[Was I never transmigrated?]

Kael woke with a sharp gasp, heart hammering in his chest.

"F—… what was that?" he muttered, breath catching.

His hand flew to his neck.

No blood. No cut.

But he could still feel the blade.

Cold, clean.

Too real.

His head throbbed like something had tried to crawl out through his skull.

Panting, he looked around.

Darkness.

He was back in his apartment—low ceiling, cluttered shelves, old fan stuttering in the heat.

Everything was still.

Everything was normal.

Except it wasn't.

Kael reached over, flicked the light switch.

Nothing.

No hum. No flicker. No blessed flood of yellow light.

"Great," he muttered. "Power's out again."

Even the AC was dead.

The heat pressed down like a second blanket—wet, clinging, restless.