First-person POV:
Yeah, that's how I died.
I always knew I was going to die young, but I thought I'd go out in a grand manner.
Like in a tense, high-speed chase with the police. Or jumping off a skyscraper after releasing top-secret international information to the world. Or hell—maybe even being publicly executed in front of the whole world, wholeheartedly shouting for whoever wanted all the treasure I'd stolen to go find it, starting a new generation of thieves and criminals eager to make a name for themselves.
At least something that said I lived as a legend and died even more legendary.
"But no, I just had to get fucking imploded," I muttered in frustration.
I don't even know how it was possible. One moment, I had just escaped from the most secure prison in the world like the freaking boss I was, making my perfect getaway, and then—
Boom.
My submarine imploded on itself, killing me in the process.
Usually, it takes going more than a hundred meters below sea level for even a poorly made submarine to implode. But this wasn't just any submarine. Though small, it was built to withstand several hundred meters underwater without taking damage. So it collapsing in on itself made absolutely no sense.
Not that it mattered now.
"Well, there's nothing I can do about it," I sighed in defeat.
"What's happened has happened, so there's no use thinking too much. Rather…"
"…I find myself in quite a bizarre situation."
I paused as I took in the room around me.
The ceiling was made of dark wooden beams instead of concrete, uneven and faintly cracked with age. A soft amber glow came from a lantern hanging near the wall. The light flickered gently, making the space feel unfamiliar.
The bed beneath me was narrow and firm, nothing like the modern mattress I remembered. The sheets were rough, woven from coarse fabric that scratched lightly against my skin when I shifted. A thin blanket rested over me, surprisingly warm.
The air smelled different—clean, but not sterile. There was a hint of wood, oil, and something faintly metallic. No hum of electricity. No distant traffic. Just silence.
A small wooden table stood beside the bed, with a cup of water placed neatly on top.
The walls were made of stone, uneven but solid. A single window was slightly open, letting in a faint breeze. I couldn't see much outside—just light.
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, the floor cool under my feet, then made my way toward the mirror leaning against the wall.
It was tall and narrow, framed in dark wood. The glass looked old, slightly uneven, but clear enough.
I stepped closer and stared at my reflection.
The face looking back at me wasn't mine.
Well, that wasn't entirely true. The reflection looked like a younger version of me from my past life—maybe sixteen or seventeen—but with some notable differences.
Blood-red eyes that looked as though they could stare straight into one's soul. Messy bluish-white hair that fell just below my eyebrows. Pale skin, and a lean build with clear, well-defined muscle beneath it.
"Talk about an average transmigrator build."
Yes, if you couldn't already tell, it seems I've gone through one of the most generic and popular plot tropes known to every novel reader, weeb, and people who don't know what grass is—
Transmigration.
The state where someone dies—usually from a terminal illness, murder, or an unexpected white truck—and gets transferred into another world in a body that isn't their own. In my case, the cause of death was a submarine implosion.
It became a fan favorite, with many people imagining themselves in the shower as a dark horse protagonist thrown into a generic novel plot, hiding hidden powers, face-slapping third-rate villains and noble young masters, and acting like some mastermind controlling everything behind the scenes.
Can't really say I haven't been there, I cringed inwardly, remembering my darker days.
Anyway, it seemed I had become one of those so-called transmigrators.
After I died, I woke up in this room and found myself in a body that looked like me—but wasn't.
"It's been a week now," I muttered to myself.
I still found all of this bizarre.
At first, I wondered if I was in hell. Maybe the devil gave VIP treatment to the truly bad ones—but that seemed too good to be true. A certain German guy would probably be living in a mansion if that were the case.
After confirming I was indeed alive and not in hell, I calmed down. Still, it took me at least three days to come to terms with my new reality.
Every morning, I woke up thinking I was still dreaming. But at this point, there was no use questioning it anymore.
I walked over to the window and looked outside.
The building stood several stories above street level. Below, a narrow road ran between rows of apartments and shops. Cars moved steadily through traffic, their engines humming softly. Streetlights lined the sidewalks, already lit despite the fading daylight.
People passed by in small groups. Some were on their phones, others talking as they walked. A delivery bike slowed near the curb before pulling away again. Nothing looked out of place.
Across the street, a café sat on the corner, its windows glowing warmly. Digital signs flickered above storefronts, advertising sales and services I didn't recognize by name, but understood well enough by design. Tall buildings stretched further down the road, glass and steel reflecting the dull sky. Screens mounted on nearby buildings displayed news and ads, cycling through images just like back home.
It seemed this world was similar to Earth in terms of technology—maybe even more advanced—because of the presence of a special energy.
Mana.
The supernatural force present in almost every fantasy story. It seemed this world had managed to combine both technology and mana.
Oh, right. I hadn't mentioned what world I'd transmigrated into.
After spending a week in this apartment without stepping outside, I'd pieced together where I was and whose body I'd taken over.
A transmigration story wouldn't be complete without ending up in a world the protagonist was already familiar with. Otherwise, the author was probably ragebaiting.
In my case, I had transmigrated into a game called "The Hunter's Rise."
It had been extremely popular back on Earth. Upon release, it quickly became one of the best games ever made. Its unique features, near-unreal graphics, and dynamic playstyle made it a fan favorite. But it was also infamous for one thing—
Its insane difficulty.
Completing the main story was brutally hard, and a single wrong choice could lead to a bad ending.
I first came across the game because of a contract with some random rich guy.
Alon Dusk, or something like that. I didn't really care as long as I got paid.
He hired me to infiltrate the headquarters of the company that developed the game and steal classified information and internal data.
You might wonder why a rich guy would go that far for a game. It wasn't for him—it was for his deadbeat excuse of a son, who complained nonstop about how difficult the game was. Instead of considering that it might just be a skill issue—I heard he hadn't even cleared the tutorial—the guy demanded access to hidden game data.
I went through with the deal because it wasn't particularly difficult, and it was easy money.
While completing the mission, I also snagged a copy of the game and its data for myself. Why not?
Once the job was done, I took some time off before my next operation in France.
I heard his son gave up on the game a week later… I chuckled.
During my break, I decided to try the game myself.
I got hooked instantly.
It was the best game I'd ever played. The graphics were so realistic it felt like I was controlling real people. The characters were well written, and the story was simple but engaging.
I remember logging in for two months straight. Even with the hidden data, it still took me that long to finish the game.
That's how hard it was.
The story took place in a modern, technologically advanced world called Astra Novara—a place where monsters and beasts from other worlds invaded through dungeons and gates that appeared across the globe. Humans who awakened special powers entered these gates to stop the threats before humanity was wiped out.
Simple. Generic.
But surprisingly deep once you got into it.
So yes.
That's the kind of world I've been reincarnated into.
Now comes the most important question.
The part you've all been waiting for.
Who am I now?
And what role do I play in this story?