I wished to believe this was just a nightmare.
Like, maybe I fell asleep while reading that god-awful novel and my brain decided to prank me with some ultra-realistic nightmare. Any second now, my alarm would blare, and I'd wake up back in my messy room, still unemployed, still rotting away in front of my screen.
…Right?
I groaned, rubbing my face. My fingers met skin—smooth, delicate, and weirdly refined. No stubble. No roughness. Just… soft.
A creeping sense of dread settled in my stomach.
I peeked at my hands.
Thin. Pale. Almost elegant. Definitely not my hands.
Okay. Okay. I wasn't panicking yet. Maybe I was just dreaming super vividly, right? My brain was just—
Next, I attempted to get out of bed and my arms quivered like a newborn fawn. My muscles screamed in protest, and I flopped back onto the bed, wheezing like an old man running a marathon.
Oh.
Oh, hell no.
I pulled the sheet from its use, revealing a starved outfit. My arms and legs seemed to have been owned by an incorporeal loner who hadn't seen the light of day in way too long, and hadn't picked up a dumbbell in ages. My ribs? Way too visible. Shoulders? Frail. Arms? Noodle-like.
I poked my stomach. No abs. No fat, either. Just pure, undiluted weakness.
And then it hit me.
I wasn't just in another body. I was in his body.
Valerian Thorne.
A third-rate villain, mocked by the entire academy. A spoiled noble who had all the potential in the world but wasted it on whining and petty revenge. The type of guy, tall, rich and thin, who was, shamelessly, actually pathetically helpless.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuu—" I groaned, dragging my hands down my face.
This was bad. No, this was disastrous.
Certainly, I had an edge, knowing the story's ultimate fate, but that would mean little if a rigid wind could see me to earth.
I sat up again—slowly, this time—and glanced around.
The room was fancy in that old-money noble kind of way. The bed? Huge, canopy-style, covered in deep blue silk sheets. A wooden dresser, polished to perfection, stood by the wall. The curtains were heavy, all but totally cutting out the daylight, but even in the dimness I knew—that was Valerian's room at the Thorne place.
So it was real.
I had really transmigrated.
I exhaled through my nose. "Alright… don't freak out."
I needed to assess my situation. What did I have?
1. Knowledge of the story's events.
2. A noble background (though my family hated me).
3. A frail, noodle-like form, certainly likely to break if a person jumped even mildly hard.
4. …No combat skills. No magic proficiency. No reputation.
Okay, so I was starting from rock bottom. Cool. Great. Love that for me.
I moved and, as I did so, a sharp ding sound rang through my head.
──────────────
[System Activation]
──────────────
I froze.
Wait. Wait.
I knew that sound. That was the System notification. The same system which was intended to let the real protagonist get stronger.
But—why was I getting it?
Before I could process that, a transparent blue screen popped up in my vision.
──────────────
[Welcome, Host!]
[Initializing System…]
[Error: Host's body is below acceptable standard.]
[Adjusting parameters…]
[Error: Host's talent is atrocious.]
[Activating Emergency Protocol.]
──────────────
I stared at the messages, my eye twitching.
"…Excuse me?"
I was being judged by the system?
Before I could even be properly offended, the screen flickered again.
──────────────
[Special System Mode: Adaptive Growth Activated]
[Your potential is being recalculated…]
[New Growth Path Generated!]
──────────────
The text shifted, and a new screen appeared.
──────────────
[Current Status]
Name: Valerian Thorne
Strength: 2 (Below Average)
Endurance: 4 (Weak)
Agility: 3 (Below Average)
Mana Affinity: 1 (Tragic)
Talent: 3 (Laughable)
──────────────
…
I had expected some bad news. I knew Valerian was a disappointment. But this?
"Mana Affinity one?" I whispered, horrified.
No, no, no. That was basically the fantasy equivalent of being allergic to magic.
And Talent three? That meant even if I trained, I'd be progressing at snail speed.
I locked up, my fingernails scraping against my flesh.
I refused. Refused to accept this.
──────────────
[New Objective: Break Past Your Limits]
[Due to Host's unique determination, special growth conditions have been unlocked]
[Adaptive Growth: The weaker you start, the greater your potential. Your training efficiency will increase drastically based on effort.]
──────────────
I inhaled sharply.
So, I wasn't completely doomed.
The system had adjusted itself to my trash-tier stats, meaning if I worked hard enough, I could get stronger.
A spark of hope ignited in my chest.
Sure, this body was weak now. But I had a chance—a real chance—to change that.
I pulled myself out of bed, legs wobbly beneath my own body. My muscles screamed in protest, and for one agonizing second, I braced myself to hit the ground flat.
But I held steady.
I clenched my fists.
I wasn't Valerian Thorne, the failure.
I was Max. And I definitely wasn't going to let this narrative have the same ending.
If the system was giving me an opportunity, I'd take it.
One step at a time.
One victory at a time.
I would rise.
No matter what.