The ceiling wasn't white.
That was the first thing Colin noticed. He expected the sickly fluorescent white of a hospital back on Earth. Instead, the ceiling above him was dark stone — matte black, threaded with glowing runes that pulsed softly like veins filled with starlight.
There was no hum of machines. No beeping monitors. Just silence, soft and calculated, like someone designed the room to make people forget the outside world even existed.
Colin blinked once. Then again.
Everything felt… real.
He flexed his fingers.
His hand moved — not clumsy or sore, but not familiar either. The bones felt lighter, the skin smoother, the reflexes tighter. There was something off about his body, like his joints were tuned differently.
He took a breath.
Still no panic. Just curiosity. A detached kind of calm, like a scientist observing himself from outside his own skull.
Then he sat up.
The blanket slid off with a whisper. The mattress was firm, clinical, the air too clean to be natural. The walls were curved, like a med-chamber pod, smooth stone fused with tech. On the far wall, a faint magical circle flickered before fading as if responding to his motion.
He swung his legs off the bed.
The floor was cold. Real. No dream logic here. No delay.
Still calm.
But something was definitely wrong.
His balance was off by maybe 3%. His center of gravity had shifted. And his height—he could feel it just from the way his knees bent differently—wasn't the same.
He looked down at his chest. Different muscle definition. Sharper. Cleaner. Healthier. Clothes—simple dark underlayers—fit too well to be hospital-issued.
Not Earth. Not his body.
And then it hit him, not like a crash but like a sharp inhale:
This isn't my body.
⸻
Colin stood, slow and testing, and moved to the corner of the room where a mirror was mounted into the stone — frame built like a mana conduit, with symbols humming faintly at the edges.
The face that stared back at him was… beautiful.
But broken.
White hair, messy and slightly wavy, almost silver when the light hit it. Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. Cold grey-blue eyes — distant, empty, like someone had turned off the lights behind them.
This face didn't look confused.
It looked like someone who had given up.
"…Damn," Colin muttered, voice lower and slightly smoother than his old one. "You really went out, huh?"
There were subtle traces of dried red at the corners of his nose. A line near his left ear like an old spell-burn. His neck bore faint marks of magical overuse. This wasn't a healthy dropout. This was a body that had been abused by mana.
He tapped the mirror.
"I'm guessing you offed yourself," he said softly. "And the universe gave you me."
He studied himself again, slower now.
There was a vulnerability in the eyes — this body's old owner wasn't just tired. He was done.
And yet… here Colin was. Curious, composed, thinking three steps ahead already.
Whoever this Colin Williams was before — he wouldn't be missed.
Colin pulled on the black jacket folded neatly over the nearby chair. It was long, fit like tactical streetwear, sleeves reinforced with enchanted thread, collar high, with a faint crest on the right shoulder.
The jacket was unzipped — intentionally.
He checked the inside tag.
Property of Valefort Academy: Medical Ward C-6
A deep breath.
Valefort Academy. He remembered that name.
One of the core academies tied to the world's Heroic Corps. An elite magic academy built for nobles, geniuses, and political monsters.
He had read about this world once — in the brief blur of information that passed between realities.
That meant one thing.
He hadn't just transmigrated.
He had landed in the center of the storm.
⸻
A soft mechanical chime rang near the door.
Colin turned instinctively, already expecting either guards or some kind of magical detection test.
Instead, the door slid open with a quiet hiss, and in walked someone unexpected.
A woman. Late 30s, maybe older. Crisp black robes, dark gloves with crimson stitching, glasses hanging from a mana-chain around her neck. Not elegant, not noble — but precise.
Her eyes scanned the room like she'd done this a thousand times before.
She looked at Colin.
"You're awake," she said simply.
He didn't speak.
She tapped her mana tablet once. "Vitals normal. Mana readings still spiking in the peripheral system, but that's expected. No visible damage to the soul lattice."
Colin raised an eyebrow.
"You're not surprised."
"I'm the school medic," she said dryly. "I've seen students survive worse than a burnout-induced suicide attempt."
Ah. So that's what the old Colin had done. Overdrawn his core. Cracked his mana circuits.
"You're not going to ask why I tried to kill myself?" Colin asked, tilting his head slightly.
She gave him a look. "No. You're awake. You're stable. That's all that matters. If you want to talk trauma, we have an overpriced counselor two floors down."
Colin smirked.
He liked her.
"I'm Nurse Renya," she added, tapping again. "Your file says you're Colin Williams. You burned out during a practice duel and collapsed in the library."
He let the silence hang. Then nodded.
"I don't remember any of that," he said softly.
Renya's eyes flickered. She wasn't stupid.
"Amnesia?"
"Partial. Head's foggy."
She studied him for a moment. Then looked back at her screen.
"Well, either way, you're cleared. But you'll be re-evaluated before you re-enter combat classes. You'll need to check in with your advisor and—" she glanced at the mana tablet— "attend a reorientation meeting. Good luck with that."
She turned to leave.
"Thanks, Nurse Renya," Colin said, voice warm, curious, like he was testing her reaction.
She paused.
"Don't fake being polite," she said. "It's annoying."
Colin grinned. "You really are my favorite person today."
And then she was gone.
⸻
Outside the medical ward, the light was… impossible.
Valefort Academy wasn't a campus. It was a city built into a floating fortress, suspended by pillars of glowing stone and anti-grav enchantments. The sky above was real, but distant — laced with glassy mana shields that shimmered every few seconds.
Students walked in perfectly tailored uniforms — black with silver edges, glowing watches strapped to their left wrists, spellbooks or holo-slates in their hands. Combat boots, magic badges, personal familiars trailing behind some of them.
Colin walked slowly, hands in his coat pockets, watching.
One girl summoned flame between her fingers just to light her snack.
A boy rode past on a hoverboard shaped like a greatsword.
Another pair dueled in a private ring — their barrier pulsing like a glass bubble with every impact of spell against shield.
There were towers that cracked the sky. Trees whose leaves glowed with seasonal mana. Floating islands in the distance where specific classes were held. And at the far center, a singular spire — tall, gold-lined, wrapped in rings of protective magic.
The Ranker Tower.
Colin slowed as he walked past a mirrored wall, catching sight of himself again.
The black jacket fit better now. The silver lines along the collar pulsed faintly with embedded runes. He wore no crest. No sigil.
Not yet.
"Colin Williams, huh?" he murmured to his reflection. "Let's see how long they believe that."
Then he turned and walked into the world — slow, steady, unnoticed.
For now.