After a comfortable and peaceful night in which Jumanji sank into a deep sleep, he awoke to the melodies of birds dancing outside above the rooftops, their sweet chirping announcing the dawn of a new day in this mysterious world.

  He slowly opened his eyes, feeling the softness and warmth of the bed beneath him. It was a luxury he had never known during the harsh days he once spent wandering amid the dangers of the forest.

  Jumanji rose lightly from his bed.

  The morning light drew him toward the balcony of his room on the second floor.

  The moment he leaned forward and looked outside, a captivating sight welcomed him. The place was alive with activity beneath the gentle sunlight that embraced the tribe.

  The darkness of the previous night had not allowed him to witness the true beauty of the tribe.

  But now it appeared before him like a carefully crafted painting.

  Bamboo trees stood tall across the settlement like eternal guardians. Their green branches intertwined gracefully among the orderly wooden houses, forming a natural fortress that blended elegance with strength.

  Jumanji inhaled the fresh air deeply.

  Behind this serene beauty, he sensed the presence of a warrior tribe.

  Today, he would have to begin the first steps toward securing his place within this fragile yet dangerous comfort.

  At that moment, the silence of his thoughts was interrupted by soft knocks on the door.

  He turned calmly and said in a composed tone,

  “Come in.”

  The door opened to reveal a young woman in her early twenties.

  She wore black cloth garments decorated with thin white lines.

  Her expression was filled with unease, as though the shadow of fear followed her simply for standing in his presence.

  She bowed quickly, lowering her gaze toward the ground.

  “M-My lord… your mother is waiting for you. Everyone is ready for breakfast.”

  The girl remained bent forward, frozen in place.

  She did not dare raise her head, waiting for his response with suppressed fear.

  Jumanji noticed the fear written across her features.

  In that moment he understood that the other Jumanji must have cultivated this terror among the servants with his cruel temperament.

  He decided not to erase that fear immediately so as not to arouse suspicion.

  Instead, he simply replied coldly,

  “Very well. I will join you shortly.”

  The girl gathered herself.

  She bowed once more in complete silence, then quickly turned and hurried out of the room as though she had just escaped from a lion’s den.

  “It seems that Jumanji truly was a despicable man. Had he lived longer, he might have committed many unforgivable acts.”

  Jumanji murmured this quietly to himself while observing the lingering traces of fear he had left behind.

  He did not dwell on the thought for long.

  Instead, he descended to the ground floor where three people were already seated at the table.

  He recognized two of them.

  The third was a young man in his early twenties whom he had never seen before.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The young man wore a gray outfit embroidered with the pattern of a bamboo leaf.

  His sharp features and thick hair tied back into a ponytail made him look like a younger version of the man seated beside him.

  A wide smile appeared on the young man’s face the moment he saw Jumanji.

  “I heard you sneaked outside the tribe’s walls last night,” he said playfully.

  “So where were you wandering, brother?”

  Jumanji’s eyes widened slightly in silent surprise.

  “Could this be Jumanji’s older brother?”

  He chose to remain silent.

  Without saying a word, he pulled out a chair and sat beside his mother, facing the young man who continued watching him with curious eyes.

  When his silence stretched too long, the young man spoke again with a faint smile.

  “What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you talking?”

  At that moment the mother intervened.

  She cast a stern look at her eldest son.

  “I told you, Genji. Don’t bring that subject up again.”

  Genji’s smile did not fade.

  He turned calmly toward his mother.

  “Don’t worry, Mother. I was only teasing him.”

  Then he turned back to Jumanji and added confidently,

  “Next time you want to leave the tribe, just tell me. I’ll be the one to take you out.”

  Jumanji simply nodded slightly without breaking his silence.

  He then turned his gaze toward the food laid before him.

  He waited for everyone else to begin eating before doing the same, trying to understand the threads of this family he had suddenly become part of.

  The father, Galvan, looked at Jumanji.

  A satisfied chuckle escaped him.

  “It seems he prefers the language of food over the language of words today. Very well, let us begin.”

  With that, the meal started.

  Everyone began eating quietly, though Genji’s observant eyes continued to study Jumanji’s every movement.

  The table was filled with appealing dishes.

  Bowls of steamed rice released the fragrance of mountain herbs.

  Thin slices of preserved meat lay beside a variety of pickled and cooked vegetables that reflected the forest-based culture of Experia.

  Jumanji observed everything carefully.

  The table itself was heavy wood, reflecting the dignity of the household.

  The ceramic dishes were arranged with precision.

  Jumanji realized he had to blend into this family structure without attracting suspicion.

  So he ate slowly and calmly, unlike the other Jumanji who likely lacked such composure.

  While he ate quietly, a temporary silence settled over the table.

  Only the faint sound of ceramic utensils echoed through the room.

  He could feel the gaze of his supposed father shifting from contemplation to confusion.

  The son who once devoured food messily and spoke endlessly now ate in unsettling silence.

  Galvan set his spoon aside.

  His tone grew more serious, causing Genji to stop eating as well.

  The father looked directly at Jumanji.

  “Enough idling and wandering about. Today the Council of Elders will gather to decide the date for opening the Spiritual Farm.”

  “You must sharpen your mind and prepare yourself well.”

  “We have no intention of waiting another three years for your dormant farm to awaken.”

  Jumanji felt the coldness and severity of those words.

  Yet his expression remained as still as the surface of a quiet lake.

  He slowly raised his eyes to meet his father’s stern gaze.

  At that moment he recalled the words spoken by the youths the previous night.

  He immediately realized that the “opening of the farm” was the same event they had called the “great day.”

  Jumanji did not understand what a spiritual farm truly meant.

  Nor did he know anything about this great event.

  Still, he nodded calmly and said with a confidence his family had never heard before,

  “I will be ready. I will not disappoint you this time.”

  “Good. I truly hope so,” the man muttered before returning to his meal, leaving a shadow of doubt lingering behind.

  Silence once again filled the table.

  The only sound left was the clinking of utensils until everyone finished their meal under a tense atmosphere.

  Jumanji resolved to learn more about this tribe and the land where he would now live.

  So he decided to go out and explore.

  But before he could cross the doorway, his mother’s warm voice suddenly called out behind him.

  “Jumanji!”

  He turned calmly.

  “What is it?”

  She approached him, worry filling her gentle face.

  “Don’t wander too far, my son. Please don’t make our hearts worry again.”

  “And don’t take your father’s words to heart. He isn’t trying to be cruel. He only fears for you and wishes to see you become a source of pride for us.”

  Jumanji reassured her softly.

  “Don’t worry, Mother. I will only walk around the village. I won’t leave its boundaries this time.”

  With those words, he turned and stepped outside the house.

  The mother stood watching the door after it closed behind him.

  A strange uneasiness had gripped her heart since the previous night.

  It was as though her instincts whispered that Jumanji might leave them at any moment.

  What she did not realize was that the Jumanji she once knew had already disappeared.

  The person now living in their home resembled her son only in appearance.

  The true Jumanji had indeed looked similar to this body.

  Yet he had never resembled it completely.

  The current Jumanji’s features were sharper and clearer, as if carved from cold marble.

  They bore no flaws.

  Nor were they easily moved by emotion.

  Everyone had noticed this strange transformation.

  Yet they attributed it to the change in his complexion, which had grown pale and smooth.

  To them, he now appeared more handsome and dignified than before.

  His face had become like an enigmatic painting that resembled no one.

  Although they secretly suspected he truly had ventured deep into the forest—despite his denial and the cover given by his cousin Taskast—they convinced themselves that some incident there had altered his temperament.

  Thus they chose silence.

  Yet one silent question lingered in their hearts.

  “If this is not our son… then who is he?”

  As for Taskast and the two young men, they believed that the terrifying moment he faced the bear had shaken his entire being.

  They assumed that fear had drained the color from his face and left him pale in such a way.

  They were convinced that the horrifying experience had shattered his pride and changed his nature.

  They never imagined that what the forest had left behind was far deeper than a simple change in complexion.

  After leaving the house, Jumanji wandered through the carefully paved pathways of the tribe.

  Bamboo trees intertwined overhead, forming natural canopies that shaded the roads.

  The air was filled with the scent of burnt wood and the gentle fragrance of incense drifting from the closely built houses.

  Jumanji observed everything with sharp black eyes.

  He analyzed the locations of food storages.

  He studied the placement of watchtowers.

  He observed the bustling markets scattered across the village.

  He explored the stage of his new life as though he were a commander studying a battlefield.

  He remained like this for some time, immersed in the details of the place.

  Then a rough voice suddenly broke his thoughts from behind.

  “Jumanji. The elders request your presence immediately.”

  The speaker was a young man in his late twenties.

  He wore a gray outfit embroidered with bamboo leaves, nearly identical to the one Genji wore.

  Jumanji felt slightly confused.

  Not out of fear, but because he was trying to understand the young man’s words.

  He asked calmly,

  “Do the elders have some urgent matter with me?”

  The young man raised an eyebrow in irritation.

  “You break the tribe’s rules and sneak outside the walls, and then you ask calmly whether they have an important matter?”

  “You really are a spoiled brat.”

  “If only you possessed even a fraction of your older brother’s dignity.”

  After pouring out his contempt, the young man turned and continued walking without waiting for a reply.

  Jumanji truly was hated throughout the tribe.

  Jumanji asked no further questions.

  Nor did he respond to the young man’s sharp, hatred-filled tone.

  His marble-like expression remained unchanged.

  He simply followed the young man calmly and steadily.

  As though he were being led to his own home… rather than the house of the elders.

  End of Chapter