The Cat, the Truck, and the Worst Monday Ever
Yulia Han did not expect to die in cheap office heels.
If someone had asked her how she imagined her final moments, she would have preferred something cinematic. Maybe a tragic hospital scene with rain tapping against the window. Maybe a peaceful old age surrounded by grandchildren and expensive blankets. Maybe, if the universe felt generous, dying dramatically in the arms of a handsome man who regretted taking her for granted.
Instead, she was standing at a pedestrian crossing at 9:47 p.m., holding a convenience store dinner in one hand and a leaking bubble tea in the other, with a blister forming on her left pinky toe.
Her final meal was going to be discounted tuna mayo onigiri.
That felt personal.
The traffic light was red. The sky was wet and glossy from an earlier drizzle, reflecting the city’s neon signs across the road like melted candy. Cars hissed past. Somewhere above her, an apartment window glowed warm and golden, probably housing a person who had the privilege of eating dinner before 10 p.m.
Yulia stared at it with tired envy.
Thirty years old.
Assistant manager.
Single.
Renting.
Chronically exhausted.
Owner of a houseplant that had died three months ago but still sat on her windowsill because throwing it away felt like admitting defeat.
Her phone buzzed.
She glanced down.
Boss:
Yulia, can you check the revised report tonight? Need it before tomorrow morning.
Yulia’s eye twitched.
A laugh slipped out of her. Not a happy laugh. The kind of laugh women made right before either enlightenment or murder.
“Sure,” she muttered to the screen. “Why not? I only have one human body and a will to live held together by caffeine.”
Another message came in.
Boss:
Also, the client changed direction again.
Yulia stared at the phone.
A drop of bubble tea leaked from the plastic cup and landed on her shoe.
“Of course they did.”
The pedestrian light turned green.
People moved around her in a tired evening wave. Office workers, students, couples under umbrellas, an old uncle carrying groceries. Yulia stepped forward with them, her shoulders aching from her laptop bag.
Then she heard it.
A tiny sound.
“Mew.”
Yulia slowed.
There, near the curb, a small grey cat stood frozen in the road.
It was soaked from the rain. One ear was bent. Its huge yellow eyes stared at the oncoming traffic like it had suddenly realized the world was a very large and unreasonable place.
Yulia’s heart squeezed.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Baby, no.”
The cat took one confused step forward.
A truck turned the corner too fast.
Everything sharpened.
The headlights.
The wet road.
Someone shouting.
The cat’s tiny body.
Yulia dropped her dinner.
Her bubble tea exploded against the asphalt like a tragic brown crime scene.
She ran.
Her body moved before her brain could explain that this was a terrible idea. Her cheap heels slipped. Her laptop bag slammed against her hip. The truck horn screamed, loud enough to crack the night open.
Yulia scooped the cat into her arms.
It was warm.
Terrified.
Alive.
For half a second, she felt absurdly proud.
Then she looked up.
The truck filled the world.
Her last thought was not profound.
It was not about love, regret, family, or the meaning of life.
It was:
I didn’t clear my browser history.
Impact came like thunder.
Then everything went white.
When Yulia opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was that heaven smelled awful.
Not slightly unpleasant.
Not “public toilet at a shopping mall during lunch hour” unpleasant.
This was worse.
This was wet straw, old cabbage, horse poop, smoke, body odor, and something suspiciously dead all mixed together into one aggressive slap to the nose.
Yulia gagged.
“Oh my god,” she croaked. “Did I go to hell?”
Her voice was wrong.
Too small.
Too thin.
Like a child’s voice after crying too much.
Yulia froze.
A cold wind slid over her skin.
Her skin.
Why was she cold?
Why was her body touching stone?
Why did her back hurt like she had slept inside a washing machine?
She pushed herself up with trembling arms and immediately noticed several problems.
Problem one: her hands were tiny.
Problem two: her clothes were not clothes. They were basically a torn potato sack with ambition.
Problem three: she was lying in an alley between two crooked wooden buildings that looked like they had never passed a safety inspection in their lives.
Problem four: there was no phone.
No handbag.
No laptop.
No bubble tea.
No truck.
Yulia stared at her hands.
Small fingers. Dirty nails. Thin wrists.
She slowly touched her face.
Round cheeks. Chapped lips. A sharp little chin.
“No,” she whispered.
She grabbed at her chest.
Flat.
She looked down at her legs.
Short.
Skinny.
Covered in bruises.
“No, no, no.”
Panic crawled up her throat.
She scrambled toward a puddle by the alley wall. The water was brown and oily, but it reflected enough.
A little girl stared back at her.
Huge dark eyes. Messy black hair. A pale, dirty face. Maybe eight or nine years old.
Yulia screamed.
It came out as a pathetic squeak.
A rat nearby screamed back and ran away.
Yulia slapped both hands over her mouth.
The little girl in the puddle did the same.
Her stomach dropped so hard it felt like it had fallen through the planet.
“This is not good,” she whispered. “This is extremely not good.”
She had died.
She remembered the truck. The cat. The impact.
So why was she alive?
And why was she a malnourished child dressed like a background extra in a low-budget medieval drama?
A shout echoed from the street beyond the alley.
“Move those crates before sunset! The guild won’t pay for late delivery!”
Yulia turned.
The street outside was bustling with people in cloaks, leather armor, linen dresses, boots, belts, knives, baskets, and actual swords.
Actual. Swords.
A man with horns walked past carrying a barrel.
A woman in blue robes snapped her fingers, and a small flame floated above her palm to light a pipe.
A carriage rolled by, pulled not by horses, but by six-legged lizard creatures with feathered tails.
Yulia’s mouth fell open.
“Okay,” she said faintly. “So either I’m dead, dreaming, or HR finally pushed me into full psychosis.”
Something cold dripped onto her shoulder.
She looked up.
A torn awning leaked rainwater onto her head.
Yulia closed her eyes.
Breathe.
She could handle this.
She had survived quarterly budget meetings, office politics, and that one coworker who said “per my last email” with a smile. She could survive waking up as a child in a medieval fantasy nightmare.
Probably.
Maybe.
Actually, no. She had no idea how taxes worked here.
Her stomach growled.
Loudly.
Yulia pressed a hand against it.
The hunger hit her like a wave. Not normal hunger. Not the “I skipped lunch because meetings ran over” kind. This was deep, hollow, painful hunger, the kind that made her whole body feel weak.
She swallowed.
“Right. Step one. Food.”
She patted herself down.
Nothing.
No coins. No snacks. No ID. No emotional support tissue.
Only a piece of rough string tied around her waist and a small wooden tag hanging from her neck.
She lifted it.
There were words carved into it.
Yulia stared.
Somehow, she could read them.
Ashfen Orphanage.
Yulia.
Age: 9.
Rank: F.
Class: None.
Her breath caught.
“Yulia?”
Same name.
Different body.
That was either comforting or extremely concerning.
Before she could decide which, something flickered in front of her face.
A translucent blue screen appeared in midair.
Yulia fell backward so fast she hit her head against a barrel.
“Ow!”
The screen followed her.
Words glowed across it.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
Yulia stared.
Her headache vanished under pure disbelief.
“No.”
The screen shimmered.
[Host soul integration complete.]
[Memory recovery: partial.]
[Body condition: poor.]
[Threat level: moderate.]
[Common sense compatibility: unstable.]
Yulia blinked.
“Excuse me?”
The screen changed.
Name: Yulia Ashfen
Age: 9
Rank: F
Class: None
HP: 18 / 30
MP: ???
Strength: 4
Agility: 5
Stamina: 2
Intelligence: 98
Luck: Error
Special Title: Cat-Saving Idiot
Yulia’s eye twitched.
“Cat-saving what?”
The system gave a cheerful chime.
[Welcome, Host Yulia.]
[You have been reincarnated into the world of Aramore.]
[Reason: You saved a divine beast from premature flattening.]
Yulia stared at the message.
Her lips parted.
“Divine beast?”
The screen flashed.
[Correct.]
[The small grey cat you saved was not a normal cat.]
[It was a high-order celestial familiar temporarily disguised as a pathetic wet animal.]
Yulia slowly sat up.
A laugh escaped her.
“Temporarily disguised? That cat looked like it owed rent.”
[Divine beings often choose humble forms.]
“It was licking a cigarette butt.”
[Divine beings are complex.]
Yulia pressed a dirty hand to her forehead.
This was insane.
She had read web novels before during lunch breaks. She knew this genre. Overworked adult dies. Reincarnates. Gets special cheat. Meets handsome men. Becomes rich. Slaps villains. Maybe adopts a dragon.
But reading about it was different from living it.
Especially when she was cold, hungry, dirty, and nine.
“Okay,” Yulia whispered. “Okay. System. Explain. Am I dead?”
[Previous body: deceased.]
That hit harder than she expected.
For a second, the alley blurred.
Her apartment.
Her unfinished laundry.
Her dead plant.
Her mother’s missed call from two days ago.
Her office desk with the chipped mug.
Her life had been exhausting, repetitive, and full of unpaid emotional labor, but it had been hers.
And now it was gone.
Yulia swallowed the sudden sting in her eyes.
“Did the cat survive?”
The system paused.
[Yes.]
Yulia exhaled shakily.
“Good.”
Another pause.
[Host has displayed irrational emotional relief despite catastrophic personal loss.]
[Trait confirmed: dangerously soft-hearted.]
“Can you stop judging me?”
[No.]
Yulia stared at the screen.
Great. Her magical cheat system had an attitude.
Very on brand for her life.
A noise came from the mouth of the alley.
Yulia stiffened.
Two boys stood there. Both older than her current body, maybe twelve or thirteen. Their clothes were patched but cleaner than hers. One had a wooden sword tucked into his belt. The other was chewing something that looked like bread.
Bread.
Yulia’s stomach made a tragic whale sound.
The boys looked at her.
Then at each other.
Then they smiled.
Not good smiles.
“Look,” said the taller one. “The orphan rat woke up.”
Yulia’s adult soul immediately made an adult assessment.
Children could, in fact, be terrible.
The shorter boy took a bite of bread while staring directly at her.
A villain origin story formed inside her chest.
“Director wants you back,” the tall one said. “You skipped chores again.”
Yulia frowned.
“I skipped being unconscious in an alley?”
He stepped closer. “Don’t talk back.”
The system blinked.
[Threat detected.]
[Enemy: Local Brat A.]
[Rank: F.]
[Weakness: shin, ego, basic math.]
Yulia almost laughed.
The boy reached for her arm.
Something in her body reacted before she could think.
Old fear.
Not hers, maybe. The body’s.
A memory flashed.
A dark room.
Cold soup.
A woman’s voice saying, “Useless children don’t eat.”
A hand grabbing her hair.
Yulia’s breath caught.
Oh.
This body had suffered.
A slow, cold anger spread through her.
The boy grabbed her wrist.
“Come on.”
Yulia looked at his hand.
Then up at him.
She smiled.
It was not a child’s smile.
It was the smile of a woman who had once stayed calm while a client asked her to “make the report more exciting” after removing all the data.
“Let go.”
The boy froze, confused by her tone.
“What?”
“I said,” Yulia repeated sweetly, “let go before I introduce your face to the floor.”
The shorter boy laughed so hard bread crumbs flew out.
The taller boy’s face darkened.
“You think you’re scary?”
Yulia did not know if she had powers yet. She did not know how magic worked. She did not know where she was, who these boys were, or what consequences existed in this world.
But she knew one thing.
She was thirty years old.
She refused to be bullied by a child with medieval dental hygiene.
The screen flashed.
[Beginner Survival Package available.]
[Open?]
Yulia’s eyes sharpened.
“Yes.”
The boy blinked. “Yes what?”
The screen burst into golden light.
[Beginner Survival Package opened.]
[Skill acquired: Gravity Touch Lv. 1]
[Skill acquired: Minor Healing Lv. 1]
[Skill acquired: Appraisal Lv. 1]
[Skill acquired: Dimensional Storage Lv. 1]
[Passive acquired: Universal Language]
[Passive acquired: Mana Body]
[Special Authority locked.]
[Warning: Host’s mana value cannot be calculated.]
Yulia stared at the skill list.
Gravity.
Healing.
Storage.
Appraisal.
She felt something inside her body shift, like a door opening in her bones.
The boy tightened his grip.
“Stop acting weird.”
Yulia looked at his hand again.
A small instinct whispered through her.
Push down.
So she did.
The boy yelped.
His knees buckled.
The ground beneath him cracked.
Not much. Just enough to make him drop flat on his stomach with a beautiful, satisfying smack.
The alley went silent.
The shorter boy’s bread fell from his mouth.
Yulia stared at the boy lying face-down before her.
The system chimed.
[Gravity Touch successful.]
[Damage dealt: 2.]
[Emotional damage dealt: severe.]
Yulia covered her mouth.
Not because she was horrified.
Because she was trying very hard not to laugh.
The tall boy groaned. “What… what did you do?”
“I don’t know,” Yulia said honestly. “But I enjoyed it.”
The shorter boy screamed and ran.
The taller boy crawled backward, pale with terror.
“Monster!”
Yulia watched him stumble away.
Monster?
Honestly, rude.
She was a hardworking reincarnated office lady with back pain and unresolved rage.
There was a difference.
Probably.
She bent down and picked up the fallen bread.
It had landed on the least dirty part of the ground.
She stared at it for one second.
Then she ate it.
No regrets.
The bread was hard, stale, and tasted like sawdust with trust issues.
It was also the best thing she had ever eaten.
As she chewed, the system displayed another message.
[Emergency Quest Completed: Survive First Contact With Local Idiots.]
[Reward: 10 EXP.]
[Reward: One Clean Water Flask.]
[Reward: Dignity +1.]
A metal flask dropped from midair and landed in her lap.
Yulia stared at it.
Then at the sky.
Then back at the screen.
“You can give me water?”
[Yes.]
“And you waited until after I ate floor bread?”
[Host did not ask.]
Yulia inhaled slowly.
“System.”
[Yes, Host?]
“I can already tell our relationship is going to be toxic.”
[Acknowledged.]
She opened the flask and drank. Cool, clean water slid down her throat. Her body practically cried from gratitude.
For the first time since waking, her mind cleared.
She had a system.
She had powers.
She had a child’s body, no money, no allies, and apparently an orphanage director who sounded like a nightmare.
But she was alive.
And this time, she had something she never had in her old life.
Options.
A shadow fell across the alley entrance.
Yulia looked up.
A woman stood there in a dark brown dress, keys hanging from her belt, face sharp as a kitchen knife. Her grey hair was pulled into a bun so tight it looked personally offended.
Behind her were two men in leather armor.
The woman’s eyes locked on Yulia.
“There you are,” she said coldly.
The body’s memories reacted before Yulia did.
Fear.
Hunger.
Punishment.
Director Marta.
The orphanage director.
The woman smiled without warmth.
“You troublesome little thing,” Marta said. “Do you know how much money you nearly cost me?”
Yulia slowly lowered the flask.
Money?
The two men stepped forward.
One carried rope.
The other carried a sack.
Yulia’s stomach turned.
Marta clicked her tongue. “Clean her up. The buyer comes at dawn.”
The system flashed red.
[Danger Quest Triggered.]
[Quest: Avoid Being Sold.]
[Difficulty: High.]
[Failure Penalty: Slavery.]
Yulia stared at the glowing words.
Then at the rope.
Then at the woman who had apparently decided a child was merchandise.
Something inside her went very, very still.
Her old life had been full of people taking pieces of her.
Her time. Her energy. Her patience. Her kindness.
This world thought it could take her freedom too?
Yulia smiled.
Small body.
Dirty face.
Bare feet planted on cold stone.
A nine-year-old girl with a thirty-year-old woman’s exhausted fury burning behind her eyes.
“System,” she whispered.
[Yes, Host?]
“How heavy can I make them?”
For the first time, the system did not answer immediately.
Then the screen flickered.
[Calculating…]
Marta frowned. “What are you mumbling about?”
Yulia looked up.
The air around her trembled.
The puddles at her feet rippled outward.
The men stopped walking.
Yulia’s smile widened.
The screen appeared before her, bright as judgment.
[Answer: Heavy enough.]
