"System: Rebirth reward delivered. Countdown complete." I opened my eyes to sunlight that looked ordinary and wrong. "Status: Host body restored. Soul-space activated," the voice said. It was flat. It did not ask for thanks. I moved a finger. My hand obeyed. My ribs tightened under their skin. Pain lanced, then faded. I swallowed. Something hot came up. I spat into the basin. "Blood," I said. My voice surprised me by sounding small and steady. A small chime. "Pocket space accessible. Ten-life inventory ready." I put a thumb to the air where the system had shown me the icon and the icon blinked. Nothing flashy. A faint pressure, like the pull of a coin pocket. No floating menu, no dash of neon—just the knowledge that a place belonged to me now. I laughed. It was half cough, half triumph. "You're alive, Izzy," I told myself. Three words and I felt iron settle in my chest. My body ached in exact places: the scar under my jaw, the burned patch along my forearm. Each pain was a map and proof. Proof that the tenfold punishment had been real. Proof that whoever had wished me dead had not yet won. I sat up. The courtyard room smelled of dried herbs and soap. The lattice window threw bars of light across the floor. The teak chair by the table was empty. The teacup on the table sat uncracked. "Test strength," I ordered out loud. No system lecture. Just the