Joon, a 15-year-old boy with hollow eyes and a weary gait, stood frozen in the doorway of his house after returning from school, his schoolbag slipping from his shoulder. The air in the apartment was thick with the scent of alcohol, a silent testimony to years of neglect and violence. As he entered, he saw his mother slumped on the couch, drunk as usual, muttering incoherently.

"You… you shouldn't have been born!" his mother screamed, her voice slurred from the alcohol that fueled her rage. She stumbled toward him, her hand clutching the jagged remains of a broken bottle. "It's your fault he's gone! Your fault my life is ruined!"

Joon didn't flinch. He had learned long ago that resisting wouldn't change anything. His eyes stared at the ground, his mind clouded with despair. It had become his daily routine, and he was beginning to wonder if he truly was at fault. Maybe if I die, Mum will be happy. Maybe Dad will come back. Yes, that's the only way Mum will be happy.

The sharp edge of the bottle sliced into his arm. He stumbled back, his head colliding with the corner of the table. Darkness crept into his vision as he heard her sobbing. This is how I die… Maybe it's better this way. Mum will finally be happy. I can rest now.

When he opened his eyes, it wasn't to the suffocating gloom of his apartment. Instead, he was bathed in warm light. He blinked, the stark contrast overwhelming his senses. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something metallic.

Joon tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back onto the plush mattress beneath him. His hand instinctively went to his chest, where he felt his heart beating faintly but steadily. His body felt… different. Lighter, yet weaker.

Am I at the hospital? Does that mean I didn't die? He sighed with a sense of guilt. If I am at the hospital… does that mean she called an ambulance?

A faint sound caught his attention. Turning his head, he saw an ornate mirror on the wall opposite the bed. The reflection staring back at him was not his own. The boy in the mirror had long blond hair that spilled over his shoulders and striking crimson eyes that seemed to glow faintly. His skin was pallid, almost translucent, and his frame was delicate.

Joon's heart raced. Panic clawed at his throat as he tried to make sense of the alien image. He pushed himself up despite the dizziness, dragging his frail body toward the mirror. Each step felt like an eternity, his legs trembling under his weight. When he finally reached the mirror, he placed a hand on the glass, half expecting the reflection to shatter and reveal his true self. But the stranger's hand mirrored his movements perfectly.

"Who…?" His voice was soft, almost a whisper, and entirely unfamiliar. His question hung in the air, unanswered. As he looked around the room, he mumbled to himself, This is not the hospital. What is this place? And why is this body not mine?

The door creaked open, and a young maid stepped in, balancing a tray of steaming tea and a bowl of soup. When she saw him standing by the mirror, the tray clattered to the floor, the porcelain shattering on impact. Her wide eyes filled with tears, and she fell to her knees.

"Your Highness! You're awake!" she cried, her voice a mix of shock and relief.

"Your… Highness?" Joon's voice trembled. His mind raced as he tried to process her words. Who was this Your Highness she spoke of? Where was he? And why was he in this body?

The maid's sobs grew louder, her words barely coherent. "We thought… we thought you wouldn't make it. The poison… it was so close to… Oh, Your Highness, we've prayed for this day!"

Poison? His gaze dropped to his hands, delicate and unmarred but trembling from weakness. Pieces of a puzzle began forming in his mind, though the picture they painted was incomprehensible.

"I…" Joon hesitated, his voice trailing off. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know the name of the body he now inhabited.

The maid's tear-streaked face looked up at him, her expression a mixture of awe and concern. "Your Highness Juhtmed, do you need me to call the physician? Should I summon your attendants?"

Juhtmed. The name sounded foreign, but it struck a chord within him. He nodded slowly, feigning exhaustion. "Yes… Call them," he murmured, his voice faltering. "I… I don't… remember much."

The maid's eyes widened further, but she didn't question him. She scrambled to her feet, bowing deeply before rushing out of the room. The sound of her footsteps faded into the distance, leaving Joon alone once more.

He turned back to the mirror, his mind a whirlwind of questions. He clenched his fists, the reflection doing the same.

"Juhtmed," he whispered, testing the name. The weight of it was heavy, filled with a history he did not yet know. His heart pounded as a realization settled over him: whoever he was, he was likely embroiled in a life far more dangerous than the one he had left behind.

"So much for escaping misery," he muttered. If this was his new reality, he would not let it end in tragedy. Not again.

The light in the room seemed colder now as he sank back into the bed, his mind racing with uncertainty. In this foreign world. But He had survived his mother. He would survive this too.

Juhtmed lay on his bed, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the canopy above him. The name Juhtmed echoed relentlessly in his mind, a reminder that his identity, his very essence, was now shrouded in mystery and expectation.

The sound of hurried footsteps disrupted his thoughts. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing an older man with a sharp face and robes embroidered with intricate symbols that bespoke authority. Following him were two younger individuals, their expressions a blend of awe and unease.

"Your Highness," the older man said, bowing deeply. His tone was composed but carried a note of urgency. "It is a miracle to see you awake. We had feared the worst."

Juhtmed met his gaze with cautious eyes, saying nothing. He observed the maid from earlier, now standing by the door, her hands clasped tightly as she watched him with anxious concern.

"I am Marlan, Your Highness," the older man continued. He set down a leather satchel, extracting tools and vials. "Your recovery is astonishing, but I must conduct an examination to ensure no traces of the poison remain."

Juhtmed nodded faintly, swallowing the torrent of questions threatening to escape his lips. Poison… Who could have wanted me dead, and why?

Marlan's cool hands brushed against his forehead as he checked his temperature. "Breathe deeply," he instructed, his tone gentle but firm. Juhtmed complied, focusing instead on scrutinizing the people around him. Observing their movements and expressions felt like the only weapon he had.

Lian, as he had overheard one of the attendants call her, remained at the door, trembling slightly as she poured a cup of tea. Her nervous glances spoke of genuine concern, though her posture betrayed an undercurrent of fear. The two young individuals accompanying Marlan exchanged wary looks, their guarded demeanors suggesting more than simple professional caution.

"You are still frail," Marlan said, his voice breaking the silence. "But your pulse is steady, and there are no signs of residual poisoning. I will prepare a tonic to bolster your recovery. Rest is essential."

"Thank you," Juhtmed replied, his tone steady despite the storm inside him. He scrutinized Marlan's face for any hidden intent, but the physician's expression remained unreadable.

When the others finally left, only Lian remained. She hovered by the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Juhtmed studied her, noting the way her eyes flickered with unspoken words.

"You… stayed," he said, breaking the silence.

Her head shot up, her cheeks flushing. "I… I wanted to make sure you were comfortable, Your Highness. If there's anything you need…at all…"

Juhtmed hesitated. Lian seemed loyal, but he couldn't afford to trust anyone blindly. Still, she might be his best chance at understanding this world. "Lian," he said carefully, "I… don't remember much. The poison… i think it affect my memory. Can you… remind me? Where am I? Who… am I?" Is it good if speak like that is she will not suspect me?

Lian's eyes widened, her hands flying to her mouth. "Oh, Your Highness! No wonder the poison must have really affected your memory! You're in the Celestial Palace, the heart of the Celestia Empire. And… you are Prince Juhtmed Jugalik Valgus III, third son of Emperor Kunin Valgus." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Born of Lady Veyna Jumalik.... the concubine of Kunin valgus and you have been poisoned and being in this state for the last six months."

Juhtmed's heart sank as he heard how long he was in this state. So this body was poisoned for the last six month no wonder he his in such bad state. "And the poison?" he asked reluanctly. "Did they find the culprit…?"

Lian shook her head vehemently. "No, Your Highness. The palace is abuzz with rumors, but no one dares to point fingers without proof. The Emperor himself has ordered an investigation, though…" She trailed off, her expression darkening.

"Though what?" Juhtmed pressed, his voice firmer now.

Her eyes darted to the door before returning to him. "Though some say His Majesty has no interest in what happens to… certain members of the family." Her voice was barely audible, but the weight of her words hit him like a blow.

Certain members of the family. Juhtmed clenched his fists. It was clear that whoever had targeted him believed he wouldn't be missed. And perhaps they were right.

"Lian," he said, his tone softening. "Thank you for telling me. I… I'll need your help in the days to come. I can't trust my own memory right now, and I may ask you to remind me a lot of things. Can you do that for me?"

Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time she nodded with fierce determination. "Of course, Your Highness. I'll do anything to help you."

As she left the room to fetch his meal, Juhtmed leaned back against the pillows, his mind a storm of thoughts. He now had a name, a place, and a faint understanding of his circumstances. But it wasn't enough. He needed to know more—about the empire, the palace, this world and the people who wanted him dead.

He stared at the ornate ceiling, the carvings above him twisting into shapes that seemed almost alive in the flickering candlelight. His old life had been a struggle for survival, and this new one was no different. But here, he had something he'd never had before: an opportunity.

He muttered to himself, his crimson eyes narrowing, "This life i will live it fully."

The flicker of determination grew into a steady flame. Juhtmed might not have chosen this life, but it was his now. And he would survive.