Zen had learned early on that life was rarely kind. It started with the car crash that claimed his parents when he was six years old. He didn't have any other family willing—or able—to take him in. What came next was a revolving door of orphanages, foster homes, and cold beds in rooms shared with other children who carried the same heavy weight of being unwanted.
Zen wasn't bitter about it. He refused to let himself be. Bitterness had a way of sinking its claws into your soul, dragging you down until all you could see was darkness. Zen wouldn't give it the satisfaction. Instead, he resolved to fight—to claw his way out of every pit life threw him into, no matter how deep. If the world didn't want him, he'd make sure he gave it a reason to notice him.
That resolve carried him through years of sleepless nights, bent over textbooks and flickering library lamps. He worked harder than anyone else, studied later, sacrificed more. And it paid off. By the time he turned eighteen, Zen had not only gotten into the best university in the city, but he'd earned a scholarship to cover most of it. The orphanage staff clapped him on the back and called him a success story. Zen just smiled and nodded, though in the back of his mind, he knew the fight wasn't over yet.
University wasn't any easier. If anything, it was harder. But Zen didn't back down. He graduated with honors, his name printed in bold letters on the commencement program. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to breathe. He'd done it. All that was left was to secure a good job, save up, and start living the life he'd dreamed about since he was a kid.
When Zen got the call from Lark Enterprises offering him a position as a junior analyst, he almost didn't believe it. Lark Enterprises was one of the most prestigious companies in the country. People would kill for a chance to work there. And now, at just twenty-one, Zen had managed to secure a spot.
He celebrated with cheap ramen and a bottle of soda he'd been saving for a special occasion. The orphanage didn't teach much about fine dining, but Zen figured it didn't matter. The important thing was that he'd made it.
The morning of his first day was crisp and clear, with a pale blue sky stretching endlessly above him. Zen pulled on his best suit—a hand-me-down from an older kid at the orphanage that he'd tailored himself—and stepped out of his tiny studio apartment. He caught his reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror before leaving: black wavy hair that refused to be tamed, hazel eyes that leaned more toward green in the sunlight, and a pale face that carried the faintest hint of dark circles under his eyes. Not perfect, but presentable.
The bus ride to the office was uneventful. Zen spent most of it running through mental checklists, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything. By the time he stepped into the towering glass building, his nerves had settled into a buzzing excitement.
The day itself was a blur. Meetings, introductions, and an overwhelming amount of information poured into him like water through a sieve. Zen took it all in stride, nodding at the right moments, taking meticulous notes, and doing his best to memorize every face and name.
By the time the clock struck five, he was exhausted but satisfied. He'd done it. His first day at Lark Enterprises was officially over, and he hadn't screwed anything up. Zen packed up his things, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed for the exit.
The streets were busier now, filled with the hum of evening traffic and the chatter of people heading home. Zen turned the corner toward the bus stop, his thoughts already drifting to what he'd make for dinner. Maybe he'd splurge and order takeout. He deserved it, after all.
He didn't see the car coming.
One moment, he was crossing the street. The next, there was a deafening screech of tires, a blinding flash of headlights, and a sickening crunch as the car slammed into him. The horrid sound of metal against bone. Pain exploded in his chest, sharp, suffocating, and all-consuming, before everything went dark.
Zen wasn't sure how long he floated in the void. Time didn't seem to exist here—just an endless, suffocating blackness that pressed against him from all sides. Was this death? He'd always imagined it would be...quieter. Peaceful, maybe. But there was nothing peaceful about this.
"Is this how it ends?" he thought bitterly. "I worked so hard. I clawed my way out of every hole life threw me into, and this is what I get? Hit by some careless driver on my first day of work? What a joke."
But then, something shifted. The darkness cracked, like glass splintering under pressure, and a faint, shimmering light seeped through the cracks. Before Zen could process what was happening, the void shattered entirely, and he was falling—falling through the light, through colors that blurred and twisted like a kaleidoscope.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stopped.
Zen's eyes snapped open. For a moment, all he could see was white—pristine, blindingly white walls that seemed to glow under the soft light of an overhead chandelier. His head throbbed, and his body felt oddly...light, like he wasn't fully connected to it.
He groaned, pushing himself up on what he realized was a plush, velvet-lined couch. The room around him came into focus: elegant furniture, marble floors, and tall windows that let in streams of golden sunlight. Everything was immaculate, almost unnaturally so.
"What the hell…?" Zen muttered, his voice hoarse.
This wasn't his apartment. It wasn't even the hospital, which is where he assumed he'd wake up after being hit by a car.
Before he could think too much about it, a soft, melodic voice echoed in the room.
"Welcome, Host."
Zen froze, his eyes darting around the empty space. "Who said that?" he demanded.
The voice laughed, light and almost musical. "I am System 7, but you may call me Luna. Congratulations on being selected for the Quick Transmigration Program."
"Quick what now?" Zen blinked, his confusion quickly giving way to irritation.
"Listen, Luna or whatever your name is, I don't know what kind of prank this is, but I'm not in the mood. I just got hit by a car, for crying out loud."
"You did indeed die," Luna said cheerfully, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.
"You died quite spectacularly, I might add."
Zen froze. The words hit him like a second collision. "Died? No. No, no, no. I was just—" He cut himself off, memories of screeching tires and blinding headlights rushing back. His stomach twisted. "So, what is this, then? Heaven? Hell?"
Neither," Luna replied. "You are currently in a neutral processing space. Think of it as a waiting room between life and death."
"Great. So I'm dead. Just fantastic." Zen rubbed his temples. "What's this 'Quick Transmigration Program' you mentioned?"
"It's your ticket back to life!" Luna chirped, her tone entirely too bright.
Zen stared blankly, his jaw slack. This couldn't be real. He must've hit his head harder than he thought. "You're joking, right?"
"I assure you, I am not," Luna replied.
"Here's how it works: You'll be transported into the bodies of individuals who have recently passed away. Your task is to fulfill a specific mission in each world. Do well, and you'll accumulate enough points for me to send you back to your original timeline, just moments before your untimely demise."
Zen stared blankly at the empty space where Luna's voice was coming from. "You want me to...what? Play dress-up in someone else's body?"
"Think of it more as…temporary possession," Luna said lightly. "And your role will always be the same: You'll be the secretary to the male lead of each world."
Zen blinked. "Secretary? That's it?"
"Yes," Luna confirmed. "Your primary objective is to ensure that the male lead's life runs as smoothly as possible. Be the perfect secretary—manage his schedule, solve problems, and handle any obstacles that might derail his success."
"That sounds boring," Zen muttered.
"There's more!" Luna continued as if she hadn't heard him.
"In each world, the male lead's ultimate goal is to achieve maximum financial success. Your job is to help him get there. If you do, you'll complete the mission."
Zen's jaw tightened. "And what if I don't feel like being someone's errand boy?"
Luna's voice turned sharp. "Then you'll remain in the void. Forever."
Zen flinched. "You can't be serious."
"I am completely serious," Luna replied, her earlier cheerfulness returning.
"Refusal isn't an option, Host. But look on the bright side: If you perform well, you'll be back in your original world in no time."
Zen pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, let me get this straight. I died, and now I'm being forced to hop through different worlds, babysitting some random guy's life just to get a second chance at mine?"
"That's the gist of it, yes," Luna said brightly.
"And if I screw up?" Zen asked not quite believing what he's hearing.
"You'll have to start over in another world," Luna replied.
"Or stay in the void, depending on how badly you fail."
Zen groaned. He wanted to argue, to demand that Luna send him back without all this nonsense. But deep down, he knew she wasn't bluffing. Whatever this was—whatever she was—she had the upper hand. He didn't have a choice.
"Fine," he muttered through gritted teeth. "I'll do it."
"Wonderful!" Luna exclaimed. "Your first mission will begin shortly. I suggest you prepare yourself."
"Prepare myself? For what—?"
Before he could finish, the room around him began to dissolve. The pristine walls melted away, replaced by swirling colors that twisted and blurred. A strange weightless sensation overtook him, and Luna's voice echoed faintly in his mind.
"Good luck, Host. Be the best secretary you can be."