"God… I need sleep."
That thought had been looping in my head for the past six hours, but it didn't matter. Sleep was irrelevant today. Completely obsolete.
Because today… was release day.
Four years. That's how long it had been since the developers of my favorite game vanished into silence—no dev logs, no leaks, nothing but a single teaser dropped like a breadcrumb meant to drive people insane. And it worked. It absolutely worked.
Dozens of silhouettes. New regions. New mechanics.
And most importantly—
New characters.
Of course, it was still a gacha game.
Meaning luck wasn't just a mechanic—it was a currency. And if you didn't have it? You compensated with money.
A lot of money.
Luckily… I wasn't exactly restrained when it came to that.
So here I was, sitting in a cramped university restroom stall, phone glowing in my hand, debit card balanced precariously against my knee, watching the countdown tick down like it was the final seconds before impact.
"Five…"
I didn't even notice the world around me anymore.
"Four…"
The noise of the campus, the chatter, even the fact that I'd been sitting here way longer than necessary—none of it registered.
"Three…"
My entire being had collapsed into a single point.
"Two…"
This roll.
"...One."
The screen flashed.
"…Connection unstable."
I blinked.
My brain didn't catch up immediately. It didn't want to.
Because in my head, I'd already won.
Of course I'd get him. There's no way I don't.
"Come on… come on—"
The screen flickered again.
Then—
"—YES! LET'S GO!"
I slammed my hand against the stall wall without thinking.
BANG.
"Hey! Chill out, man!" a voice snapped from the next stall. "Some of us are trying to survive in here!"
"Sorry—sorry!" I shot back instinctively, lowering my voice, though my heart was still racing like I'd just won a championship.
Didn't matter.
I was already back in the game.
Skipped everything. Animations, dialogue, all of it.
Straight to the banner.
Straight to the shop.
Card ready.
No hesitation.
"I need him."
Not want.
Need.
"Card ending in 9072… expiry… 11/36… name…"
I paused.
"…Rowan Veyne?"
That wasn't my name.
I frowned for half a second.
Then shrugged.
"Probably autofill bug."
Tapped confirm.
Processing…
Processing…
ERROR.
"…What?"
Tapped again.
ERROR.
"Don't start this—"
ERROR: PAYMENT DECLINED.
"No, no, no—!"
"DUDE!" the guy next door groaned, voice strained. "Either you're dying or winning the lottery, pick one and shut up!"
I went quiet.
Completely.
Just stared at the screen like it might fix itself if I didn't move.
It didn't.
Time passed. I don't know how long.
Eventually, a flush broke the silence.
A sigh of relief.
"Finally," the guy muttered, stepping out. "Peace at last."
Footsteps faded.
And then—
Nothing.
No movement.
No sound.
Just the faint glow of a phone screen, still lit in the empty stall.
"Congratulations! You have acquired: Rowan Veyne — The Fallen Heir."
"…Why is it cold?"
That was the first coherent thought I had when I woke up.
Not where I was.
Not what happened.
Just—
Cold.
A sharp, unnatural cold pressing against my skin.
My eyes opened slowly.
This wasn't tile.
It wasn't cheap, cracked university flooring.
This was—
Stone.
Smooth. Pale. Veined with faint silver.
My breath hitched.
"…What…?"
I pushed myself up too quickly, my vision spinning.
The room expanded around me—wide, elegant, absurdly luxurious. High ceilings, carved pillars, an enormous mirror framed in dark metal. Sunlight streamed in through a tall window, casting long streaks of gold across the floor.
A bath sat to the side—deep, ornate, untouched.
And me?
Completely naked.
"…Okay. That's… new."
Clothes lay nearby.
Not casual. Not modern.
Formal.
Dark fabric, layered, stitched with intricate patterns that screamed status.
I reached for my head—
Clink.
"…Ow—what the hell?"
Something tugged at my wrist.
A chain.
Attached to it—a small crystal vial.
Inside, a liquid the color of dried blood shimmered faintly.
"…This again?"
And then—
It came crashing in.
Not thoughts.
Not memories.
A life.
A boy—curled on the ground, shielding himself as laughter echoed around him.
Voices.
Mocking.
Cruel.
"Pathetic."
"You don't belong here."
"Just disappear already."
Training grounds. Failure. Repetition. Failure again.
A man watching from above.
Unmoved.
Uninterested.
A father in title only.
The vial.
Hidden away.
Discovered by accident.
Clutched like salvation.
Or escape.
A locked room.
A trembling hand.
A swallow.
Darkness.
I staggered back, gripping the edge of the bath.
"…No way…"
My reflection stared back at me.
Not mine.
Black hair. Sharp features. Eyes too tired for someone this young.
"…I became him?"
My voice sounded wrong.
Lower. Colder.
"Rowan Veyne…"
The name slipped out naturally.
Too naturally.
"The forgotten heir."
Seventh son.
Born without talent.
Without magic.
Without worth.
A stain on a lineage built on power.
And now—
Me.
I let out a hollow laugh.
"I was trying to pull him…"
My fingers tightened.
"…Not replace him."
Silence.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Knock. Knock.
I flinched.
"My lord? Are you… alright?"
A voice from outside. Calm. Measured.
I swallowed.
Think.
"Y-Yes," I answered, forcing steadiness. "I'm fine."
A pause.
"You've been inside for quite some time."
"…Lost track," I said.
A soft hum. "Shall I prepare your meal?"
"Yeah… sure."
Footsteps retreated.
I exhaled slowly.
"…Okay."
I looked at the vial again.
Then at my reflection.
"New world. Noble house. Zero talent."
A bitter smile crept in.
"And a character with a death flag already triggered."
I picked up the clothes.
Heavy.
Fitting perfectly.
"Yeah…"
I dressed, tying back my hair with a strip of cloth I somehow knew how to use.
Muscle memory.
Not mine.
His.
I stepped toward the door, pausing just before opening it.
"…Let's be honest."
My grip tightened on the handle.
"I didn't get lucky."
A quiet chuckle escaped me.
"I just got selected."
The door creaked open.
A long corridor stretched ahead—dim, quiet, lined with banners bearing a crest I instinctively recognized.
A broken crown.
Pierced by a blade.
House Veyne.
I stepped out.
"…This isn't a second chance."
My eyes hardened slightly.
"It's a continuation."
And judging by the memories still clawing at the edges of my mind—
"…I'm starting at the worst possible point."
A pause.
Then a faint, almost amused whisper left my lips.
"…Perfect."