For the third time that day, Alexander let out a heavy sigh. He sat slumped behind his desk, drowning in the monotony of numbers scrolling across his screen. The rhythmic clatter of keyboards, the dull hum of conversations among his coworkers—it all melded into a background noise he barely registered anymore.
A glance at the clock on the wall told him it was 5:47 p.m. The minutes dragged by with unbearable lethargy.
How long had he felt this way? Stuck in an endless loop where every day blurred into the next like an unbroken chain.
Alexander's only escape? The web novels he devoured religiously every evening. Those stories were his lifeline, his last refuge of joy. One, in particular, stood above the rest: The Ballad of the Dark Fate.
The protagonist was the epitome of an antihero—a dark and unapologetically arrogant figure. Alexander couldn't help but admire him. He was bold, fearless, and unshackled by life's drudgeries. Everything Alexander wished he could be.
If only...
"Alex! Time to lock up!" A voice suddenly cut through the open office floor.
Alexander jolted out of his daydream. His colleague smirked from the next desk over, already shutting down his computer.
"Still dreaming about your web-somethings again?"
"Nah... just, y'know, numbers," Alexander muttered absentmindedly.
Shutting his computer off with another weary sigh, he grabbed his coat and headed out into the night.
The icy air greeted him like an unwelcome slap, forcing his hands deep into his pockets. As he walked along the lamp-lit streets, his mind wandered back to those fantastical worlds he yearned to escape into.
A bitter smile touched his lips. The whole notion was absurd. No one ever truly escaped their dreary reality.
Or so he thought.
"Look out!"
The shout pierced the air like a lightning strike.
Alexander froze mid-step, suddenly aware of the speeding car hurtling toward him.
The impact came before he could even process the danger. A blinding flash of light, a sharp burst of pain, and then... nothing.
---
What comes after death?
A bright light? Endless darkness?
Whatever it was supposed to be, Alexander never could've imagined this.
He found himself lying in a grand, opulent bedroom. Rich red velvet curtains framed the towering windows, and an ornate crystal chandelier glittered overhead.
This is death?
That was Alexander's first thought.
He lay on a canopy bed adorned with luxurious silk sheets and impossibly soft pillows.
If this is death, he thought dryly, I should've died sooner.
But something felt... off. A subtle unease gnawed at him, growing louder the more he looked around.
Sitting upright against the ornate headboard, he hesitantly glanced down at himself. His heart skipped a beat.
No. This wasn't right.
Panic rose in his chest as he began patting his body, desperate to confirm the horrifying suspicion building within him. He stumbled out of bed and dashed to the floor-length mirror at the far end of the room.
The reflection staring back wasn't his.
He approached slowly, breath hitching in his throat. Gone were his tired eyes and messy black hair. In their place was a young, strikingly handsome face framed by long, chestnut hair and piercingly cold blue eyes. His posture was upright, regal even, with broad shoulders and a powerful frame.
Turning his head from side to side, Alexander watched his new hair shift fluidly with the motion. Tentatively, he touched his unfamiliar face—tracing smooth cheeks, firm lips, and strong arms that were not his own.
"What...?"
He stumbled back, fingers trailing across his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms. His heart raced, but it wasn't from fear. No, this was something else.
Exhilaration.
This couldn't be real.
But it was. Every sensation, every detail, felt too vivid to be a mere dream.
He ran his hands through his hair, astonished by its silky texture, and made a few quick turns, glancing from one side to the other. The total control he felt over this new body was exhilarating—nothing like the old Alexander he used to be.
A sly grin crept onto his face.
To Alexander, one thing was clear: he had reincarnated. Any avid reader of web novels could see that.
He gave the lavish bedroom another once-over. Every inch of the room screamed opulence—the thick velvet curtains, the polished dark wood furniture, the elegantly placed scented candles…
"Alright then..."
Placing a hand over his chest, he tried to ground himself in this surreal reality.
He moved toward a massive, gleaming window and slowly pulled back the curtain. Outside, sprawling, meticulously designed gardens stretched as far as the eye could see. The sky above was a pristine blue, without a single cloud to mar its beauty.
"Where the hell am I...?"
Turning back to the ornate mirror, he studied his face again. This wasn't some random villager or side character's body—no, this was someone important. The chiseled jawline, the commanding presence... This body screamed royalty or, at the very least, nobility.
A faint sound from behind jolted him from his thoughts. He whipped around, every muscle tensed.
At the far end of the room, a door creaked open, and an elderly man dressed in an immaculate black-and-white uniform stepped in. His silvery hair was slicked back perfectly, and his weathered face lit up with a warm smile.
"Young master," the man greeted with a deep bow. "Your meal is ready. Shall I escort you?"
Alexander's mouth opened, but no words came out.
Young master?
Was he truly a noble in this strange, new world? A prince, perhaps?
Clearing his throat to hide his hesitation, he managed a simple, "Lead the way."
The butler nodded, his movements exuding grace. "Very well. But first…" He clapped his hands with practiced precision.
Immediately, a small group of maidservants filed into the room, each dressed in crisp, perfectly tailored uniforms. They bowed in unison, their synchronized actions impeccable.
Alexander's jaw almost hit the floor.
One of the maids, a young woman with neatly tied blonde hair, stepped forward hesitantly.
"Young master," she said softly, "we are here to assist you. If you will allow it…"
Without speaking, Alexander gave a stiff nod.
The maids moved swiftly, gesturing politely for him to follow them to an adjoining room that served as a bathroom.
I guess I'll have to get used to this…
Inside, they gently began to disrobe him, their practiced hands removing his nightwear. Though he felt slightly uncomfortable, Alexander let it happen, stepping into the steaming bathtub they had prepared for him.
The heat of the water melted away tension he didn't even realize he'd been holding.
But the bathing ritual? It was… awkward. Deeply awkward.
The warm, fragrant water embraced his body as the maids worked around him, meticulously scrubbing his arms, back, and chest. Despite their professionalism, he couldn't shake the creeping discomfort.
As they carried out their duties, he stared hard at the ceiling, biting his lip.
It's just like in a novel, Alexander. Breathe. Stay composed. This isn't real... or, well, it kind of is, but—
His thoughts shattered when one of the maids leaned in closer, her hand moving lower toward his abdomen.
A shiver shot up his spine—a volatile mix of embarrassment, unease, and a flicker of panic. But the maid, focused on her task, showed no intention of stopping.
That's when Alexander snapped.
Without thinking, he grabbed her hair in one swift, forceful motion. She gasped, a soft yelp escaping her lips, while the other maids froze mid-movement, their eyes wide with shock.
Water splashed onto the tiled floor as Alexander stood abruptly, towering over them, water cascading down his body like a tempest.
"You think I'll just sit here and accept this?"
A crooked smile twisted his lips. "Why should I play the role of a perfect noble? Why should I hold back?"
The room fell deathly silent.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound of water falling from his hair and body onto the tub's surface was all that echoed in the tense air.
Slowly, Alexander sank back into the water, his movements deliberate, his eyes scanning each face. The maids didn't dare move, paralyzed by the sharp shift in his demeanor.
Here's the translation into an intense, "Hollywood-style" English narrative:
---
He blinked, a strange feeling welling up inside him. These women… they obeyed him. Absolutely. Without hesitation. He hadn't even needed to raise his voice or make a convincing argument.
A smile slowly curved his lips, faint at first, then growing wider. The sensation of holding such power in his hands was intoxicating, almost...
So this is what it feels like to matter? To be someone no one dares question?
A servant stepped forward hesitantly, her hands trembling. She resumed the task Alexandre had interrupted, washing his arm with the utmost care, as though one clumsy movement might offend or hurt him. Alexandre followed her every move with a steady gaze, his smile unbroken.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked suddenly.
The woman flinched, straightening up slightly. "N-no, young master, never," she stammered.
A deep, low chuckle escaped Alexandre's throat. "Really? Then why are your hands shaking?"
She immediately lowered her eyes, mumbling incoherent apologies. Alexandre nodded, basking in the growing sense of control surging through him.
When another servant approached to wash his back, he leaned forward slightly, his smile darkening. The way their hands slid over his skin, their delicate and deliberate movements… It stirred something within him, a warmth he struggled to ignore.
As one servant hesitated near his lower abdomen for the second time, he didn't flinch. Instead, he slowly raised a hand, halting her movement. He stared at her with quiet intensity. "Careful…"
She froze, her eyes darting between his face and the task she was about to perform. Alexandre's gaze deepened, a subtle magnetism emanating from him. Finally, he lowered his hand, sinking back against the edge of the bath with an expression of serene dominance.
The minutes that followed were steeped in an intoxicating, electric atmosphere.
---
What do you think of this interpretation?