Prologue

Waking to a canopy of trees instead of my studio apartment ceiling was hardly a novel experience.

I'd been living inside Al Fantasia ever since I started playing—meals ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were about the only thing that pulled me out. If anything, opening my eyes in an ordinary room would have felt stranger.

This, however, was clearly wrong. I hadn't been anywhere near a forest when I fell asleep.

Had I been ambushed in my sleep? That didn't add up. I'd layered myself in protection-magic scrolls and set alarm wards besides; an attack would have jolted me awake and then some.

I was still logged in, at least, which meant I wasn't dead. Uneasy, I swept a look across the sun-drenched woods and pushed myself up. Figuring out where I was would make everything else easier.

The instant I rose, a jolt of wrongness locked every muscle in my body.

Why was I standing on four paws instead of two feet? And why was the world sitting so low? I was gazing up at everything as if I'd been flattened to the ground. Cautiously, I opened my mouth.

"Yip."

Status window... hang on. Yip?

I didn't even have time to process the bark that had just come out of me. A translucent window unfolded in midair, and my vision swam.

A status window never lies. It is, quite literally, a window onto every facet of a player's condition.

And what this one was telling me was simple.

For reasons I could not begin to guess, I had become a fox. A fox whose every stat and skill had been wiped clean.

The first word that surfaced in this absurd situation was bug. Of course it was. You fall asleep, you wake up, and your character has been factory-reset. If that isn't a bug, what is?

And the character I'd been playing was the number-one player in Al Fantasia—the top ranker on the entire ladder. Level 400, the current cap. Every stat north of 900. More than a hundred skills.

And that character had been wiped overnight, as if it had just been created? With the race changed on top of it?

That could not happen. That must not happen. Racial conversion wasn't even a system that existed in Al Fantasia yet.

I tried to pull up the settings and hit the GM-call button on the spot. I couldn't. Every other function was the same. The only thing I could still do was open the status window.

Logging out, needless to say, did not work either.

"Yiiip..."

I let out a hollow sigh, and all that came out was a whimper. The confusion only deepened. If I'd at least still looked human—if I could have spoken a human language—I might have been able to ask someone for help.

I yipped and lamented to myself for a long while before I finally pushed my crumpled body back up. Sitting still wasn't going to make a rescue party appear. If I wanted to understand what had happened, I had to move. There was no other choice.

Rising onto four legs felt profoundly alien, and so did the weeds blotting out my vision. I didn't even want to guess how tiny this body was.

I breathed out a long sigh, stretched a foreleg, and eased myself forward.

As if it had been waiting for exactly that, a bright, clear chime rang out, and a translucent window bloomed in the air.

Gumiho. The nine-tailed fox of legend. So that was why my race had been changed to fox?

I didn't understand any of it, not really—but at least I had a goal. I was no longer adrift on a boundless sea. A signpost had appeared.

The words On Failure: Death sat badly with me, though a moment's thought said even that wasn't particularly unusual. Plenty of quests killed you if you failed them. Of course, I was in the rather special position of being unable to log out, so how that penalty would actually apply was anyone's guess.

I wouldn't actually die just because I died in a game... right? I told myself that as firmly as I could, and closed the quest window.

But how was I supposed to get spirit power? I puzzled over it for a moment, then opened the status window again.

The quest had said I qualified to become a Gumiho because I possessed a Fox Bead. And as it happened, the name of my one newly acquired skill—the only skill I had—was Fox Bead. I selected it, and the description unfurled.

I had no idea what "training" was supposed to mean. Taking lives, though—hunting—was something I was more than confident in. I'd practically lived in Al Fantasia. Hunting was what I did the way other people ate meals.

I dismissed every window in front of me and bounded forward on four paws, shoving through the undergrowth. I tried to move the way I imagined a four-legged animal would run, but it was my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first time, and using all four feet at once probably looked ridiculous from the side. Fortunately, there was no one watching. I got the hang of it soon enough. Walking and running, at least, came easily.

I don't know how long I walked. The moment I broke through the brush, a wide-open stretch of ground unfurled in front of me—something like a broad clearing.

And something was already there.

It had the look of an ordinary mountain hare, the kind you'd see in the real world.

I'd gotten lucky. Low-level wild rabbits that even a beginner could handle spawned in exactly one place: the very entrance of Lucifen Forest, the so-called beginner hunting grounds. For someone who'd just been reset, it was a good place to start over.

The rabbit was grazing idly with its back turned, completely unguarded. I dropped into a crouch on instinct, closed the distance in silence, and, the moment I judged I was close enough, threw myself forward with everything I had.

The rabbit noticed me too late and twisted around. It was already over. This was the kind of rabbit you only bothered with as a complete beginner. Even in this body, I'd landed a perfect ambush. There was nothing it could do.

My jaws yawned wide and crashed down toward it.

And I lost. Thoroughly. I'd been the one to ambush it, and I'd still gone down so pathetically I didn't even have an excuse.

The rabbit that had looked so defenseless blasted my jaw with a vicious kick from those hind legs the instant I closed in. I had agility to spare, and I still couldn't dodge. Of course I couldn't. It had never occurred to me that the rabbit would strike first. Wild rabbits were non-aggressive neutrals by default—monsters that only fought back after you'd landed the first hit.

This one was different. The instant I lunged, it answered as if it had been waiting, driving those powerful legs into me.

What came next wasn't worth describing. Pain so vivid I forgot I was inside a game sent me scrambling, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the rabbit I'd written off as nothing beat me without mercy.

If someone hadn't charged in midway, I might well have died. No—I would have. A crimson warning was already burning in the corner of my vision, announcing that I was on the verge of death.

"You okay?"

The person who had saved me was a young-looking girl. She wore light leather and carried a dagger, the kit of someone who'd only just started the game, and she looked down at me with open worry.

Pain I'd never imagined I would feel in a game. The humiliation of losing to a rabbit. The shame of being rescued by a complete beginner. My body twisted of its own accord.

"Nnngh—"

All that did was aggravate the wounds and make everything hurt worse. I thrashed myself out, then curled up panting, and something was pushed under my nose.

A flower, its blue petals blooming bright and fresh. The shape was familiar; I was groping for the memory when her voice reached me.

"This is called a Healing Herb... but you're a fox, so you probably don't eat plants, huh?"

Healing Herb. My half-lidded eyes snapped wide. The instant I saw the blue flower hanging in front of me, I opened my mouth and started chewing.

"Whoa! You scared me..."

She jerked her hand back, startled, but I was already chewing and swallowing in a frenzy. A green shimmer rose around my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠body, and the wounds began to close.

The pain receded quickly as I recovered—but I wasn't fully healed. About halfway. One more and I'd be whole.

Hoping against hope, I smacked my lips and looked up at her. She studied me with a faintly uncertain expression.

"Do you need another one?"

"Yip!"

I answered in the affirmative, and a Healing Herb appeared in her hand again, just as before. This time I chewed and swallowed carefully so as not to startle her—and a hand came down onto my head.

It looked exactly like someone offering a treat to a stray dog and reaching down to pet it. She'd saved my life, though, so I didn't bother dodging. A little petting wasn't going to wear me down. And nothing was going to come of it.

"Huh."

"Yip?"