Early June draped the city in thick humidity. The sky hung low with gray clouds, and a persistent drizzle streaked the windowpane, tracing crooked lines across the glass like tears reluctant to fall.
"Buzz... Buzz..."
The dull hum of a vibrating phone echoed through the cramped room, persistent and urgent. It rattled against the wooden surface of the bedside table like an impatient knock at the door of consciousness.
A groggy voice mumbled from beneath a tangle of cheap bedsheets.
"Quiet... quiet... stop making noise... I'll wake up in a while..."
Arthur's hand fumbled out from the covers, reaching in muscle memory to silence the alarm—but instead of hitting the familiar screen, his fingers grasped at empty air.
"Huh? Where's my phone...?"
His brow furrowed.
He blinked his eyes open, slowly adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the pale curtains.
The room was a claustrophobic box—barely enough space to turn without bumping into something. The creaky wooden bed he lay in creaked under the slightest movement. Beside it stood a bulky, aging VR game cabin, its metallic surface dulled with time and neglect. A wooden desk in the corner was covered in half-eaten takeout containers, stained napkins, and long-forgotten energy drink cans. A few empty wine bottles rolled lazily on the floor like silent sentinels of a sleepless night.
The air was a mixture of stale food, cheap alcohol, and something metallic—rust, perhaps. Or was that just his imagination?
His eyes were drawn to a photograph on the wall. It hung slightly crooked, the frame chipped. In it, a young man stood among a roaring crowd, holding a golden trophy above his head. The lights, the confetti, the applause—it was all there.
But the expression on the young man's face wasn't one of joy. No smile. Just cold arrogance, like the moment wasn't a victory—but a confirmation of superiority.
Arthur's eyes widened. A jolt of realization hit him like cold water.
He shot up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest.
"No, no, no—I'm late again!"
Panic surged through him like a current.
"At this rate, I'm going to get fired!"
He sprang to his feet, stumbling over a wine bottle and barely catching himself on the edge of the game cabin. He rushed into the bathroom, his movements frantic and uncoordinated.
By the time he emerged thirty minutes later, he looked only halfway human—unshaven, unkempt, with dark circles under his eyes and damp hair hastily combed back.
He didn't eat. There wasn't time.
Throwing on his wrinkled office clothes, he slammed the door shut behind him, fumbling with the keys as he locked it.
Outside, the world was gray and damp. The rain had lessened to a drizzle, but the clouds promised more.
He sprinted down the uneven pavement, his work bag bouncing against his side.
"What excuse do I give HR today...? Maybe I'll say I had food poisoning? Or my grandmother was in the hospital?"
He gritted his teeth.
"No, they won't believe that again... God, please, just this once—cut me a break."
He glanced up and saw the bus pulling out of the station.
"No! Not today—please not today!"
He pushed harder, weaving between pedestrians, dodging puddles, and nearly slipping on wet concrete.
"Whose face did I see this morning to bring me such bad luck!?" he muttered bitterly.
Miraculously, he reached the bus just as it rolled forward. The doors hissed open with a groan of disapproval, and he stumbled inside, breathless and drenched in sweat.
Ten minutes later, the office building loomed before him—a modern structure of glass and steel. He staggered up the steps and burst through the doors.
"I made it... I'm on time," he whispered in disbelief, bending over to catch his breath. A rare smile crept onto his face.
And then, everything went wrong.
His smile vanished.
A sharp, searing pain stabbed through his chest.
His knees buckled. His vision blurred.
Something hot and metallic filled his mouth. He coughed—once, twice—and blood splattered on the clean white floor tiles.
"What... what's happening...?"
He tried to speak, but no sound came out. Panic clawed at his throat as his body collapsed, heavy and limp.
He was dying.
And he didn't know why.
"I finally made it... I worked so hard... Is this how it ends...?"
As the world dimmed and the cold seeped into his limbs, a storm of emotions raged inside him: anger, regret, fear, confusion.
"I never even got the chance to live..."
And then, from the void—
A voice.
Ancient. Echoing.
"Child, you have suffered your whole life. Your death was not meant to happen. It was a mistake—a crack in the fabric of fate. As compensation, your soul shall be transferred to another world."
The words drifted into him like smoke—ungraspable, surreal.
"Death... mistake...? Compensation...? Another world?"
His lips moved, but the voice didn't carry. His consciousness unraveled further.
The world dissolved into darkness.
But somewhere in the distance—a light. Small at first, then growing brighter.
He wanted to reach for it, but his limbs wouldn't respond. He was drifting. No longer in control.
And yet, he moved forward.
And then—
Arthur opened his eyes.
He gasped.
He was back in the same room.
The same narrow bed. The same cluttered desk. The same dusty game cabin. Even the photograph with the arrogant youth still hung on the wall.
"What the hell...? Was it all a dream?"
His heartbeat quickened.
Everything looked the same... but something felt off. The air felt heavier. The silence too dense.
Then, a sudden sharp pain lanced through his skull.
Arthur groaned and clutched his head as foreign memories crashed into his mind—like waves pounding against a fragile dam.
Visions of magic, beasts, vast floating cities, and monstrous kingdoms. A new world.
"What... what is this...?"
He staggered backward, eyes wide with disbelief.
This wasn't Earth.
This wasn't even his world.
It was his body—same face, same name, same everything—but the world outside the walls was unimaginably vast.
And terrifying.
From the inherited memories, Arthur learned that humans here controlled just 1% of the planet. The rest belonged to uncharted wilderness or powerful, alien species. Kingdoms of flame, sky, shadow, and beasts far beyond human comprehension.
And even that 1%—the land the humans ruled—was larger than the Earth he once knew.
Arthur took a shaky breath.
"So... this is my reality now?"
He tried to steady his thoughts.
But the moment he began to relax, another pain struck. Different this time.
It wasn't physical.
It was... invasive.
Then—
A voice. Harsh. Furious. Inside his head.
"GET. OUT. OF. MY. BODY."
Arthur froze.
It wasn't his voice.
It wasn't his thought.
It was the original soul—the one who was supposed to own this body.
And he wasn't gone.
He was still here.
And he wanted it back.
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