*Creek*
The old wooden door slowly opens, revealing a small, rundown rental room. Color-faded wallpaper clings to the walls, the concrete floor is cracked and cold, and the dust-ridden ceiling bears a small patch of black mold. It is truly not fit to be a living space for any human being.
Yet here I am.
"Vincent" The man who made the worst possible decision of his life by renting and living in this room.
I quickly toss my office worker outfit, along with my briefcase, into a cheap plastic basket, then I open the small fridge at the edge of the room, crack open a can of soda, and ate up an onigiri I bought in bulk from a convenience store during a 25% off sale.
I am truly a failure in life. A low-paying yet soul-crushing job, horrible coworkers, no friends, no family left. I have never loved, nor have I ever been loved romantically. Absolutely no prospects for the future.
And yet, I still choose to stay alive.
After taking a cold shower, since my room doesn't have a water heater, I change into my sleeping clothes and gently lie down on the old mattress on the floor in the middle of the room then pull out a phone and go straight to YouTube videos, my last bastion of sanity.
"The Genius of Roman Marching Camps" and "Conflictmace50K: How to Play a Mechanized Army" are tonight's picks.
As I watch the final moments of the video, the YouTuber reminding me to like, subscribe, and turn on notifications, my vision begins to blur. Drowsiness creeps in.
Let's sleep for tonight. Tomorrow is my long-awaited day off, a day I plan to spend playing the popular tabletop wargame Conflictmace50K at a local game store.
I close my eyes, and everything goes dark.
"Can't wait to have some fun tomorrow," I think.
How little did I know that tomorrow, I would no longer be living in this world anymore.
---
The next day, I was woken by a familiar yet nostalgic sensation, one I had not felt since before my parents died in a car crash. Warm sunlight gently brushed against my face. I had not felt anything like it since I was sent to the orphanage.
As I opened my eyes, I knew immediately that this was not my room. First of all, this clearly was not my old mattress, but a comfortable queen-sized bed complete with a wooden canopy and blue silk curtains that obscured the view beyond it.
Even more perplexing was the fact that the clothes I wore, and even my skin complexion, had changed. I was now dressed in silky white sleeping garments that looked extremely expensive, and my skin had gone from light to an almost snowlike pale white.
"What the hell?" I muttered to myself, my brain trying to assess the situation at hand.
Then it hit me. I must be dreaming. I had watched far too many transmigration and medieval fantasy shows, to the point that my mind must have fabricated one for me.
To wake myself up, I slapped my own face as hard as I could, producing a sharp, thunder-like sound.
"Ouch!" I shouted in pain.
That really hurt. Which meant the pain was real. This was not a dream.
To investigate further, I got out of bed and looked around to see what kind of room I was in.
By my standards, the room was undeniably luxurious. Pinewood walls were adorned with romanticism-style oil paintings depicting beautiful landscapes. The pinewood floor was covered with white animal furs sewn together into a magnificent carpet. Hanging above me was a black iron chandelier suspended by chains, its candles casting a dim but steady light throughout the room.
This was definitely not my room.
I looked down at my pale white hands once more, and a dreadful conclusion crept into my mind.
Had I truly been transmigrated into a new body? Or perhaps into a different era, or even an entirely different world?
Seeking answers, I walked toward the frosted window on the right side of the room and opened it.
A cold winter breeze rushed in, along with a view of rows of timber-frame, Low quality Fachwerk-style houses. There were no cars, no street lamps or streetlights. The road was not even paved, and the people below looked like a mass of depressed, hopeless peasants pulled straight out of a dark fantasy game.
I was not in my era. That much was certain.
As I continued observing the scene outside, the door to the room slowly opened behind me. I turned around to see a young, fair-skinned woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was dressed in a Victorian-style maid outfit and carried a silver tray holding an elegant silver tea set.
When our eyes met, she froze, staring at me as if she had seen a ghost. A heartbeat later, she screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound sharp and piercing, like a banshee's screech.
"Young master has woken up!"
Before I could even react, she spun on her heel and bolted back the way she had come, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
I remained standing there, motionless, forcing my new body's brain to work overtime as I pieced together the situation.
Different place.Different body.And now I was being called "young master" by a maid.
That alone was confirmation enough. I had transmigrated into someone else's body, someone who lived in a different era, or perhaps an entirely different world altogether.
About a minute passed before the quiet was broken again. Footsteps creaked against the pinewood floor, growing louder and more numerous. Two people, maybe more, were approaching.
The door opened.
The maid from before rushed in first, followed closely by two men. One was a handsome, black-haired man whose face was marked with countless battle scars. His body was clad in full knightly armor, save for his helm, giving him an imposing presence. The other was an elderly, bald man with a deeply wrinkled face, dressed in layered robes and toga-like garments, resembling some kind of reclusive hermit.
All eyes fell on me.
"Young master has woken up! See!" the maid exclaimed, spreading her hands toward me as if presenting proof.
"By the Divine! The House is saved!" the knight cried, shock flashing across his scarred face.
"Truly a miracle," the hermit murmured. "None of my medicines worked, yet the young master has awakened on his own."
All three of them smiled at me brightly, their relief so genuine it was almost blinding. They looked as though my waking alone had lifted a crushing weight from their shoulders.
That only left me more confused.
Without hesitation, I spoke, choosing to feign amnesia.
"Who am I… and who are you people?"
The smiles vanished instantly. Concern rippled across their faces like a sudden chill in the room.
"S–Sir," the knight said carefully, his voice trembling, "may I humbly ask… do you remember your name?"
I shook my head in response.
After all, I was no longer Vincent.
I was someone else entirely—someone whose name I didn't even know yet.