"Oh gosh! He's not dead—he's moving!"
"Lucky bastard. I thought all our effort had gone to waste."
Riku heard unfamiliar, youthful voices as he struggled to open his eyes. His eyelids felt heavy. The language was foreign, and though he couldn't understand the words, the tone was unmistakable intended as if he was being watched. Surrounded by strangers who definitely weren't the police, he decided to feign unconsciousness.
"Why isn't he waking up?"
One of the boys, clearly panicking, suddenly kicked him in the stomach and struck his chest hard.
Riku jolted upright in pain, only to realise he was tightly bound.
As his vision slowly returned, he found himself surrounded by dark-skinned boys in school uniforms, all inside a dimly lit, abandoned warehouse. The most jarring realisation? None of them looked Japanese, and none were speaking Japanese. Worse yet, they were teenagers—he was being beaten by high schoolers.
"Wait... what the hell? Am I being bullied by kids? And why are they all foreigners?" he thought, before a cold wave of realisation hit him.
He looked down. He was wearing the same type of uniform as them. His limbs were thinner, his frame younger, and his skin tone—though not dark—was clearly not as pale as his own used to be. He looked... different.
Though it might sound insensitive, after a life spent among fair-skinned people, the sudden change in complexion felt impossible to ignore.
Then, a nearby boy—also shackled and equally bruised—pleaded, "You'll kill him! Please, stop!"
Riku's mind reeled. 'What the fuck?! I got transmigrated?!'
Suddenly, a searing pain hit his skull as a rush of unfamiliar memories poured in. He clutched his head and groaned. He went through all of them in flashes, like watching a movie in an abandoned theatre, alone in front of a big wide screen.
A second boy, likely one of the ringleaders, stepped in to stop the first assailant. "Hey! That's enough. Killing him won't help. Don't ruin the agreed plan."
"You saw him fake being dead," the first boy snapped. "Scums like that needs to be beaten to death to get them in straight line."
But the other shook his head. "You already hit his head once. Look at him now—he's barely conscious. I'm calling the boss. Don't touch him again until we get paid." With that, he stormed off.
The first boy spat on the ground and followed, muttering under his breath, "Coward. Siding with a damn brat."
As the two disappeared into the next room, the other chained boy sighed in relief as he tried to reach out to him .
"Rohit, are you okay?"
Riku flinched. Rohit? That was the name of this body's original owner. The words were in Hindi, but now he can understand them, as he inherited the memories. an out-of-body haze, he began to piece together the truth.
This new body belonged to Rohit Singhania—a young member of one of Delhi's wealthiest and most influential families.
The Singhanias were a business dynasty, with deep roots in Uttar Pradesh's sugar and dairy mills and political ties across six Indian states. Their influence extends beyond borders, as they are heavily involved in agricultural exports, all coordinated through their extended family networks.
In Delhi, his father and brother a—aseing part of the branch family—manage the city-based operations.
Additionally, his father runs a growing tech business focused on gaming, giving them another sphere of influence in the capital region. Through this, they also control certain supply lines in the city, just like their other family members.
But within this powerful family, Rohit had always been the black sheep. Mediocre in school, socially isolated, and often the butt of comparison, he carried the extra burden of being adopted. His real parents were good friends of his adoptive father but died tragically, leaving him behind.
The current family took him in as they lacked the male child—but never truly as one of their own. Their kindness came with unspoken resentment.
The inferiority complex had affected every part of his life.
This current predicament stemmed from one mistake: his loyalty to a friend.
Akhil, his classmate, was likely having an affair with a married teacher. A group of school bullies had recorded their scandalous video in the class room and were using it to blackmail her.
Rohit, being a good friend, tried to approach them to delete the video, offering to return any favour in exchange. But their demand was outrageous—they wanted him to lure his crush, Sweta, the school's beauty queen, to his family's resort for a picnic, a place where Rohit himself was barred from entering. The rest, they said, would be taken care of by them.
The demand was so brazen that it not only forced Rohit to betray an innocent girl he genuinely liked but also put his family's property at risk of becoming a crime scene, especially if those thugs crossed the line—as they clearly intended to. That snapped the polite side of Rohit. He tried to fight back but ended up getting his ass kicked for daring to act like a hero in front of people who saw him as nothing more than a mere runt under their boots.
To make things worse, they demanded money as extra compensation, warning that unless he paid, they'd keep beating him black and blue for hours before finally letting him go.
That was when he died. And now Riku was in his place.
But there was more—something darker.
Just before Rohit's 18th birthday, he had uncovered shocking documents: the game company, thought to be owned by his adoptive father, was originally started by his real parents. The business had been seized after their deaths and fraudulently transferred. eh can now imagine the real reason of their death even though he didn't have any proof.
That betrayal shattered any last illusions Rohit had about his place in the family.
Riku's eyes opened wide, still dazed from the memory rush.
The last emotion he absorbed from Rohit wasn't pain, but anger—bitterness so deeply rooted it had begun to warp his worldview. Women, family, loyalty... everything had collapsed into a twisted sense of revenge. In the past, he had resolved to strip his adoptive father, Raj Shinghania, of everything he held dear before leaving him to rot on the streets like a beggar. However, back then, he had no clear plan—he just wanted to wait for the right moment. Sadly, he couldn't hold on long enough to see it through.
Now, as Riku scanned those memories, he couldn't help but smirk at the irony of his fate. He licked his lips with an almost manic satisfaction as the faces of those from his past flickered in his mind. The beauties were all well maintained figures, all quite the likes of his taste. He screamed inwardly.
Holy shit… A 46-year-old MILF, a 27-year-old sister, a 21-year-old younger one, and twin cousins my age? And this idiot was adopted? Thank you, God. I swear I'm not wasting this second chance.'
Unlike his former self, who was tied down by emotions and helplessness, this time he felt no obligation—especially toward the women connected to those men.
They were no longer off-limits. To him, they were simply part of his second life's pursuit: fulfilling his past desire to win over beauties through charm and understanding, while also completing the final wish of his predecessor—to destroy Raj Shinghania, the man who had once called himself his father.
More than revenge, it was disgust that fuelled him now. The idea of living like a submissive pawn again sickened him. In his past life, he may have been a crook—but at least he had lived like a king.