There were very few moments in life when James Tanner felt utterly helpless.

The first was the time he accidentally opened the door to his auntie's room at the 'worst' possible moment.

The second was now—gripping something long and stiff, sweat dripping from his face, as the tension grew unbearable.

"C'mon… just a little more," he muttered, his knuckles whitening. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple as the pressure finally released, and with a loud clunk, he pulled it out.

He let out a victorious sigh and tossed the thing—his busted bicycle chain—onto the sidewalk before producing a new one from his bag.

"Stupid piece of junk," James grumbled, wiping grease onto his trousers.

The old bike was an embarrassing relic from his college days, but his patrol car was in the shop, and as a lowly police officer fresh out of the academy, he didn't exactly have the budget for an upgrade.

This wasn't how he imagined his first week as a police officer would go.

He'd imagined dealing with criminals and saving the day. Afterall, who didn't want to kick some ass in front of a beautiful victim?

Instead, here he was, in his standard-issue uniform, crouched on a busy street corner, covered in chain grease, while passersby gave him amused glances.

"Hey there, Officer Tanner!" came a voice from behind. James didn't have to look to know it was Mrs. Carlyle, the sweet old lady who ran the bakery on the corner.

She was always popping up when he least expected it. "Struggling with your ride, are we?"

James turned around and forced a smile. "Yeah, just trying to get this thing working."

Mrs. Carlyle leaned on her cane and raised an eyebrow, peering down at his greasy pants.

"Well, it looks like you've got more grease on you than the bike. How about I get you a nice loaf of bread, eh? You look like you could use something sweet after… whatever this is."

James chuckled awkwardly. "Uh, no thanks, Mrs. Carlyle. I'll just… get back to it."

But the old lady didn't let up. She squinted at him, shaking her head.

"Such a handsome young man, but you can't even take care of yourself. You need a proper outfit, and that bike? It's practically falling apart!"

James felt his cheeks burn. "I'm fine, really. Just, uh, working on it."

"Well, hurry up and get it fixed. I don't want to see you riding around looking like you're from the Stone Age. You need to look sharp, Officer Tanner! You're representing the law!" she said with a wink, hobbling off to her bakery.

James let out a sigh of relief. At least she was gone. He shook his head and looked at his bike.

The new chain still wouldn't stay on. Maybe he was cursed with bad luck. After his first week as a police officer and he was already a mess.

"Ugh," he muttered, wiping his face, only to smear the grease around. "What is wrong with me?"

James grabbed the bars of his bike and pushed it down the street, his glasses fogging slightly from the exertion.

He tried to remind himself why he became a police officer in the first place. Protect and serve, make a difference, yadda yadda.

Right now, though, it mostly felt like protecting himself from humiliation and serving as the neighbourhood's punchline.

Vrooom!

Suddenly, the sound of a revving engine broke through his self-pity. James froze, his heart racing. He turned his head, just in time to see a red sports car zooming toward him at full speed.

"Wait, WAIT!" James shouted, frantically trying to veer out of the way. But the car showed no signs of stopping. In fact, it almost seemed to accelerate!

Bam!

The last thing he saw was the dazzling shine of the red hood, and then… darkness.

James wasn't sure how much time had passed. There was no light, no sound, no sensation. Just an endless void.

He tried to move, but his body didn't respond. 'Am I dead? Is this… the afterlife?' he wondered.

But where were the pearly gates? The choir of angels? Or, knowing his luck, the elevator descending into fire and brimstone?

'This sucks,' he thought. 'At least give me a Netflix subscription or something.'

Time stretched on endlessly. Or maybe no time passed at all. It was impossible to tell.

Eventually, James's thoughts became disjointed, flickering like static on a broken TV. He wasn't sure if he was even himself anymore.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally started to feel something. A faint pulse of energy in his chest, like a heartbeat slowly waking him up.

And then…

Gasp!

James gasped as air flooded his lungs. His body jolted upright, and he blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden light. His hands gripped soft fabric—too soft.

"What the..." It was like lying on a bed made of clouds. He looked down and saw golden sheets embroidered with intricate patterns.

"What in the world…" he mumbled, running a hand over the material. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

The room around him was even stranger. Ornate wooden beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and thick, woven tapestries adorned the walls.

A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting a warm glow over the stone floor. It was medieval in every sense of the word, yet absurdly luxurious.

It looked like something out of a medieval fantasy novel.

"Okay, what just happened?" he muttered to himself, sitting up. The first thing he noticed was the strange atmosphere.

It wasn't just the fancy bed or the strange room; it was the fact that everything felt… different. The air smelled fresh, almost like herbs and flowers.

There were no modern appliances, no phones, no lights like the ones he was used to. This didn't look like his apartment. In fact, it didn't even look like Earth anymore.

His clothes were different too—he was wearing some kind of fancy robe. "What the hell is going on?"

He placed a hand on his face. It felt smooth—almost too smooth. "Wait… I'm not dead?"

He checked himself over, touching his chest, his arms, his legs. Everything was intact, and, strangely, he felt healthier than ever. "But how? I got hit by a freaking car!"

The last thing he remembered was the red sports car hurtling toward him like a missile. There was no way he could've survived that. Unless…

His heart began to race as the realisation dawned on him. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I've… I've transmigrated, haven't I?"

He looked around again, searching for anything that might confirm his theory. The fancy medieval decor. The overly plush bed. The distinct lack of smartphones or modern appliances.

"Yep," he said, his voice filled with shock. "This isn't Kansas anymore."

His mind raced. He had read of this countless times before—people dying and waking up in a new world.

But it always sounded like some cheesy webnovel. He never imagined he'd be the one to experience it.

He stood up fully, his head spinning from the confusion. "Okay, okay, let's figure this out."

Before he could think more about it, he heard footsteps. The door creaked open, and in walked a woman, probably in her twenties, with long dark hair and a concerned look on her face.

She was wearing a maid's uniform, and she immediately froze when she saw him.

"Oh! You're awake, my lord!" she exclaimed, her voice full of shock and relief. She quickly set a tray of food down on a table near the bed and rushed over to him.

"My lord?" James blinked, confused. "Wait, did you just call me my lord?"

The maid quickly curtsied. "I'm so glad you're feeling better, my lord! I shall fetch Master Yevan immediately."

James blinked again. Master Yevan? Who was that? And why was she calling him "my lord"?

Before he could ask more questions, the maid turned and hurried out of the room, leaving James alone to process everything.

He sat there, frozen for a moment. His mind was racing. 'Master Yevan? My lord?'

He looked down at the robe he was wearing. It was far too rich for his taste, and the fabric was way too fine to be something he could afford.

What kind of identity did he have?

He was about to go after the maid and demand answers when something stopped him.

His body. It was too weak!

He hadn't noticed it when he sat up, but now that he was about to make a major movement, it was as clear as day.

He was simply too weak!

His stomach churned with both confusion and a strange sense of urgency. He needed to figure this out, and fast.

Just then, the door swung open again. The maid was standing in the doorway, her face ashen, her eyes wide as saucers.

For a moment, she simply stared at him, her mouth slightly agape. James could feel the shift in her demeanor—something had changed.

She wasn't acting like someone who had just discovered him awake. She was acting like someone who had seen a ghost.

Her hands shook as she took a cautious step into the room, her gaze locked on his face. Then, with a sudden realization, her eyes widened even more.

"Y-You can… you can see me?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

James blinked. "What are you talking about? Of course, I can see you. What the hell's going on?"

The maid's lips parted in disbelief, her gaze flicking down to his eyes and then back up to his face, almost as if she were searching for something she had never seen before.

James blinked at her, trying to process what was happening. "Wait... Why is it such a big deal that I can see?" he asked, still confused by the situation.

The maid, her hands trembling, immediately dropped into a deep curtsy, her eyes glistening with something that could almost be described as awe.

"I-I apologize for my surprise, my lord," she stammered, her voice still full of reverence. "But... I never thought this day would come."

She took a deep breath, as if to steady herself, before standing up again. Her eyes were now filled with tears, though she quickly wiped them away, trying to maintain her composure.

"I will fetch Master Yevan at once," she said, her voice breaking slightly with emotion.

With that, she turned quickly, her footsteps echoing softly as she hurried out of the room, her heart filled with a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"Well, this is great," James muttered to himself, plopping back down on the bed. "What am I supposed to do now?"

_____

Power stone Goal!

20 PS - 1 Bonus chapter

50 PS - 2 Bonus chapter

100 PS (Quite an achievement as of now) - 3 Bonus chapters.