The hiss of the train doors was nearly drowned out by the noise outside.

  As soon as the doors cracked open, a wave of cold air came rushing in, carrying the salty scent of the harbor and the damp touch of ancient marble walls.

  I didn't get another chance to admire the train's interior. The human current started moving, pulling us along.

  "Come on, Sera. Hold Papa's hand tight," Dad said, immediately grabbing my small hand.

  I climbed down from the seat, my short legs trying to keep pace with the quick strides of adults around me.

  Here, I truly felt small (not because I'm a toddler, but because I'm just one of hundreds of small children being held or carried by their parents, swept away in the mass exodus from the train).

  We emerged onto an incredibly vast station platform.

  Its ceiling curved high, made of white marble whose natural veins gleamed in the sunlight streaming through giant windows.

  I took a moment to glance out the large window at the edge of the platform.

  In the distance, maybe three or four kilometers across the wide bay, where that Giant Sword still stood, piercing the sky at the end of the peninsula.

  From this far, it looked much smaller than when the train had passed near it earlier, but it still dominated the horizon. So this station is just the entrance gate in the harbor area, which was quite far from where the monument actually stands.

  "Don't daydream, or you'll get separated," Mom reminded, walking right behind me to make sure no tourists accidentally bumped into me.

  I refocused on walking while trying to sharpen my hearing amid the noise. The murmurs of people around me started forming clearer threads of information.

  "Look at that... So this really is the place?"

  "Hurry! I want to see the cliff where that Leviathan fell!" a middle-aged man's voice rang out enthusiastically as he passed us.

  "Hurry, Honey! If we don't get to the costume rental place soon, the line could be two hours long. I don't want to miss the Hero's Sword history tour," his wife replied, pulling a large tote bag along.

  I blinked.

  Leviathan?

  So the monster that was defeated is named Leviathan. And according to them, it was defeated right here?

  I looked back toward the deep blue open sea in the distance.

  From the station's position at the harbor, the sword on the cliff looked so quiet. No buildings around it, no signs of modern life.

  It looked... lonely.

  As if the world had built a tourist city here just to watch it from a safe distance.

  No wonder Sector 2 is so heavily guarded and has "old era" rules. This place is a giant historical site.

  "So crowded, huh, Dad," I mumbled, trying to stay calm even though my heart had started beating faster from curiosity.

  "This place is always like this, Sweetheart," Dad answered, still looking straight ahead, searching for the exit. "Everyone wants to feel like part of history."

  We kept walking along the seemingly endless platform, following hand-carved wooden signs directing tourists to the main exit.

  At every corner, I saw security officers in silver robes that made them look like wizards, standing upright with eyes constantly sweeping the masses.

  Our steps finally brought us to the station exit gate: a giant stone arch.

  There, two men stood upright like statues. They wore highly polished silver plate armor, complete with closed helmets that left only a narrow slit for eyes.

  As soon as we approached, one of them moved with stiff, ceremonial precision, then handed two rolls of thick paper to Dad.

  "Welcome to Sector Two. Please comply with protocol," the guard said in a heavy voice that echoed faintly behind his helmet.

  Dad accepted the papers with a brief nod.

  I glanced at the paper in Dad's hand. Its texture looked rough, like ancient parchment, but its edges were perfectly neat, looking as if cut with a laser. I knew right away it must be a guidebook or map of the area.

  "Dad..." I leaned forward slightly. "What's that? I wanna see."

  I pulled out my ultimate weapon: big, pleading eyes.

  Dad laughed, ruffling my hair. "Ah, I see... That look really has no match. Come here, look at this."

  It was a map of Sector Two.

  My eyes tried to follow the lines drawn across it. The station and Old Town, where we were now, was marked on one side of the harbor, while the giant sword, labeled only with a large blade icon and the name 'The First Bastion,' sat at the end of the peninsula jutting far into the sea.

  A long stone footpath was visible, circling the coast, connecting this harbor to that distant cliff.

  "This is a guidebook, Sera. It contains the rules here so we don't..."

  "Let Mama read it while we walk," Mom suddenly interrupted, taking over the scroll.

  Mom cleared her throat softly, then started reading the points written there: old era dress code, prohibition of conspicuous technology, and prohibition of using Awakened Talent without permission.

  When Mom mentioned "Awakened Talent," the words caught in my throat.

  Instantly, my mind drifted to the strange sensations I often experience.

  Is 'Immersion' one of those Talents? If so, am I one of the people prohibited from using their powers here?

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  All this time, I've been calling the strange sensation I experience 'Immersion' because I've always considered it a side effect of reincarnation, or maybe leftover mental sharpness from my past life.

  I glanced at my parents. They looked calm, as if that term was just another part of daily life.

  I wanted to ask. My tongue was itching to request an explanation about what exactly the criteria for an 'Awakened' is. But I held back immediately.

  How could a four-year-old toddler ask about supernatural power classification without looking suspicious?

  I need the right time. After we get back from this place, I'll ask Dad.

  My eyes scanned the area again. The rules are strict; this sector seems intent on imprisoning time so it never moves forward.

  Interesting.

  As soon as we stepped past those armored guards, the scenery in front of us changed completely. A wide stone road stretched ahead, flanked by rows of two-story wooden buildings with sharply pointed roofs.

  On the left side of the road, I saw rows of very long wooden stalls. Colorful cloths fluttered in the sea breeze. There, crowds of tourists who had just disembarked with us earlier were already swarming, lining up to buy clothes and transform their modern identities.

  Even though the atmosphere here was lively, my mind was still on that map earlier.

  One sword on the cliff... but why is the surrounding sea marked with such an extensive 'Dangerous Currents' warning?

  And I think I saw the picture had two swords...

  Two swords. One piercing the sky, another splitting the ocean depths.

  I was lost in thought until we arrived in front of a building.

  "Honor history with your appearance," I mumbled, reading the large wooden sign hanging in front of a magnificent oak building.

  The slogan's a bit forceful, but at least they're committed.

  "Come on, Sera! Time for us to transform!" Dad exclaimed. His eyes sparkled like a little kid being taken to a toy store for the first time.

  Oh god.

  Why do I feel like my dad's more excited than I am?

  We stepped inside the building, which turned out to be much larger than it looked from the outside.

  Wow.

  Thousands of clothing sets hung neatly, organized by caste: from shabby (but clean) peasant clothes, merchant robes, and soldier armor, to noble gowns that looked unbearably heavy.

  The scent of camphor and cedar wood immediately assaulted my nose.

  So strong.

  It's very clear this isn't just cheap decoration. They really mean to "immerse" tourists, to make them feel they've left the modern world behind.

  "Hello, welcome! Can I help you with anything?" a woman greeted us.

  She wore a gray dress with a white apron, her hair neatly bunned in medieval servant style. No tablet or hologram in her hands. Instead, she held a thick book and a feather quill that looked authentically vintage.

  Impressive dedication to visual deception.

  "Good morning," my mom said. "We're looking for something... unique, for our daughter. Ah... And I also want something special. Can you help me find suitable clothing?"

  "Of course. We have several options that might work," she said, gesturing for us to follow her.

  We followed the staff member through what felt like endless clothing corridors. Dad had already separated from us and disappeared behind rows of leather armor, busy mumbling to himself about "which one looks most dashing."

  "For Madam," the staff stopped in front of a tightly closed carved wooden wardrobe.

  As soon as she opened it, an indescribable aroma wafted out.

  "We have a High-Lady collection... Manually woven silk fabric with natural dyes. Very elegant, yet still sturdy for walking in coastal areas."

  Mom touched the fabric, nodding. "Not bad. I'll try this one."

  The staff looked at me for a moment, and I looked back at her. Then she smiled thinly. "For this little Miss, we have a velvet gown collection from the northern region. Very suitable for a sunny day."

  I eyed the maroon velvet dress skeptically.

  Outside, the weather's pretty hot, and they want me to wear velvet? Do they want me roasted alive inside this outfit?

  However, as soon as the staff helped fit the dress onto my small body, my skepticism evaporated.

  "Cold..." I mumbled unconsciously.

  This velvet material isn't ordinary fabric.

  As soon as it touched my skin, a cool sensation spread through me, as if the outfit had a micro-cooling system woven into every fiber. Even though it looked thick and heavy from the outside, inside it felt as light as air.

  "This is blessed Cooling Fabric, Little Miss," the staff whispered, as if she could read my mind. "We don't want our guests fainting from heat while trying to look fashionable."

  While tidying the lace at my wrist, the staff brought me in front of a large bronze-framed mirror.

  I stared at my own reflection. With this velvet dress, tiny leather boots, and the dolphin plushie I still clutched, I really looked like a noble princess lost from a storybook.

  Who is this little girl?

  Damn, even I'm almost fooled by this adorable image. Where's my dignity as an adult?

  But what's more annoying... this dress is actually pretty comfortable.

  Suddenly, the changing room door next to me opened.

  Mom stepped out, and I swear, several other tourists in the store briefly held their breath.

  Her High-Lady gown was sapphire blue with intricate silver embroidery along its edges. The gown hugged her body perfectly, giving an impression of authority wrapped in elegance.

  Mom no longer looked like a housewife. She looked like someone who held power in her hands.

  "How is it, Sera? Is Mama pretty?" Mom turned slowly, her sapphire robe appearing solid yet fluttering gracefully.

  "Mama... is very pretty," I answered honestly.

  "And what about Papa?!"

  That heavy voice, full of confidence, emerged from the direction of the armor corridor. We all turned in unison.

  "How is it? Papa's cool, right?" Dad walked closer, combing his hair back with one hand.

  The outfit my dad chose looked like an adventurer costume from a high-class RPG game. It consisted of a dark brown leather vest that looked sturdy, white shirt with billowing sleeves, and a wide belt equipped with a sword.

  What stood out most was his long charcoal gray coat with an imitation fur collar.

  If before Dad looked like a generally handsome man, now he looked like the main protagonist in a heroic tale. His entire aura had changed.

  He looked tough, sharp, and... very cool.

  "C-Cool..." I mumbled honestly.

  My cheeks suddenly felt hot. Damn it, my dignity as an adult is really at stake just from seeing this man wearing a fur coat. Why does he have to look that cool?

  "Of course! Who else if not your Papa?" Dad grinned, patting his chest.

  I could only sigh deeply inside, trying to tolerate the narcissism of the man who is my father.

  He looked like he belonged in this world.

  But clearly, my mom and dad stood out among the crowd, not because their clothes were different, but because of how they carried themselves. Confident and full of authority.

  "You look amazing, Honey," Mom approached, straightening Dad's collar with movements that were tender yet meaningful.

  They stood side by side in front of the mirror, and for a moment, I felt like I was watching a knight family from the old era, one that was truly real.

  "Well, now there's just one more stage," the staff said, breaking the moment with a knowing smile.

  We then moved to the administration section.

  Dad walked to the large wooden cashier desk near the exit. The cashier there greeted us with a professionally trained smile.

  "One Guardian Knight package, one Noble Gown, and one Nordic Princess set," the cashier said while writing quickly with a quill pen on parchment. Its tip squeaked softly every time it paused mid-dance. "Total purchase 25,000 Ris. Do you have a member card?"

  Dad shook his head. "No."

  "Payment by card or code?" the cashier asked.

  Dad glanced briefly at Mom. "Card."

  "Wise choice, Sir," the cashier replied while processing the transaction. "This is the last point in the harbor area that accepts digital payment. Once you pass the market gate ahead, you must use physical coins entirely to maintain historical immersion."

  The cashier slid a thin metal plate onto the table. Its surface was dull, and carved in the center was a circle symbol with fine lines like runes. "Please attach your payment card."

  Dad pulled a thin black card from the inner pocket of his coat. At a glance, it looked like a piece of obsidian. He pressed it to the plate.

  Click.

  Pale blue light glowed momentarily along the carvings, then dimmed again. The cashier waited.

  One second.

  Two seconds.

  "Payment verified." He pulled back the metal plate and stamped a red wax seal in the corner of the parchment.

  "Thank you. Happy shopping again."

  With the sound of that click and the press of wax, our transition from the modern world to the medieval illusion was complete. We had officially become residents of Sector Two.

  However, my mind lingered on one thing.

  Twenty-five thousand Ris.

  I repeated that number in my head, trying to find the logic behind it. If the price of vegetables per kilo is only twenty Ris, then Dad just threw away our food budget for a year, all for a pile of fabric.

  Honoring history?

  To me, this looks more like broad daylight robbery under the guise of aesthetics.

  And also... How thick is this man's wallet, really?

  I looked up, staring at Dad's back with a new perspective.

  Hard to imagine that much money flying away just for a pile of fabric.