"MUHAHAUHAHAHHH!!"
Julian laughed like a man possessed.
Not the nervous chuckle of an overworked employee or the half-hearted snort of a stressed junior architect.
No—this was the full-bodied, champagne-fueled laugh of a man who had climbed the corporate skyscraper and planted his custom Italian leather boots at the top.
"TO ME!" he shouted, raising his glass so high it nearly hit the crystal chandelier above. "Julian—Architect of the Year!"
A wave of applause rolled through the rooftop lounge. Glittering suits and sequin gowns. Flashing cameras. Waiters in white gloves refilling drinks with wordless grace. And in the middle of it all stood Julian, basking in his long-awaited moment of victory.
The skyline sparkled behind him, neon lights reflected in the floor-to-ceiling glass panels. The Tokyo night was cool, the rooftop air perfumed with imported cigars, synthetic roses, and the scent of success.
Julian took another swig of champagne—his sixth glass, maybe seventh. Who was counting? Certainly not him. Not tonight.
"Who said architects can't be rich and sexy?" he boomed, pointing dramatically at nobody in particular. "I've slept under drafting tables for five years! I've redesigned the same skyscraper lobby thirty-two times for one client! And now look at me!" He spun in place, arms wide.
Some laughed. A few rolled their eyes. His assistant looked mildly concerned.
Julian didn't care.
He had it all now—money, recognition, even a penthouse office with a minibar and a chair that didn't squeak when he leaned back. He was no longer the cog in the corporate machine. He was the machine.
He slumped into a designer lounge chair, sipping from the bottle now, grinning like a madman.
"I'm finally free," he murmured to himself. "No more all-nighters. No more clients with vision boards made out of TikToks. I've earned my rest."
He closed his eyes and gulped down the liquid in one go.
"ZOOOOOOOOOOOOOMM—"
And that's when the ground disappeared beneath him.
Literally.
One moment he was sinking into leather cushions, warm with pride and alcohol.
The next—weightlessness.
Julian's body jerked violently, like his soul had been yanked by a cosmic hook. His glass shattered midair. The rooftop, the skyline, the applause—all gone.
Just darkness. Wind. A nauseating twist in his stomach.
'What the hell is happening?!'
Then—
BAM.
Julian forced his eyes open. He wasn't in the party.
He was in a dimly lit room, lying on a narrow, lumpy bed. Rough-hewn wooden beams stretched across a low ceiling, and the only light came from a single, sputtering tallow candle on a rickety nightstand.
"What the hell-!"
He shot upright, his heart hammering against his ribs. This wasn't his apartment. His hands, when he held them up, were pale and slender, unblemished by the calluses he'd earned through years of model-making.
A flood of memories, not his own, washed over him. He was Julian von Arden, the fourth son of Baron Elias von Arden. A useless, bookish boy of nineteen, known more for his poetic whining and aversion to sword practice than for any noble virtue. The Barony of Arden was a small, stony patch of land on the kingdom's northern frontier, perpetually short on coin and long on troubles.
"A dream," he whispered, trying to cling to his own reality. "Just a bizarrely detailed stress dream."
"BAM!! BAM!!"
He slapped himself two times muttering, "Wake up! Wake up, you dog! We going to enjoy all the luxury, why are you stuck up in some dream wake up man!! You got this!"
But the pain he felt on his face was painfully real. The chill in the air was real. This was happening. He, Julian the marvellous architect, was trapped in the body of a feckless medieval nobleman. A wave of panic and despair threatened to drown him. He had been reincarnated.
It was then that he saw it. Floating in the air before him, a translucent screen of shimmering blue light hummed softly, visible only to him.
[Celestial Constructor System Activated]
[Welcome, Architect Julian von Arden.]
Name: Julian von Arden
Title: Fourth Son of Baron Arden
Age: 19
Core Attributes:
- Structural Engineering: F
- Architectural Design: C-
- Resource Management: F
- Leadership: F-
- Mana Affinity: F--
[System Note: User's inherent soul affinity has granted a bonus to 'Architectural Design'. All other attributes reflect the current vessel's abilities. Or lack thereof.]
Julian stared, dumbfounded. A system? Like in a video game? The brutal, objective grading of his—or rather, the original Julian's—abilities was almost insulting.
An 'F--' in Mana Affinity felt personal.
He had read enough fantasy novels in his youth to know what this was. And if this was a system, there had to be a purpose. A mission.
As if on cue, the screen flickered, and a new message appeared with a soft chime.
[New User Tutorial Mission: The Leaky Roof]
[Objective: Design and oversee the repair of the Great Hall's leaking roof. The current 'solution' of placing buckets is inefficient and damaging to morale.]
[Time Limit: 7 days]
[Reward: +1 Rank in 'Structural Engineering', 50 System Points (SP)]
[Failure Penalty: Loss of all System privileges. You will be on your own. Good luck.]
"The hell? Me, genius architect who redesigned the bur Khalifa have to repair a freaking leaking roof?? Are you for real!"
[Yes]
"Come on bruh!"
["…"]
Without this system, what was he? A 21st-century architect with soft hands and no practical skills in a world where a rusty sword held more value than a perfectly rendered drawing. This mission wasn't just a tutorial; it was a lifeline.
"I hate this!!!!" But no matter he had to survive in this world and without this system, what was he? A 21st-century architect with soft hands and no practical skills in a world where a rusty sword held more value than a perfectly rendered drawing. This mission wasn't just a tutorial; it was a lifeline.
He swung his legs out of bed. He had to see the roof. Throwing a coarse woolen tunic over his thin shirt, he crept out of his chamber. The castle of Arden was less a fortress and more a collection of crumbling stone towers connected by drafty corridors. It was a perfect example of poor planning and centuries of haphazard additions. His architect's soul wept.
The Great Hall was a cavernous, gloomy space. As the mission description had promised, a dozen wooden buckets were scattered across the stone floor, collecting a steady plink... plonk... plink of water from the ceiling high above.
A few tired-looking servants were in the middle of mopping up a puddle where a bucket had overflowed.
Julian tilted his head back, and the system instantly responded.
A faint, glowing grid overlaid his vision, mapping the entire ceiling. Red lines highlighted the stress fractures in the ancient wooden beams. Flashing icons indicated points of water ingress.
"Wow, cool grids! Tch, still I hate you!"
The system wasn't just telling him there was a problem; it was giving him a complete diagnostic breakdown. However, the man how was supposed to enjoy his dreamy night was struck trying to fix a leaky roof?
"Sighhhhh….." Julian gave out long disappointed sigh and looked up to the system message.
[Analysis: Main support beam suffering from advanced rot. Multiple cracked tiles due to frost heave. Poor flashing design around the central chimney stack.]
A new window popped up.
[Design Mode Activated].
In his mind's eye, Julian could see the roof not as it was, but as it could be. He could manipulate the glowing grid, pulling out the rotten beam and replacing it.
He instinctively knew, through the system's interface, that a simple king post truss design would redistribute the load far more effectively. He could see how to re-lay the slate tiles in an overlapping pattern and design a simple, effective copper flashing for the chimney. It was all there, a perfect blueprint in his head.
"What are you doing, brother? Contemplating the profound sadness of a dripping bucket?"
Julian jumped. Leaning against a stone pillar was a broad-shouldered young man with a sword at his hip and a mocking smirk on his face. The system helpfully supplied a tag.
Name: Marcus von Arden (Heir)
Overall Rating: D+ (Swordsmanship: C, Leadership: D)
Julian's eye twitched. Why did every nobleman in this place have that same smirk—the one that said, "I have muscles and zero imagination"?
"Marcus," he grunted, straightening his back like someone who'd just been caught browsing forbidden web forums in a library.
Marcus, as if on cue, slid off the pillar with a sigh that sounded rehearsed. "Father's looking for you again. You skipped morning sword training. Again. Let me guess—you were writing another tragic sonnet about how the flowers don't love you back?"
Julian rolled his eyes. "Actually, I was fixing your future inheritance. You know—the one with a roof that's about to turn this Great Hall into a public bath."
Marcus blinked. "You? Fix something? Without crying over a splinter? The stonemasons said it'd cost us more than this dump is worth."
Julian threw his arms wide, dramatically, with a smugness that rivaled the gleam in his system overlay. "Because those knuckle-dragging stoneheads think fixing a structural flaw means just slapping more stone on it. I'm telling you, it's a design issue. I can solve it with what we already have. Some spare timber, old copper from the forge. Boom. Problem solved."
Marcus looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon. "You expect Father to believe that?"
"I expect you to believe it," Julian shot back. "Or at least try not to look like a confused goat every time I speak."
Marcus opened his mouth to retort but was saved—or maybe Julian was cursed—by a voice that could grind mortar.
"Julian! There you are, boy!"
Baron Elias von Arden entered like a thunderstorm in boots. His cloak flared behind him, and his expression said "I've had enough of this week, and it's only Tuesday."
[Name: Baron Elias von Arden]
[Overall Rating: C- (Statecraft: D, Economy: F)]
Julian cleared his throat and stood straighter, channelling his best project pitch energy. "Father, listen. I've got a solution to the roof problem. A real one. Not another band-aid fix."
The Baron paused, looked at him like one might regard a chicken announcing it could do taxes.
"Leave the masonry to the masons, boy. Go swing a sword or whatever it is you're supposed to do. Marcus, drag him to the training yard if you have to."
"But I have a plan! A proper one! It's efficient, cost-effective—"
"Enough!" the Baron's voice shook the mold from the ceiling. "We have bandits on our borders and the royal tax leech sniffing toward us. I don't need your fantasies about—what—magic roof shingles? Learn how not to die first. Then we'll talk roofing!"
Julian stood there, stunned, feeling like he'd just pitched a skyscraper to a man who thought windows were a luxury.
His father turned. Marcus shrugged. Both walked away.
And as Julian's fists clenched and frustration bubbled, a small red notification winked in the corner of his vision:
[Time Remaining: 6 days, 23 hours, 58 minutes]