Cold. That was the first thing he felt. A biting chill gnawed at his skin, making him shiver. He tried to flip over, expecting the familiar warmth of his dorm bed, only to realize…
This wasn't his bed.
His eyes shot open. The ceiling above him was old, cracked, and covered in dust. Blinking away the last remnants of sleep, he sat up in a panic.
"Where the hell…?"
He was inside a small, rundown hut. Dirt covered the wooden floor, the walls looked like they could collapse at any second, and in the far corner, there was… a bucket. He didn't want to know what it was used for.
The cold wind whistled through an open window, sending another shiver down his spine. Instinctively, he stood up, brushing off the dust that had gathered on his clothes. His boots sank slightly into the wooden planks, their fuzzy dark brown fabric keeping some warmth in. The slim dark blue coat he wore fit snugly around his frame, while his slightly baggy leather pants made moving easier.
Then, he caught his reflection in the window's frost-covered glass.
He froze.
The face staring back at him wasn't his.
Messy, wavy cantaloupe hair, vibrant teal eyes that practically glowed, fair yet slightly flushed skin from the cold. He was dressed in a stylish—though worn—coat with a loose tie hanging around his neck. There was no mistaking it.
"…No way."
He leaned closer, gripping the windowsill as his breath fogged up the glass.
"Lucien Foster…?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Lucien Foster. The character he had chosen in Eclipse of Arcadia—a fantasy RPG romance game with ridiculous power levels, absurdly beautiful women, and a lot of ways to die horribly.
His stomach twisted.
"Why the hell am I him?"
Panic surged through his chest as he stumbled back, his mind racing through possibilities. Dream? Coma? Hallucination? Did he hit his head? No, this was real. Too real.
He started pacing. "Okay, okay, think. Maybe this is some weird glitch? Maybe I got isekai'd? Do I have a system? Status screen? Something?"
Nothing popped up.
"Of course not."
His hands ran through his now-cantaloupe hair in frustration. He needed answers—fast. Before he could process his next move—
THUNK.
An arrow zipped past his head, embedding itself deep into the wall behind him.
He stopped breathing.
Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head to look at the arrow. Then at the window he had been staring out of moments ago. Then back at the arrow.
Outside, he heard voices. Footsteps crunching through the snow.
His lips parted as a single word left his mouth.
"…Oh, f—"