1: Awakening In Another World

And then…

I felt it.

Softness beneath me.

A bed?

No—more than just any surface. It was warm, comfortable… real.

After what felt like an eternity spent wandering through endless darkness, the sudden sensation of lying down—on something tangible—was overwhelming.

Was this a dream?

Had I finally lost my mind?

Or… had something truly changed?

I opened my eyes—

Only to immediately slap my hand over them, shielding them from the sudden onslaught of light.

It wasn't as blinding or as fierce as what I remembered from before...

But it still hurt like hell.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, my eyes began to adjust.

Slowly, I lowered my hand and blinked into the light.

That's when I realized something strange.

I was wearing clothes.

But not just any clothes—some kind of ancient, medieval-style robe?

Seriously?

Those bastards buried me in this?!

Couldn't they have at least given me a suit? I would've preferred being buried looking like a proper corpse, not some extra from a Renaissance fair.

As I looked down at myself, taking in the strange outfit, I noticed something else—

I was lying on a massive, king-sized bed.

Even the bed was in that same medieval style, intricately carved, draped in heavy, rich fabrics that spoke of a time long past.

I stopped my muttering and forced myself to look around the room properly, trying to get my bearings.

The place looked... extravagant.

Like the private chambers of a king, maybe.

Every inch of the room was decorated in an ancient European style—Romanesque designs covered the walls, the furniture looked straight out of the Middle Ages.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

"This... definitely isn't a coffin," I muttered aloud.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up—

Or, at least, I tried to.

Something felt off.

I took a hesitant step, feeling unbalanced.

I looked down at myself again.

Wait a second...

Why did I seem smaller?

I'm supposed to be 195 centimeters tall—

So why did the floor feel closer?

Why did my hands look... so smooth?

I turned my hands over in front of my face, inspecting them.

Not a single callus.

Perfectly clean skin, unmarred by the scars and roughness I'd accumulated over my life.

Confused, I stumbled toward a door located right next to the bed.

I grabbed the ornate, old-fashioned brass handle and slowly pushed it open.

Inside was a bathroom—

But it was nothing like the ones I was used to.

It looked ancient.

Stone floors, a massive bathtub carved from marble, and a giant, gilded mirror above a simple basin.

I approached the mirror, my reflection coming into view—

And I froze.

Staring back at me was someone I didn't recognize.

Black hair, messy and wild, fell over my forehead, giving me an effortlessly elegant look.

My eyes were a striking, vivid blue, with hints of green swirling in their depths—cold, emotionless, like frozen lakes.

And my face—

Sharp jawline, high cheekbones, perfect nose—

The face of a model, one that would send millions of girls screaming in adoration.

I stumbled back in shock.

Did I get plastic surgery while I was dead?!

They dyed my hair, gave me colored contacts, and sculpted my face?!

"What the actual fuck?!" I shouted.

"This has to be a dream," I gasped, starting to hyperventilate.

In desperation, I pinched myself—hard.

I hated that damn hospital room, but right now, I would've given anything to wake up back there.

But no.

The pinch hurt like hell—

And I stayed right where I was.

No waking up.

"Okay, Ray, calm down," I whispered aloud, forcing deep, shaky breaths.

"Panic won't help."

I staggered over to the basin, turned the faucet, and splashed my face with cold water.

I slowly raised my head, water dripping from my hair onto my cheeks, and stared at myself again in the mirror.

Think logically, Ray.

There has to be a reasonable explanation for this...

I turned away, taking slow, careful steps back toward the bathroom door.

My hand hovered just millimeters from the handle—

But something deep inside me, a voice I couldn't ignore, screamed at me to look back.

Look again.

But this time, look closely.

I drew a deep breath, steeling myself, and turned back toward the mirror.

Black hair framing my forehead with an effortless elegance.

Glowing blue-green eyes, cold and brilliant.

And a face so perfect it didn't seem real.

I had seen this face before.

Recognition slammed into me like a freight train.

My jaw dropped open in pure, disbelieving horror.

I knew exactly who I looked like.

The main villain of the novel The Chosen One!

"No... no, no, no, NO!" I gasped.

"This isn't happening!"

I shook my head violently, refusing to believe it.

There's no way.

No way someone like me could get reincarnated!

It was impossible!

I bolted out of the bathroom, stumbling as my mind spiraled into full-blown panic.

Hyperventilating.

Again.

Except...

I wasn't coughing.

Normally, anytime I hyperventilated, my weak lungs would seize up and I'd collapse, hacking and wheezing.

But now—

I could breathe.

Perfectly.

What the hell?

Did I really…

Truly…

Reincarnate?

I collapsed onto the king-sized bed, my mind reeling, still in shock.

I tried desperately to think logically, rationally—

But deep down, I already knew the truth.

Lying to myself wouldn't help.

I had been reincarnated.

But why?!

Why wasn't I the main character?!

Why the hell did I reincarnate as Michael von Ashford—

The maniacal villain of the story?!

"This has to be some kind of cosmic joke," I muttered bitterly.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door opposite the bed.

I stiffened.

A moment later, a woman's voice called out, polite and formal:

"Young master, it's time for your training."

I stayed frozen, silent.

But she knocked again, more insistently this time.

With a groan, I forced myself to my feet and moved toward the door.

The moment my foot touched the luxurious, velvet carpet—

Agony ripped through my body.

I collapsed to the ground, unable to move.

Every muscle seized.

And then—

It hit me.

A flood of information.

Not just a lot—

Millions of memories, images, thoughts, and emotions surged into my mind, memories that were never mine.

I couldn't move.

I could barely breathe.

All I could do was scream.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

The door slammed open, and the woman rushed inside.

She wore a classic maid's uniform, simple yet elegant.

She had chestnut-brown hair tied neatly behind her head, and her face was...

Well, plain.

The kind of face you might glimpse in a crowd and forget a moment later.

She cried out in panic, screaming for someone.

I couldn't hear the name she called—

My ears were ringing, like someone had set off a grenade right next to me.

The pain was unbearable.

I couldn't endure it.

Darkness took me, and I passed out.

—

When Michael collapsed—

A man in his mid-thirties burst into the room, wearing a perfectly pressed butler's uniform.

His appearance was sharp—

Short-cropped black hair, serious dark eyes, and a face that seemed carved from stone.

He carried himself with the calm authority of someone who had spent a lifetime in service.

"What's going on, Maria?" he asked, voice clipped with urgency.

"Why all the commotion?"

Maria, the maid, stammered, pale and panicked:

"M-Master Sebas! I-I came to remind the young master about his training with the knights, but then I heard him scream and—

I found him collapsed on the floor, in agony!"

Sebas glanced down at the boy—at me—sprawled in pain.

His face turned ashen at the sight.

If the lord of the house found out something had happened to the young master…

Sebas didn't want to imagine the consequences.

Without hesitation, Sebas knelt beside me, and a faint green glow began to form around his hands.

He placed his palms gently at the sides of my head, channeling mana into me—

Pouring everything he had into stabilizing me.

Maria hovered nearby, wringing her hands anxiously.

"W-What if the master finds out, Sebas?!

W-What will he do to us?!"

"Calm yourself, Maria," Sebas said, his voice steady even as sweat poured down his face.

"The young master will be fine."

Finally, after exhausting every ounce of his mana, Sebas slumped back, wiping his brow.

He carefully lifted my unconscious body off the floor and carried me back to the bed, tucking me under the covers like a fragile doll.

Once I was safely settled, the two servants exchanged worried glances—

And quietly left the room to report what had happened to the lord of the house.