A splitting headache was the first thing Xia Yang felt as he regained consciousness. It wasn't the dull ache of exhaustion or even the sharp sting of an injury—it was the kind of pain that made him feel as if his very soul had been shaken, forcibly jammed into a body that wasn't his own.

He groaned, barely opening his eyes. The world around him was blurry, and the soft sensation of a pillow beneath his head confused him. Hadn't he just been in the middle of something? No—hadn't he just died?

"Ah, you're awake! Good."

A familiar voice chimed in his head, one that sent an immediate jolt of irritation through his exhausted mind.

"You—" Xia Yang's voice was hoarse as he sat up abruptly, clutching his pounding forehead. "What the hell is happening now?"

The translucent figure of his ever-present system floated before him, its usual monotone laced with something he had never heard before—finality.

"Congratulations, Host," the system said. "You have reached the end of your transmigration journey."

Xia Yang blinked, his mind struggling to keep up. "What?"

"This world is your original world. Your true home." The system's voice softened. "It's time for you to settle down."

The words barely registered. He had spent countless lifetimes transmigrating—king, assassin, doctor, chef, noble, commoner, even a damn spirit beast once—but never, not once, had the system hinted that there was an 'original world' waiting for him.

"My original world?" Xia Yang repeated, disbelieving. His fingers clenched the blanket beneath him. "And what the hell am I supposed to do here?"

The system hesitated. "That is up to you, Host."

Xia Yang's brows twitched. "What do you mean, 'up to me'? What's my role here? What skills do I have? What memories do I have?"

Silence.

A terrible feeling crept up his spine.

"…You are going to restore my memories, right?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

The system paused. "Your memories will return naturally over time."

Xia Yang stiffened. That phrasing was far too vague. "So you're saying—I wake up in a body I don't recognize, in a world I have no memories of, with no skills or guidance, and I'm just supposed to figure it out?!"

The system remained silent.

Xia Yang inhaled sharply. "You absolute bastard! You dragged me through goddamn lifetimes, and now you're dumping me here with nothing?!"

"Host—"

"Don't 'Host' me, you broken, third-rate, incompetent—"

"—We will meet again when you've settled in. Goodbye."

And just like that, the presence of the system vanished.

Xia Yang stared at the empty space where the translucent figure had once been, his hands trembling with sheer, unfiltered rage.

Then—

"FUCK!!"

The curse exploded from his lips as he shot up from the bed, furiously kicking the blankets off. "What the fuck is this?! What kind of shitty system just abandons their host in an unknown world?!"

Pacing the unfamiliar bedroom, Xia Yang's mind raced. He ran his hands through his long, slightly tangled hair, his breathing uneven. This was insane. Utterly insane.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. First, assess the situation.

He turned to his surroundings. The room was luxurious—too luxurious. The soft silk sheets, the elegant furniture, the massive floor-to-ceiling windows—it all screamed wealth. That was good. He could work with wealth.

Next, his reflection. He stumbled toward a nearby mirror and froze.

Pale skin. Delicate features. Long, fluffy dark hair that barely reached past his shoulders. And—his eyes. That familiar center heterochromia—one golden, one deep blue.

His face was his.

But the body? The memories? Completely unfamiliar.

Xia Yang inhaled deeply. Then exhaled. Then—

"FUCK!!!"

He was so going to kill that system when he saw it again.