The alarm went off at precisely 6:30 AM. The same tone. The same timing. The same routine.
I opened my eyes without hesitation. Another day begins—another day to stay three steps ahead.
I showered, brushed my teeth, dressed sharply—clean lines, calm colours. Presentation matters. Not just for professors and peers, but for maintaining the illusion. A capable, polite, diligent student. Nothing more.
My morning meal was light, precise—just enough to fuel my thoughts. Then I made my way to the usual bus stop, surrounded by students barely awake, eyes glued to phones, minds as empty as their ambitions.
I smiled as I stood among them. To them, I was just another university student. Friendly. Quiet. Brilliant, yes—but modest.
They had no idea what I really thought of them.
The lecture passed uneventfully. The professor droned on, and I took notes—not because I needed them, but because it reinforced the image: attentive, disciplined, exceptional.
After class, he called my name.
"Daniel, could I speak with you a moment?"
I walked down calmly, offering a small smile. He returned it, almost proud—like he thought he had something to do with what I am.
"I read your thesis last night. It was... impressive. You've got a real future."
"Thank you," I said smoothly.
He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "Actually, I wanted to ask another favour. My daughter's applying for Professor Smith's research program. She's intelligent, but her writing needs… refinement. If someone like you could help shape her essay, it could really help her stand out."
Of course.
Another person hoping to leverage my mind for their gain. Another request cloaked as flattery. The same man who preaches merit and fairness is willing to bend the rules for his daughter. Hypocrite.
"Of course," I replied with a pleasant nod.
He looked relieved, grateful, impressed. Just as expected.
I left the campus, got on the bus, and returned home. Outside, I was composed. Inside, I was disgusted. This world is built on lies—on favoritism, on illusion. The undeserving are raised up. The competent are used. The selfish rule, and everyone else is taught to smile while they suffer. But I've never been like them. I don't act out. I don't rebel. I calculate. I learn. I wait. As I walked home under the blackened sky, a thought pressed quietly at the back of my mind—a seed I'd long kept buried.
This world doesn't need reform. It needs replacement. Its rot is too deep.
Then I saw it. A pulse of light at the edge of my apartment building—strange, unnatural, beckoning. I approached cautiously. The light grew, humming like it recognized me.
Then— Everything went dark.
A voice—soft, composed—cut through the black.
"Please wake, Your Highness. The royal council awaits."
My eyes opened to silence. The ceiling above was deep lacquered wood, carved with dragons—less majestic than imposing. Gold lined the ridges, not for beauty, but as a reminder of whose blood built this place. I sat up slowly, my thoughts already sharpening. This was no hospital room. No dream. And yet, my body moved as if it had always belonged here. The woman beside me didn't meet my eyes. She held folded robes—jet black, embroidered in silver, the subtle mark of nobility stitched at the collar. Her posture was deferential. Measured.
"You are expected in court, Prince Wu An," she said.
Prince, not king. So the game was already in motion. Power within reach, but not yet mine. That would need correcting. I stood without a word and walked to the mirror. The face that looked back was familiar but sharpened—stronger jaw, colder eyes. In this world, I'd been shaped for more. Not a student. Not a pawn. A contender. "Who else will be there?" I asked.
"Your father, the regent. Lords from the Eastern Province. The war minister. Your brothers"
Of course. Always the brothers. They never fail to leave those pieces on the board. I dressed without help, my mind moving through names, titles, threats. I needed information—who held what influence, who answered to whom, who could be bought, and who needed to be broken. The woman opened the door and bowed low.
"Tell them I'll be there shortly," I said quietly.
She hesitated, then left.
I remained by the window, watching the courtyard below. The guards marched in precise formation. Servants moved like ghosts. Eyes everywhere. A kingdom built on rituals, bloodlines, secrets. Just like the world I left behind—only here, the masks were worn with silk. But masks can be stripped away. Thrones can be claimed. I let my hand rest on the windowsill. This world doesn't know me yet.
But it will.