A sharp, searing pain filled Ethan's head as he gasped awake, his body shivering from the biting cold of the damp alleyway. His fingers twitched against the rough, uneven cobblestone beneath him, and the putrid scent of rotting garbage and stale alcohol invaded his nose. His vision was blurry, his body aching as if he had been beaten within an inch of his life.
His first coherent thought was confusion.
Where… am I?
Memories surfaced—a bright explosion, the sound of alarms blaring, and then… nothing. He had been in his lab, working on a high-energy mana circuit experiment when the calculations failed. The last thing he recalled was the surge of unstable energy, followed by an unbearable heat that consumed him entirely.
Yet here he was. Alive.
Ethan groaned, pushing himself up with trembling arms. His body felt foreign, weaker than it should have been, and as he finally adjusted to his surroundings, he realized something even more concerning. This wasn't his lab. This wasn't even Earth.
The sky above was overcast, a dull gray that barely allowed light to pierce through. Surrounding him were crumbling brick buildings, their windows boarded up or shattered. The street was littered with filth, the air thick with the scent of sweat, smoke, and decay.
And then there was his reflection—barely visible in a puddle of muddy rainwater.
A young man stared back at him, one who looked around sixteen or seventeen years old. He had short, unkempt black hair, sharp blue eyes, and a lean, malnourished frame covered in tattered clothes barely holding together. His hands were covered in cuts, his skin rough and calloused as if he had spent his entire life struggling to survive.
This wasn't his body.
A wave of dizziness hit him, and Ethan clutched his head as fragmented memories of this body's former owner assaulted his mind.
Luca. That was his name. An orphan. A street rat.
Born in the slums of Lunora, the capital of the Holy Empire. No family. No education. Barely surviving by doing odd jobs, begging, or stealing when desperation took hold. This boy had died—either from starvation or the beatings of a city guard—only for Ethan's consciousness to take over.
His breathing quickened, but he forced himself to calm down. Panic wouldn't help. Rational thinking would.
First, assess the situation. What do I know?
This was a world where magic existed, but it was strictly controlled by the Holy Church. Only nobles, clergy, and sanctioned scholars were allowed to learn magic. The lower class? They were considered unworthy, and forbidden from touching even the most basic spellbook.
Luca—no, Ethan now—had no access to formal education. No money. No home. No resources. And no idea how to survive in this brutal world.
Great. Just great.
As if to emphasize his misfortune, a gruff voice called out.
"Oi! You still alive, rat?"
Ethan turned his head to see a large, bald man with a thick beard and a scar running down his left cheek. He recognized him from Luca's memories—Gregor, a local enforcer for the slum's biggest gang, the Red Knives.
Ethan knew instinctively that Luca had been terrified of this man.
"Guess not," Gregor snorted, cracking his knuckles. "Boss said you owed him three silvers. You gonna pay, or do I get to have some fun?"
Ethan exhaled slowly. He had nothing. No coins, no food, no strength to fight.
But he had his mind.
"Three silvers?" he asked, standing up on shaky legs. "Pretty sure I only owed two yesterday. Interest rates in the slums sure are brutal."
Gregor's brows furrowed at the unexpected response. Luca had never talked back.
"You got a death wish, boy?" the thug growled.
Ethan forced himself to smile, despite the ache in his ribs. "Not particularly. But I'd rather not get beaten to death before I have a chance to repay what I owe. You wouldn't get your money that way, would you?"
Gregor hesitated. It was true. A dead debtor was a useless one.
"I'll get the money," Ethan continued, keeping his voice steady. "Give me a week."
The enforcer grunted. "You got three days."
That wasn't enough time. But arguing wouldn't help.
"Three days," Ethan agreed. "See you then."
Gregor spat on the ground before walking away. Ethan exhaled in relief, his mind already working through the problem.
I need money. Fast.
His best option? Find work. Even if it was just menial labor, anything was better than starving to death or getting beaten for failing to pay a debt.
With that goal in mind, he forced his aching body to move, navigating through the maze of alleyways until he reached the market district. Here, merchants, craftsmen, and laborers bustled about, shouting prices and exchanging goods.
Ethan observed. He had no skills in this world yet, but he had intelligence.
He found an old bookshop, its wooden sign half-broken, the inside covered in dust. The owner was a frail man in his fifties, coughing into a handkerchief. From Luca's memories, this place barely had customers.
Ethan stepped inside.
"Need a boy to run errands?" he asked.
The owner looked him over. "You can read?"
"No," Ethan admitted. "But I can learn fast."
The old man scoffed. "Can't afford to hire anyone."
"Then let me work for food," Ethan bargained. "No pay, just enough to eat."
The man narrowed his eyes. "What's your angle?"
Ethan smiled, using his best sales pitch. "You need someone to clean, organize books, and help customers. I need food and a place to warm up. We both win."
A pause. Then, with a sigh, the owner nodded.
"Fine. But if you steal anything, I'll break your hands."
Ethan grinned. "Deal."
And just like that, he had secured his first foothold in this new world.
That night, Ethan sat by candlelight, holding a worn-out beginner's book on arithmetic. The words swam before his eyes, but he was determined.
This world saw commoners as unworthy of knowledge, but Ethan knew better.
If magic was real, then it had rules—scientific laws that could be understood and improved.
And if no one else would teach him?
He would teach himself.
Because knowledge wasn't just power. It was survival.