I Got Reincarnated with OP Stats...For Snacking?

By the time Shizuku stumbled up the dirt path leading to the village gate, she looked less like a human girl and more like a cursed scarecrow that had lost a fight with a campfire. Her hair was tangled, her once-white tunic scorched and tattered at the edges, and she was dragging a burnt stick behind her like it owed her money. One sock was missing, her face was streaked with soot, and she hadn't stopped muttering about vending machines for the last ten minutes.

So, naturally, when the two guards saw her limping toward them like a demon from a horror novel, they did the sensible thing. They panicked.

"By the stars!" one gasped, running to support her before she collapsed face-first into the dirt. "Miss—are you injured?"

"Physically? Yes. Emotionally? Always," she croaked. "Tell me you have food. And beds. And people who don't explode when you try to talk to them."

The other guard wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, gently leading her through the gates while shouting for a healer. Shizuku, too tired to argue, let herself be carried along like a particularly sarcastic sack of potatoes. She didn't even protest when they lifted her like she weighed nothing and placed her in a cart with straw padding. Straw, which she immediately complained was poking her spine. Loudly.

She half-expected to be thrown in a dungeon, interrogated, or at least mildly judged. Instead, she was met with warmth and mild confusion.

A grandmotherly woman placed a hand on her cheek, murmuring about fever and shock. A burly man picked her up without effort and muttered something about "poor thing's been through hell." A little girl handed her soup, eyes wide and curious.

"Are you a princess from the East?" the girl asked sweetly.

"No," Shizuku replied. "I'm from Tokyo. The only royalty we have is anime idols and cats with Instagram accounts."

The girl blinked at her, completely uncomprehending, but smiled anyway and ran off.

Shizuku sighed. "This is either a dream or a trap. There's no way villagers are this nice. Not unless I'm the virgin sacrifice."

She was brought to the local inn—an old wooden building that smelled like stew and fresh hay—where someone had drawn her a hot bath, another miracle in this sugarless wilderness. The tub was big enough to float in, the water was heated with actual firewood instead of a thermostat, and there was a fluffy towel waiting on a stool.

For a long moment, she just stared at the water like it might bite her.

"This is too nice," she whispered suspiciously, toeing the surface. "What's the catch? Does it eat souls?"

As she soaked, still waiting for the twist where they demanded a kidney, the village healer arrived: a kind-looking woman with too many pouches and a deeply herbal scent. The healer inspected her burns, bruises, and scratches without blinking. No glowing hands. No incantations. Just poultices, bandages, and firm instructions to "stop wandering into monster-infested forests."

Shizuku almost commented on the lack of magic but decided she was too tired to explain game mechanics to people who thought carrots boiled in honey were a treat. And yes, that was an actual thing someone had offered her.

Because when it came time to eat, that's when the real tragedy struck.

They gave her soup. Bread. Water. That was it.

She took one bite. Then another. Then slowly looked around the table, lips pressed into a tight line.

"Okay," she said slowly, voice deadly calm. "Where's dessert?"

The innkeeper tilted his head.

"Dessert?"

"You know. Sweet things? Candy? Cake? A single pathetic cookie?"

He blinked.

"Oh! Uh… sometimes we boil carrots in honey during festivals?"

Shizuku nearly dropped her spoon.

"So you're telling me," she said, voice shaking, "that I survived gelatin wolves, fire serpents, and a betrayal by a squirrel named Chad… for soup?"

The man looked positively alarmed.

"I—I can bring you more bread?"

She slumped in her chair like a dying Victorian widow.

"I'm in hell. This is sugarless hell."

Still, she ate. She was starving. She grumbled through every bite like it personally offended her, but she ate.

Far above the mortal world, in a fluffy, pastel-colored corner of the celestial realm, Goddess Miriel floated upside-down on a cloud made of condensed rainbow sparkles and irresponsibly high amounts of glitter. Cradling a crystal orb in her hands, she peeked in on her favorite (and only) reincarnation case.

"Oooh, she made it to a village!" Miriel giggled, tipping her cup of floating starlight tea, which immediately soaked a passing spirit-squirrel below.

"A warm bed! People feeding her! Look at that! She's thriving!"

The orb briefly showed Shizuku dramatically slamming her spoon on the table, shouting about dessert like a woman on the brink.

Miriel squinted.

"…Huh. She seems a little… crunchy."

She reached for the ancient celestial scroll titled Reincarnated Soul Care Instructions (For Dummies) and flipped through it.

"Hmm… nope. No protocols for sugar withdrawal. I'm sure she'll be fine!"

With a cheerful hum, she conjured a floating cookie, forgot it was incorporeal, tried to eat it, and accidentally bit her own finger. Then she went right back to floating peacefully, completely confident she had done her job perfectly.

Later that evening, a group of villagers gathered around Shizuku near the hearth, curious about the strange girl who had wandered out of the Deepwood. They asked where she was from.

"Tokyo," she said again.

Blank stares.

"It's a city. You know, like a castle town but with lights, vending machines, trains, and taxes."

They were still staring.

She tried a different angle.

"Imagine a place where no one talks to each other, food appears in boxes, and no one sleeps."

The villagers exchanged looks. Someone whispered, "She must be from the Eastern Wastes."

Another nodded solemnly. "She speaks in riddles."

Shizuku leaned forward and whispered dramatically, "I've seen things. Microwaves. Touchscreens. Cats that open drawers."

They nodded like this was incredibly profound. A few even looked impressed.

She didn't have the heart to tell them she once spent eight hours crying over a JRPG ending and eating Pocky out of a cereal bowl.

Eventually, she was led to a small room in the inn and left alone. The bed was made of straw, but clean. The blanket was scratchy, but warm. There were no slimes. No glowing eyes in the dark. No squirrel spies.

For the first time since arriving in this ridiculous world, she felt… safe.

She lay on her back, staring up at the wooden ceiling, arms crossed over her chest.

"No one's tried to stab me. No one's accused me of being cursed. No one's asked for a quest to slay the Evil Lord of Doom. Yet."

Her stomach grumbled.

Still no sugar.

"Fine. Tomorrow," she muttered. "Tomorrow I find sweets. Or I burn this whole place down and build a chocolate shrine in its ashes."

With that comforting thought, she turned on her side, clutching the pillow like it was a candy bar, and fell asleep.

To be continued...