Jake leaned back in his gaming chair, headphones askew, frustration boiling over as the words "Defeat" glowed red on his monitor. His team had choked, and now his precious, hard earned rank was in freefall. He slammed his keyboard, the clatter of plastic keys echoing in his dimly lit room.
"Stupid game," he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. The room was a chaotic reflection of his life: half-empty energy drink cans, a mountain of snack wrappers, and unopened packages stacked like a fort around his desk. Jake was 22 years old, a pro gamer. But nights like these reminded him that even kings could fall.
"You need a break, man," his friend's voice echoed in his head. That same friend had handed him a dusty old book a few weeks ago, insisting it would help Jake "chill out" after his constant tilting. At the time, Jake had laughed it off. Books weren't his thing; the only stories he cared about were the ones in games.
But tonight, with his pride in shambles, the book seemed oddly appealing. He spotted it on the corner of his desk, its leather cover cracked and faded. The title was barely legible: The Heir Forgotten.
"Why not?" he sighed, grabbing the book and flopping onto his bed. The faint smell of old paper filled his nose as he flipped it open. The first few pages introduced the protagonist, a lazy, overweight noble who squandered his family's fortune and lived in the shadow of his more capable brothers. Jake snorted.
"This guy's worse than me," he said, grinning as he read on. "How do you even fail this hard?" The noble's ineptitude was almost cartoonish. A man who couldn't even lift a sword without tripping over his own feet. Jake's laughter echoed in the room as he flipped to the next chapter.
Then, the room shifted.
The book began to glow, the words on the page swirling like smoke. Jake froze, his grin vanishing as a strange warmth spread through his hands. The glow intensified, filling his vision until he could see nothing but blinding light. He tried to let go of the book, but it was as if his fingers were fused to the pages.
"What the hell?" he yelled, panic rising in his chest. The light enveloped him, and the world around him dissolved into nothingness.
Jake awoke to the sharp sting of sunlight on his face. Groaning, he tried to sit up but immediately noticed something was wrong. His body felt... heavy. His arms were thick and soft, his fingers stubby. He looked down and saw a belly protruding where his lean gamer's frame should have been.
"What the…?" he whispered, his voice foreign to his own ears. He scrambled to his feet—or rather, attempted to. The effort left him panting, and he collapsed back onto the silk sheets of an ornate bed.
A knock at the door made him jump. Before he could answer, the door swung open, and a man in a crisp uniform stepped in, his face etched with disdain.
"Julius, Your Highness," the man said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's nearly noon. Your brothers are waiting in the hall. Shall I tell them you're too indisposed to join them again?"
Jake stared at the man, his mind racing. "Highness? Brothers? Julius? What… what is this?"
The man rolled his eyes. "Spare me your theatrics, My Lord. Just try to show a shred of dignity today. Your family's patience is wearing thin."
Before Jake could respond, the man turned on his heel and left, the door slamming shut behind him. Jake stumbled to the mirror on the wall, dread pooling in his stomach. The face staring back at him wasn't his own. It was round and pale, framed by unkempt hair, with dark circles under the eyes and a weak chin that screamed of neglect.
"No way," Jake whispered, his heart pounding. He took a step back, his legs shaking. The realization hit him like a freight train.
He was the lazy noble. The very character he had been mocking.
This cant be, Jake thought. No, no no. This is all just a stupid prank that my mind is pulling on me right now. If i pinch myself I'll wake up.
Jake took his fingers and pulled as his semi elastic skin until it hurt. He looked around disappointed to find out he was still in this unbelievable setting.
Jake's breathing quickened as he stumbled back from the mirror, his thoughts racing. "Okay, okay, think," he muttered, his voice shaky. "This has to be some lucid dream or a really bad energy drink hallucination." He scanned the room for any clue that might shatter the illusion, but everything felt unnervingly real—the cool marble floors beneath his feet, the soft rustle of the silk sheets, the faint scent of lavender wafting through the air.
"Alright, Jake, if this is a dream, you just have to ride it out. Or wake yourself up." His eyes darted to the edge of the desk. He grabbed a decorative paperweight—a polished stone carved with a crest he didn't recognize—and brought it down on his own foot.
Pain shot up his leg, sharp and immediate. Jake let out a strangled yelp, hopping on one foot as he clutched the other. "Son of a—" He froze mid-sentence, his face pale. The pain was real. Too real.
"Okay, not a dream," he whispered, panic bubbling in his chest. "Not a prank. What the hell is this?" He glanced at the mirror again, hoping for some glitch in reality that would return his own face, but the bloated noble stared back at him, just as pathetic as before.
The door burst open, and a young woman in a maid's uniform entered, carrying a tray of food. Her expression was carefully neutral, but her eyes flicked to his face with a flicker of annoyance before settling on the tray.
"Breakfast, Your Highness," she said curtly, placing the tray on the bedside table. "Though calling it breakfast when it's nearly lunchtime might be generous."
Jake opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His thoughts tangled. The maid sighed, clearly used to his awkward silences.
"Shall I inform the kitchen to prepare your second lunch in advance?" she added, her tone sharp enough to sting.
Jake's temper flared. He didn't take attitude from anyone, let alone a maid, but just as quickly, he bit it back. Something told him the situation was more precarious than it seemed. Instead, he forced an awkward laugh. "No, uh, this is fine. Thanks."
The maid raised an eyebrow, surprised. "How… uncharacteristic of you, My Lord," she said, her voice laced with suspicion. Without waiting for his reply, she curtsied and left the room.
Jake stared after her, his mind a storm of questions. What kind of life does this guy even live? He glanced at the tray of food: bread, cheese, fruit, and some sort of roasted meat. His stomach growled, and instinct took over. He grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite, his mind still racing.
"Alright, Jake, focus," he muttered through a mouthful. "You're in some messed-up isekai situation. Fine. Step one: gather information. Step two: figure out how to get back."
He paced the room, glancing at the ornate furniture and paintings that lined the walls. Whoever this guy was, he had lots of money. But clearly, his status wasn't doing him any favors with the people around him. Jake grimaced. This guy's reputation is probably worse than mine after a bad stream.
A knock at the door startled him, and a voice called out, "Your Highness, the council meeting begins in ten minutes. Your presence is required."
"Council meeting?" Jake repeated, panic setting in again. He had no idea what that meant, let alone how to handle it. But he couldn't just ignore it. If this world operated anything like the games he played, skipping important events rarely ended well.
He took a deep breath, straightened his ill-fitting tunic, and walked to the door. "Alright," he muttered to himself, trying to summon some courage. "Time to find out just how deep this rabbit hole goes."
As the door opened, the servant waiting outside gave him a once-over, clearly unimpressed. Jake forced a grin, though his palms were sweating. Fake it till you make it, right?
He stepped through the door, and held his breath for whatever awaited him.