At 32 years old—an orphan, single, and unemployed—I, Carl Johnson, genuinely thought life couldn't get any worse.
I was wrong.
I was dead wrong to underestimate that bastard of a thing.
All this time, I'd been carrying pancreatic cancer inside me.
And it wasn't until stage five that I finally understood what was happening.
There was no hope left for me.
And yet, I refused to die like that.
It felt unfair.
So I clung to every last scrap of life I had.
Of course, it came at a cost.
An exponential one.
I had to sell every property my parents had left me, just to keep up with the treatments.
With what I had, I managed to buy myself roughly three months of life.
During those three months, I prayed. I cried.
And of course… I played my favorite game: Human VS Monster.
It was the only thing that kept me going.
Not because I particularly loved the gameplay itself—what I truly loved was the antagonist: Angel Violet.
She was stunning. Far more beautiful than any of those girls who'd always looked at me like I was nothing but a stain on a white canvas.
I loved her backstory. Her past. Her hair. Her eyes. Her personality…
Everything about her.
She was the girl of my dreams.
Ah…
I'd marry a bombshell like that in a heartbeat. Haha…
What am I even saying.
Two months went by.
I had only a few days left to live…
And that's when I heard a strange voice.
[ The game you hold so dear is based on a very real dimension. ]
"Is that so?" I asked calmly, lying in bed with my eyes closed.
An old proverb came to mind: "Death whispers the truths life hides."
Maybe it was because I stood at death's door, but I was certain the voice came from somewhere else.
And what it said… felt undeniably true.
[ I've heard your wish. I'll give you two choices. ]
[ Die of your cancer and vanish forever… or be reincarnated in that dimension. ]
Ah… haha.
A faint laugh slipped from my lips.
There's no question.
I want to go to that wonderful dimension.
[ Very well. ]
And just like that, my eyes shut for the last time…
Only to reopen somewhere else, as promised, in a brand-new world.
---
But between suffering from cancer and living here…
What's the damn difference, you stupid god?!
No. No. No. No…
Carl Johnson—or rather, Carl Ragnar now—was striding swiftly through the vast Ragnar estate, hands clasped behind his back, brows tightly furrowed.
The servants stepped aside as he passed, watching him with a mix of confusion and fear.
"What's wrong with the young master this time?" one of them whispered.
"Forget it… You know how he is."
"Trust me, after what he did this time, the patriarch won't let it slide."
Murmurs buzzed all around him—quiet enough not to be clearly heard, yet sharp enough to feel like needles pricking the back of his neck.
But Carl remained lost in thought.
No. This isn't right. Not at all! Why the hell did I have to reincarnate into… this?!
Don't tell me that damn voice just threw me into the body of some guy with the same name as me… out of sheer laziness!
A mental image forced its way into his mind: a thumbs-up with a stupid grin in the background.
"Bastard…" he muttered through clenched teeth, continuing his brisk stride.
Even if I'd reincarnated as a tree, I would've had a better life than this…
Carl Ragnar. Heir to the legendary Sword Clan, known throughout the entire Northern Empire. A prestigious name. A vast estate. A glorious crest...
And yet, it only took two words to describe the young man he had replaced: immoral and disgusting.
Born without the slightest talent for swordsmanship, Carl Ragnar had drowned himself in every imaginable vice since the age of ten.
Now fifteen, his list of enemies had grown beyond double digits—each one of them would've paid good money just for the chance to strangle him with their bare hands.
But fine… that part was still manageable.
The real problem—the true nightmare—was that…
This guy was literally the trigger of the entire story.
The one whose vile actions would ignite the fury and hatred of one very specific character.
Angel Violet.
The game's final antagonist. The woman Carl admired. The woman he loved.
And the body he now inhabited…
Belonged to the monster who had destroyed her family…
And left her little sister crippled.
"Why…? Damn it, why?! You could've at least sent me to a time before he screwed everything up!" Carl muttered, cold sweat trickling down his temple.
And the worst part…
The absolute worst part of it all…
Was that today was the day everything would fall apart.
"She's going to stab a sword straight through his throat… today…"
Seriously now… between that and dying of cancer, what the hell's the difference?!
His brisk steps came to a sudden halt in front of a massive door, carved from black wood with metallic undertones. Two armored guards stood on either side, motionless as statues.
Carl froze.
"This is my only chance…" he murmured, stepping forward.
But both guards immediately crossed their swords into an X, blocking his path.
"Young master, you may not see the patriarch unless he summons you."
What?
"Please… this is urgent. Let me speak to my father."
"Orders are orders," the guard replied in a perfectly neutral tone.
What the hell is this bastard going on about now…
The veins in Carl's neck began to bulge. The tension was rising.
Shit, I don't have time for this!
"Let me pass—"
"That's impossible, young master."
Ah…
His brain, kicked into high gear by panic and survival instinct, started racing.
These guys… hmm… how do I get past them?
Wait a second. Why am I tiptoeing around this? I'm Carl Ragnar now, aren't I?
A flicker of madness lit up in his eyes.
"How dare you defy my orders, you donkey-headed fuck?"
The two guards said nothing. Unflinching. Unmoved.
"Oh? So now you're ignoring me too… What am I going to do with you…"
Carl raised his arms in an exaggerated gesture of fake helplessness, pretending to give up.
"I'm cornered, huh? You're both so loyal… so devoted…"
Suddenly, his gaze turned cold. Sharp.
"But what if I did to your families… what I did to that little girl? Hmm? Now that sounds like a fun idea."
"You—!" one of the guards hissed, eyes bloodshot with fury.
Carl stepped closer, eyes blazing with barely restrained madness.
"Let's see who the patriarch chooses—me… or your precious little family. You wanna play? I love games."
"Young master, please don't take it that way… We were only following orders. You may go in," said the other guard, who had remained silent until now.
Carl flashed a cruel smile.
"Now you're the smart one."
I hated playing the villain... but if acting like a psycho could save my skin, then so be it.
Without waiting for anyone to open the doors, he shoved them wide with a sharp push… and stepped inside.
"Patriarch!"
The room was vast. A massive desk sat at its center, cluttered with scattered papers. Before a tall window, his back to the door, stood a man in lavish clothes, black hair tied into a long ponytail.
Albert Ragnar.
The patriarch of the clan.
His father.
"I've lacked discernment," Albert murmured, still facing the window.
"For generations, my ancestors have upheld a strict patriarchal order. And I sought to do the same… by naming you heir to the clan."
His voice was deep and calm, but carried an emotional weight that was hard to ignore.
"I held out hope despite your lack of swordsmanship. I hoped, believing in your intellect. I even hoped… as I covered for all your mistakes."
"But my pride blinded me to how much you—"
Oh no. Not that speech…
Carl, clearly on edge, rolled his eyes.
Old man, someone's gonna die if you keep up this bargain-bin monologue. I've read this scene a dozen times already—get to the point!
Albert continued, unfazed.
"To how much of a fool I was… to believe a good-for-nothing like you—"
Stop. Stop. STOP.
"Mister Albert Ragnar, I hereby request to be officially removed from the clan."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Albert froze…
Then, slowly, he turned to face his son.
Their eyes met.
What?