Unexpected Transmigration

"Why isn't he moving? Is he dead?"

"Hush, are we doomed?"

"I told you not to hit him so hard! Look at what happened!"

"Young master… What have you all done to him? Young master…!"

"It looks like we have to shut his mouth first…"

'Why is it so noisy? Ah… my body, why does it hurt so much? Did I get into trouble again? Who's screaming? What kind of situation did I end up in now?'

Keith slowly regained consciousness. His vision was blurred, his head throbbing. Warm liquid trickled down his forehead, blurring his right eye with crimson streaks. A sharp, metallic scent filled his nose—blood. His blood.

The dim lights flickered above, casting distorted shadows over the chaos in front of him. He squinted through the haze of movement and sound, making out a group of teenagers engaged in a violent scuffle inside what looked like a club. The floor was sticky beneath him—alcohol? Blood? Both?

'Is it my blood?' He blinked, struggling to piece things together.

"Agh, damn… it hurts like hell… Hey, does anyone know who hit me?"

Keith's voice cut through the noise like a whip—loud, defiant, unfazed. He hauled himself up onto a table, one hand clutching his aching head.

"Does he have a death wish or something?"

"Didn't he have enough?!"

Whispers rippled through the crowd, disbelief laced in their tones.

"Hah, you forget our faces so easily? Maybe another round will jog your memory." A well-built teenager stepped forward, his sinister grin widening. His cronies followed suit, shoving aside the boy they had been beating moments earlier.

"Stop it, Abram! Leave him alone!" A girl, strikingly beautiful but clearly distressed, tried to intervene. Her voice barely carried over the charged air.

"How can I ignore my babe's concern?" Abram chuckled darkly, before turning back to Keith. "Hey, get on your knees and beg for mercy, and maybe I'll let you go tonight."

Keith stared at him blankly, then let out a sharp laugh. It wasn't a nervous chuckle or a forced scoff—it was pure amusement. The kind that made people uncomfortable.

"Abram, was it?" Keith mused, rolling his shoulders. "Sorry, but I don't kneel for trash."

Abram's smirk faltered, his fists clenching. "You—"

Keith moved first.

A sickening crack echoed through the room as his forehead slammed into Abram's nose. Abram stumbled back, clutching his face in shock, blood spurting between his fingers.

Keith didn't wait. He grabbed a half-empty beer bottle from the table, smashed it against the edge, and lunged forward. His fists connected with Abram's gut, his ribs—relentless, calculated, merciless. Abram barely had time to recover before Keith drove a knee into his stomach, sending him sprawling onto the floor, gasping for air.

The room went silent.

Abram's lackeys hesitated, glancing at each other. Their leader, reduced to a groaning mess? Impossible.

"I don't have all night," Keith said, cracking his knuckles. "Come at me together. Saves me time."

Snapped from their stupor, they charged.

The fight was brutal but brief. Keith, despite his injuries, fought like a cornered beast—ruthless and unyielding. One by one, the boys hit the ground, some clutching bruised ribs, others too dazed to move.

"Please… forgive us… Eric… Please…" one of them whimpered, voice trembling.

Keith exhaled, running a hand through his blood-matted hair. "Hah… Eric?"

The name felt foreign, yet oddly familiar. He barely had time to process before a timid voice called out.

"Young master…"

Keith turned to see the boy who had been beaten earlier staring at him, eyes filled with something unreadable—fear? Relief? Something else entirely.

"Y-Young master… me?" Keith pointed at himself, perplexed.

---

The next morning.

"How much did I drink yesterday? My head… Wait, where is this place?" Awakening from sleep, the first question that popped into Keith's mind was his whereabouts.

Rolling around the bed, Keith took in his surroundings. It was a neat and large room, exuding a sense of luxury with paintings adorning the walls and valuable antiques placed on the table.

"Wow, nice room… wait, why am I here anyway? Why does my head and body hurt so much?" He got up and approached the mirror.

"What the… Who is this?" He was startled upon seeing his reflection. A completely different person stared back at him. His appearance was a mess – a swollen right eye, a bandaged forehead, and bruises everywhere.

Vague memories of the previous night flashed in his mind – the fight, the teenagers.

"Young master, may I come in?" A voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in." One of the teenagers from the night before stood at the door, holding a tray.

"You… W-who are you? Where am I? Why do I look like this?" Keith grabbed the boy, pushed him against the wall, demanding answers.

"How do you expect to look after being beaten up? How many times have I warned you not to go, do you ever listen to me?" The boy shot back, tears welling up in his eyes. "I am quitting. Why should I continue to serve someone who lacks conscience or gratitude for what I've done for him all these years? And as for your question, who am I? I am Aiden, Aiden Chris, not just some you or b*****d..."

"…"

"What… why are you looking at me like this? Do you think I would never quit? There's a limit to everything. Not only was I forced to serve a weak young master, but I also had to sacrifice my flesh and blood to save you from harm, every day... I'm fed up..." Aiden's voice cracked.

"S-sorry." The word escaped Keith's mouth unexpectedly while hearing Aiden's words. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Does your back hurt?" He questioned, remembering how he had pushed Aiden against the wall earlier.

"It doesn't matter when my whole body is hurting anyway…" Aiden replied, holding back his emotions. 

"Can we sit and talk?"

A few minutes later, after emotions calmed.

"What's in it?" Keith asked, pointing to the dish on the tray.

"Hangover soup…"

"Did you cook it?"

"Who else would have made it for you?" Aiden handed the dish to Keith, not gently, almost like throwing it at him.

"Are you serious about what you said earlier (about quitting)?" Keith inquired, finishing the soup quickly, he inquired, curious.

"It was just a moment of emotional outburst, don't take it seriously. Remember one thing, YOUNG MASTER ERIC JONAS, if I wanted to quit, I would have done it years ago. We've been through difficult times together, and why should I leave now, especially when you are finally ready to fight back for your rights! So, quickly freshen up, I will bring something to eat." Without dwelling much on his master's sudden change, Aiden left the room to prepare breakfast.

'Eric, is that my name here? Why does it feel familiar?' Trying to solve the puzzle, Keith comes to one answer.

"Darkness… Did I end up in that damn novel?!!!"