suddenly understood. Not the words, but the feelings.

The cat wasn't just making noise—it had been trying to wake him up, to check on him. He could feel the worry emanating from it, almost like a whisper in the back of his mind.

"You woke me up because you were… concerned?"

He asked, half-joking, still groggy. To his utter shock, the cat nodded. Not a subtle, maybe-I-imagined-it nod, but a slow, deliberate gesture that made his mouth go dry.

He blinked once. Twice.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The cat meowed again, clearly not kidding.

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A chill ran down his spine. "What is going on?" he muttered under his breath.

He rubbed his head, baffled. Not only was he waking up in a graveyard speaking perfect English, but now he could somehow understand the feelings of a cat. "This keeps getting weirder."

The cat pawed at his thigh, gently nudging him. Mark felt another wave of sensation—an itch behind the ears, a desire for attention.

He could feel what the cat was thinking. He wasn't hearing it talk, but the emotions, the intent, were clear to him. As if he could read its thoughts, but only through feeling.

"You want me to scratch that itch behind your ears?" he asked.

The cat nodded again, meowing happily, as if the human had perfectly understood its intent. 

He blinked in disbelief. Why could he suddenly understand a cat's feelings? None of this made sense. He shook his head, trying to brush off the growing feeling that he was losing his mind.

With a resigned sigh, he reached down and scratched behind the cat's ears The cat purred even louder, curling into his lap like a creature completely at ease with him.

*Prrrr...*

For several minutes, he let the rhythmic sound of the purring fill the silence, then decided to check himself over. Something felt... off. His arms were larger, more muscular, and his skin looked paler than before. His clothes were different too.

He was wearing a white t-shirt under a black leather jacket, paired with denim pants. None of these were the clothes he had worn to bed the night before.

"What the hell...?"

Turning to the side, His gaze fell on a black guitar case lying next to him, a large brown envelope resting on top.

Curiosity overcame him, and he reached for the envelope, opening it cautiously. Inside, there were several documents. He flipped through them—certifications, diplomas, identification papers—all under one name: Mark Castle.

His brow furrowed. Mark—that was definitely his name. But Castle?

"That's not my last name…" he muttered, flipping through the papers again to make sure he hadn't missed something. But there it was, printed clearly on every document—Mark Castle.

Before he could dwell on it, a smaller, black letter slipped from the envelope. Unlike the rest, it had a golden wax seal with an odd cookie-like stamp.

He hesitated, but curiosity got the better of him. He broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

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Dear Mark,

If you're reading this, it means you've safely arrived in this world and have already seen the letter. Forgive me for bringing you here without your consent or warning—it was part of the plan. I've left you some items that you may need for your journey.

The world you find yourself in will seem familiar, like something you've known before. But be warned, it may not be exactly as you remember. There will be differences, and it is up to you to uncover them all.

Also I have given you a very wonderful gift, and if you are wondering what it is, it is a surprise for you to find out. And please be cautious and act wisely out there as you are not invulnerable, and you can still die. That is all, and have a good journey.

Sincerely Yours,

White Cookie

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The moment he finished reading, the letter disintegrated into ashes, carried away by the wind. He sat there, stunned, watching as the last remnants disappeared.

"A gift?" he murmured. That had to be connected to everything he was experiencing—the change in his language, his appearance, the fact that he could understand the cat's feelings.

He glanced down at the black cat now curled contentedly in his lap. A small smile tugged at his lips as he lightly stroked its fur again. Maybe the gift had something to do with how he could understand the cat's feelings, how he could sense things differently.

He thought back to the fantasy novels he had read in his old life, the ones where protagonists were transported to other worlds with cheat-like abilities.

"System? Status? Inventory?" he asked the air, half-jokingly.

Silence followed. No robotic voice, no holographic panels. Only the soft purring of the cat and the rustling of dead leaves in the graveyard.

He waited. The wind rustled through the graveyard, but nothing happened.

"Am I doing it wrong?"

He stood there awkwardly, glancing around, waiting for some sign of power. But the only sound was his own voice echoing back at him.

"So... I've been transmigrated to another world, and I don't even get a system? Just my luck."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Whatever this "gift" was, it didn't seem to be something he could activate on command. 

Still, the gift must have had something to do with him—something within. Until it revealed itself, he was just a man named Mark… Castle