I woke up.
The first thing I saw wasn't the sky, or fire, or monsters — it was a ceiling—or, honestly, a masterpiece. A massive chandelier hung down, glittering like a constellation frozen mid-fall, its countless crystals scattering soft golden light across the room. Around it were intricate runes carved in swirls of gold and silver, faintly glowing as if they pulsed with a heartbeat of their own.
I blinked.
Once
Twice
"Okay," I muttered, "either I've been kidnapped by billionaires, or I'm dead and God's interior designer has way too much free time."
"Hey, am I in a fifteen-star hotel? 'cause from what I remember from all the trash reels I've scrolled through, even the most luxurious ten-star hotel room wasn't this beautiful," I joked to myself.
I sat up and looked at the bed I was lying on—and immediately realized I didn't even have the vocabulary to describe it. Calling it a bed was an insult. I had been crawling for ten minutes and still hadn't reached the edge. Okay, maybe that's a little exaggerated, but I swear my old apartment could fit on this thing.
I finally got down and walked toward the window—the only source of light in the enormous room. The moment I looked outside, I froze.
The view was mesmerizing. Massive trees stretched beyond sight, their trunks thick as towers, their leaves shimmering like polished emeralds. Strange birds with radiant feathers soared through the air, their calls harmonizing into a melody both alien and beautiful. The air outside looked pure, almost translucent, and far away I could see a river gleaming like a ribbon of molten glass winding through the forest.
The sun was rising on the horizon, not in the dull orange I knew from Earth, but in a cascade of gold and soft crimson, dyeing the clouds in molten shades. The rays scattered through the mist, painting the forest in a surreal glow that made everything look alive—vibrant and divine.
"So, those environmental maniacs were right," I muttered. "The apocalypse for humans really is the golden age for nature."
Then, suddenly, I remembered. My heart had been pierced. How the hell was I alive?
I quickly unbuttoned the white shirt I was wearing and looked down at my chest. The place where my heart should've been torn apart was perfectly fine—no scar, no trace of injury. I pressed a hand against my chest and felt it—the strong, steady beating of my heart.
Relief flooded through me… until my eyes trailed lower.
Six-pack abs.
"What the hell…" I whispered.
I could somehow believe that someone had healed my heart, even though that already sounded impossible. But this? Me—the guy who wasted his days on his phone and slowly transformed from 'average athletic' to 'slightly pudgy'—now had six-pack abs? This was beyond fantasy.
I rushed to the mirror in the corner of the room and froze again.
The person staring back was similar to me—but not the same me. It's important to note that it is similar, not same.
My hair and eyes were still black, but now darker—like shadows touched with ink. My skin had turned pale, almost porcelain, and my features had sharpened dramatically. My jawline was defined, my face lean, and my body toned perfectly—not bulky, but strong, balanced, and fluid.
I looked like the upgraded version of myself—the one you create in a game after using all the premium cosmetics and stat boosts.
Still overwhelmed, I turned toward the door to go out and find somebody to clear my doubts. In my haste, I bumped into a table and sent a beautifully crafted vase crashing to the marble floor.
Crash!
I froze and turned toward the mess, "It wasn't me! It was the wind!" I said quickly justifying myself to nothing.
The curtains didn't even move.
"…Jealousy. Yes, absolutely. Someone must be jealous of my divine new appearance and is trying to put me in trouble," I added with a nod of confidence.
Click.
The door opened.
A woman stepped in—around twenty-five, by the looks of her. She had long chestnut hair that shimmered like silk under the chandelier's glow, and her eyes—deep crimson, clear and intense—looked as if they could see right through lies. Her skin was soft and fair, her figure perfectly balanced between grace and strength. She wore a maid's uniform trimmed with golden lace and white silk, the design elegant and flawless.
Her beauty was breathtaking in a quiet way—one that didn't shout for attention but demanded it naturally. Even her scent—a subtle mix of lavender and something faintly sweet—made the air feel lighter.
"Are you all right, young master? I heard some noise," she asked gently. Her voice was smooth, respectful, and carried a faint note of warmth.
I frowned. "Young master? Who is your—"
Before I could finish, pain exploded in my skull.
It was like someone was hammering nails into my brain. Blood began trickling from my mouth, and my palms were bleeding where my nails had dug in. The world spun violently—colors and light twisted—and then everything went black.
I woke up again, staring at the same magnificent ceiling. The same chandelier, the same glowing runes.
Déjà vu.
But this time, there was someone behind the bed. My maid—Lira.
How did I know her name? Because of the transmigration protocol, of course—memory transfer. It seems I was now living in this new body in a new world.
And the funniest thing? This world felt strangely familiar. Its history, its people… everything was giving me the same feeling as a novel I once read when I was bored after finishing all the top-rated ones.
"Heck!" I shouted suddenly, startling myself.
"Are you all right, young master?" Lira asked, concern clear in her crimson eyes.
"Yeah, I'm fine. And don't tell anyone about the headache I got earlier," I said firmly.
She hesitated, worry flickering across her face. "Young master, shall I secretly call for the doctor?"
"Hahaha!" I laughed awkwardly. "Do you really think even a leaf in this house can move without his permission?"
Lira fell silent immediately.
"Don't worry, I'm fine. It was just a little headache from stress," I added quickly, showing her my hands. "See? Completely fine—not even a scratch."
Hell, she was probably the one who treated me with a healing potion while I was playing hide and seek with my consciousness. And now here I was, proudly proving to her that I was 'fine.'
It's just like when your friend helped you in completing your homework and the next minute you show off in front of him about how smart you are to complete your homework before time.
Trying not to look embarrassed, I said, "Lira, wasn't that humorous? Hahaha."
I even faked a laugh.
But she just stared at me, deadpan expression or maybe a bit disgusted on my sense of humor. Whatever, It's not like I have a PhD in reading faces anyway.
I sighed and resumed my inner monologue about how this world resembled that damn novel. And then it hit me—this wasn't a good thing.
This world was dangerous. Not only because of the usual stuff—outer invasions, monsters, or wars—but because of politics and power struggles.
Old foxes here might forget to breathe but never forget to make someone else's life miserable over some ancient grudge.
And betrayal? Ha, cheaper than dirt here.
And the so-called hero—the main character? He was the worst type. The one you love to read about but would never want to live with: the antihero. He started pure, noble even, but that damn author had forced "character development" on him and through endless pain until he became ruthless.
And the worst part? Your handsome and unfortunate brother here didn't even finish reading that novel. I only remember the broad strokes—not those crucial details like where the divine sword was hidden in the forest inside some impossible-to-find tree.
While I was lamenting for not reading the novel like holy bible as if my life depended on it, Lira opened a cupboard and took out some fine clothes. "Young master, please get ready. It's time for the family breakfast," she said softly.
I blinked. "Ah, okay."
Then I went into the bathroom to freshen up—still trying to process the fact that I was alive, beautiful, and stuck inside a world I only half-remembered.