Me? Well… forget my name, it doesn't matter. I'm just some guy lost in a sea of aging white-collar drones, a dude who wakes up every morning with a weight on his chest and a little voice whispering, "You've screwed up your life, bro." My story? It kicks off like a flashback, straight back to my childhood.
When I was a kid, I absolutely loved my life in this nowhere little town—think the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, and traditions are a big deal. I was obsessed with legends: badass heroes, epic warriors heading off on insane adventures. But the older I got, the more I felt the system chewing me up. Like my fate was to get crushed by the daily grind, you know? Goodbye dreams, hello conformity seeping into my veins.
To make everyone happy—especially my dad, this super-strict businessman who wanted me to turn into some respected big shot—I ditched my imaginary sword for a crisp suit and tie. Off to business school I went, chasing that "stable" future. And bam, there I was, drowning in the ocean of office workers, just another pawn among millions.
Days turned into weeks, then years. I became a ghost in the machine: paperwork, endless meetings, zero vibe. I learned to survive the monotony, smothering any spark of imagination under a stack of files. But sometimes, nostalgia hits me like a truck. I think back to my childhood dreams, those epic stories that used to light me up. Is it wrong to want something else, to dream of ditching this pre-planned life?
Yeah, I made choices. I went for safety, for other people's approval. But at what cost, seriously? Did I sell my dreams for a steady paycheck? Did I lose what made me… me?
That day, after a mind-numbingly boring shift, all I wanted was to head home, crash, and forget it all. I was wiped, but there was this tiny flicker in my eyes as I walked to the subway. Sitting on a bench, I watched people pass by, each lost in their own world. I wondered what they thought of me—just some average, invisible guy in the crowd. But honestly, I didn't care. Staying under the radar suited me fine.
Except, behind this ordinary-guy mask, I had my secret. My ultimate obsession? Fantasy novels. Since I was a kid, those worlds packed with brave heroes and wild adventures were my escape. Even as an adult, I was still hooked. That day, I'd pulled a book out of my bag—the 92nd volume of a series a buddy recommended, one that's had me hooked ever since. Supposedly the last one. I flipped open the first page, and boom, the artwork and story yanked me straight out of my shitty day.
"So *he's* the real shadow boss? How are they gonna get out of this one? Oh, they're gonna seal him… Yeah, makes sense, no other way…"
The subway rolled in. I stashed my precious book and hopped on. Packed, as usual. People pressed up against each other, eyes glued to their screens or, like me, buried in a book. I was lost in my story again, thinking, "Whoa, he's joining their side? Shit's about to hit the fan, I can feel a crazy twist coming… Please don't let this actually be the end…"
Then the train screeched to a halt. Back to reality. My stop. I almost left my book on the seat but grabbed it just in time before slipping out. The sun was setting, painting the city in this insane orange glow. The streets came alive, the vibe almost magical.
But as I walked, chaos erupted nearby. Shouting, movement. "What the hell's going on?" I looked up, and bam—there's this hooded guy sprinting right at me. Behind him, people yelling, "Thief!"
"Get out of the way, you're blocking me!" he shouted, thinking I was stalling him on purpose. Before I could even process it, he pulled a knife and stabbed me right in the gut. The pain knocked the wind out of me, a bolt of agony ripping through every inch of my body. My book slipped from my hands, and I crumpled, the starry sky spinning above me.
People around me freaked out, screaming—some tried to help, others called for an ambulance. Me, I was fighting to breathe, feeling life slip away bit by bit. My mind was spiraling: *Why me? What did I do to deserve this?* My eyes landed on my novel, inches from my trembling hand.
Damn it, I only had three pages left… I'd never know the ending. What a cosmic joke.
Everything blurred, voices fading into the distance. My eyes shut, and the darkness swallowed me.
But in that void, a wish flashed through me: if I got a second chance, I'd do it all differently. My story would slap, it'd leave a mark. What I didn't know was that fate had heard me… and this ending was just the start of a new chapter.
---
Silence filled a princely chamber, broken only by the soft crackle of flames in the hearth.
A windowless room, just a single door.
The walls were draped with hand-embroidered tapestries.
At the center stood a majestic canopy bed carved from dark wood. The mattress, draped in sleek black silk, was plush and inviting, promising deep rest.
But it wasn't the bed that drew attention.
It was the body lying on it.
A man was stretched out, his gaze distant.
He sat up slowly, feeling the luxurious fabric against his skin, and took in every detail of the room.
The ornate furniture was adorned with delicate carvings. Everything about this place screamed that he'd landed somewhere he didn't belong.
He pressed a shaky hand to his face and realized even his body was different.
Sharper features, a square jaw, paler skin. Broad shoulders, a bigger frame. His muscles were chiseled, rippling under his skin, marked by scars.
It was like staring at a stranger in the mirror of his own body.
Confusion crashed over him, followed by growing dread.
"What happened to me? Wasn't I supposed to be dead?" he muttered under his breath.
No answer came, just the echo of his own voice bouncing back his doubts.
He took a few unsteady steps around the room, eyes scanning every corner, every clue that might explain this mess.
But nothing made sense.
Here he was in this princely chamber, awake after being left for dead on the street, in a body that wasn't his.
Dark theories started sprouting in his mind.
*Did I reincarnate? Is this some post-death dream? Or… is this like one of those fantasy novels?*
As he searched for answers to untangle this trap, a wave hit him. Pain, like a vicious poison, surged through every fiber of his already fragile body.
Unable to bear it, he collapsed onto the cold floor, convulsing. Like two rival entities, two consciousnesses suddenly clashed, battling for control of this torn-apart body.
"Who are you? What are you doing inside me?"
The body spoke, as if addressing itself.
His mind, meanwhile, was a storm of chaos, grasping at nothing. "Is… is this *your* body?"
The body spoke again. "Who dares corrupt my soul?!"
"Listen… listen to me! I… I don't know what's happening either, I was—"
"Silence, intruder! For this outrage, I'll take pleasure in consuming your essence and tormenting you for eternity!"
He realized the original owner of this body was fighting to take back control.
Logically, he should let it happen. He *was* the intruder, after all—he should leave.
Wasn't he dead? He had no business with life anymore, right?
But for some reason, he fought back.
Why?
Hadn't he wished so hard for a second chance? A new life where he'd give his existence real meaning? So how could he give up on that now?
Even if he was the trespasser, he didn't want to—no, he *couldn't*—back down.
"Sorry, original owner, but… I'm… taking your body."
"What?! Get out!"
The fierce battle between these two souls filled the chamber with a dark, swelling aura.
His inner thoughts raced like lightning bolts of clarity and confusion.
Every second in this dual state was torture, a struggle draining him more with each passing moment. Yet he tapped into some hidden strength, fueled by his burning desire to seize this chance, even if it branded him a usurper.
He wanted this new life so badly.
In the chaos of that fight, he pieced together his situation. Amid the whirlwind of conflicting emotions, he realized this body—and its owner—belonged to one of the iconic villains from the novel he'd loved so much.
That revelation shook him, his mind reeling at how this could even be possible. But as the battle for dominance raged on, he accepted it as reality. He even saw it as a gift from the universe.
He was inside the very fictional world he'd cherished, with the chance to shape his own destiny. And as he wrestled with the original owner's consciousness while lost in his own thoughts, a moment of clarity hit.
He noticed he was being held up by a young boy, clinging to him.
Seeing the boy, he knew who it was.
"Klein…" he barely whispered, his voice almost gone.
Seeing the boy crying, he almost regretted what he was about to do. Because taking this body meant erasing someone tied to so many others. And despite this body's villainous identity, he knew people depended on it.
But he couldn't falter now.
With plans already forming for this new life, he gripped the boy's arm, mustered his strength to give one last instruction, then blacked out again. But this time, his perspective had shifted.
He wasn't going to expel the original soul anymore—he'd assimilate it, possess it. That was the best he could do to ease his intruder's conscience.