There was only darkness surrounding Clark, and when he looked down to see his body, there was none.
"So this is what it looks like to die huh?" Clark muttered though no voice escaped from his lips as there was none. All those words resounded only in his head.
But first—how did he get here?
The reason was simple: he was caught in a car accident. There was a pile up ahead of him and he managed to stop just in time. Until—a speeding truck who probably dozed off crashed from behind and squished his pitiful sedan with him in it.
He had no problem dying as he believed that everyone would die eventually. He just didn't expect that it would come from an accident. After all—he was a great scientist, hailed by many in his country. He had imagined a grander end, one where he lay on his deathbed as an old man, giving exclusive interviews to the media, reminiscing about his accomplishments, and spending his final days surrounded by family.
But fate had chosen differently. No farewell speeches. No accolades. Just an abrupt and senseless collision.
"This can't be it," Clark thought bitterly, his consciousness adrift in the void. A deep longing stirred within him. If I could be reborn… I'd want to live a life on my own terms—a life worthy of the legacy I once dreamed of.
As if in answer to his unspoken wish, a light appeared in the distance. At first, it was faint, like a star on the horizon, but it grew steadily brighter, casting away the suffocating darkness. Clark felt an unseen force pulling him toward it. He didn't resist. Instead, he let himself be drawn into its embrace.
When the light engulfed him completely, everything shifted.
Clark blinked, adjusting to the dim, golden glow of sunlight filtering through a small window. He found himself lying in a modest bed with a wooden frame. The room was quaint, with walls and a ceiling made of timber. He pushed himself upright and took in the surroundings—there were no beeping machines, no sterile white walls, and no trace of modern technology.
Confusion swept over him. He swung his legs off the bed, his feet meeting the cool, wooden floor. The texture was real, unmistakable. Slowly, he rose to his feet, his body feeling oddly different—lighter. As he steadied himself, his eyes fell on a large, freestanding mirror across the room. He stumbled toward it, curiosity and apprehension mounting with each step.
The reflection staring back at him wasn't the middle-aged scientist he expected. Instead, a young man stood in his place—around fifteen years old, with messy brown hair, a scrawny build, and a face that was both unfamiliar yet oddly handsome in a youthful way. He was clad in a simple tunic and pants.
"What... is this?" he muttered, his voice carrying a softer, younger tone than he remembered. He touched his face, his hands trembling slightly. The reflection mimicked his movements perfectly.
A wave of realization hit him. He had not simply survived or awoken in some unknown hospital. He had been reincarnated—into another world, by the looks of it. His surroundings hinted at a pre-industrial era. There was no sign of electricity, no wires, no devices. It was as if he had stepped into a fantasy novel.
Suddenly—there was a sharp pain throbbing in his head. Memories flooded in, overwhelming him with a torrent of emotions and experiences that were not his own. He clutched his temples, staggering as fragmented images pieced themselves together.
The name Cornelius Drennan echoed in his mind. He was now inhabiting the body of Cornelius, the only son of the Drennan family, a minor noble family known for their successful clothing shop in the capital city of the Kingdom of Musuria. Both of Cornelius's parents had perished in a tragic accident—a shipwreck during a business trip just a month ago. Their untimely deaths had devastated the young man, causing him to retreat from the world and shut himself inside his room.
Clark—or Cornelius, as he now was—understood the reason for his current condition. The previous owner of this body had spiraled into despair, leaving himself in a neglected state. The messy room and the faint, stale odor confirmed this.
"Poor kid," Clark muttered softly, sympathy washing over him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. This isn't just my life now. I've inherited everything—his name, his history, and his responsibilities.
One memory in particular stood out—a figure named Mobirunerk. According to Cornelius's memories, Mobirunerk was the current manager of the Drennan family's clothing shop, located on the floor below. He wasn't human but rather a humanoid rodent creature, standing about a meter tall, with golden fur and multiple vulpine-like tails. Clark blinked at the absurdity of it. A humanoid rodent with tails? Sounds like something straight out of fantasy.
His curiosity got the better of him. He needed to see it for himself. Ignoring the state of his room, Clark made his way to the door. His legs felt wobbly at first, but he quickly adjusted. He stepped into a narrow wooden hallway, descending a creaky staircase that led to the shop below.
The shop was modest but well-maintained. Sunlight streamed through large windows, illuminating rows of finely crafted garments displayed on mannequins and shelves. As Clark reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a voice—a low, formal tone that carried an air of sophistication.
"Master Cornelius. Kyerk! I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever emerge from your self-imposed seclusion," the voice said.
Clark turned and froze. Standing near a counter was Mobirunerk. He was exactly as the memories had described—golden fur gleaming in the sunlight, large vulpine tails gently swaying behind him. He wore an immaculately tailored suit, complete with a monocle perched over one eye.
Mobirunerk adjusted his monocle and gave a slight bow. "Kyerk! It's good to see you on your feet again, young master. Though I must say, you appear somewhat... disoriented."
Clark stared, momentarily at a loss for words. He had never seen anything like this creature before, but Mobirunerk's presence exuded a calm professionalism. Finally, Clark found his voice. "Uh… yeah, I guess I've been out of it for a while."
Mobirunerk raised an eyebrow but said nothing about the odd response. Instead, he gestured toward the shop's interior.
"As you can see, Kyerk, business is not doing good so far. This store had been open for six hours and not even a shopper or a looker entered this establishment."
"Is that so?"
"It is—Kyerk."
Clark tilted his head, frowning slightly at the strange vocal tic. He decided to ask.
"What's with the 'Kyerk' thing? You keep saying it.
Mobirunerk's golden eyes widened, and his tails twitched in surprise. He adjusted his monocle again and gave Clark a scrutinizing look. "You don't know? How peculiar... Only Shegoes—my kind—typically use 'Kyerk' in our speech." His voice carried a tone of both amusement and mild suspicion. "Have you perhaps hit your head recently, young master? You seem unusually forgetful today."
Clark hesitated. He didn't want to seem too suspicious by probing too deeply into what was apparently common knowledge. He decided to play it off casually. "Ah, yeah, I must have forgotten. My mind's been... clouded since, well, everything that happened with my parents."
At that, Mobirunerk's expression softened. He gave a slow, understanding nod. "Of course, my condolences once again, young master. You have endured much in such a short time. Grief clouds the mind and heart alike, kyerk," He placed a small paw-like hand over his chest in a gesture of sympathy.
Clark shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to dwell on Cornelius's tragic past any more than necessary. "Thanks. But I need to start moving forward now, right? I can't let the business fall apart."
Mobirunerk nodded approvingly, his tails giving an enthusiastic swish. "Indeed, that is the spirit I hoped to see return in you! The shop is the legacy of the Drennan family. But first, regain your strength. You weren't eating properly during your seclusion. I will close the store for today and take care of you."
Clark blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the gesture of care. "Close the store? Is that really necessary?" he asked.
Mobirunerk gave a knowing smile. "Kyerk! Absolutely, young master. A business cannot thrive if its master is not in good health. You've neglected yourself for weeks. If I may be frank, no customer will feel confident in a shop whose owner appears... disheveled." He waved a paw, gesturing toward Clark's worn tunic and messy hair. "Rest and recovery must come first."
Clark sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He hated the idea of wasting time, especially when there was so much potential to unlock in this new world. However, Mobirunerk wasn't wrong. He needed to rebuild his physical strength and appearance to gain credibility in this society. First impressions mattered in any world.
"Alright," Clark relented.