My head throbbed violently. Each pulse felt like a hammer striking from inside my skull. The air around me was heavy and sharp, stinging my nose with a strong chemical smell.
I held my breath, but the odor penetrated anyway. A strange mix of rotting leaves and something metallic, like poison dancing in the air. My eyes watered, my throat burned.
"Urgh..." I doubled over, nausea assaulting me mercilessly.
The sound of hurried footsteps approached. The hard clack of shoes hitting the wooden floor.
"Charles?Charles Luprax? Can you hear me?"
That name echoed in my head—alien, yet somehow familiar. Who was that? Who was Charles?
Slowly, I opened my eyes. My vision was blurry for a moment before shapes began to clear.
A carved wooden ceiling,layered with faded gold. Dark red velvet curtains hung on either side of a large window, holding back the soft sunlight filtering through. The air smelled expensive, mixed with that sharp, chemical concoction.
A table cluttered with glass bottles and scattered scrolls sat in the corner of the room—like an aristocrat's laboratory,not an ordinary bedroom.
A man in a white coat stood by my bedside. His long robe was ivory-colored, its pockets filled with medical tools and small tubes of clear liquid. From his serious face and tone of voice, I knew he was a doctor.
"Be calm," he said softly but firmly. "You've experienced mild poisoning from plant pesticide. Your senses are overly sensitive to chemicals. But you will be fine."
Overly sensitive?
I stared at my hands. The skin was perfectly pale, like porcelain. But every touch of the sheets felt... excessive—the fabric fibers brushing against my skin like fine needles. The sound of the clock on the wall was loud, piercing my ears like the clang of metal.
Everything was too clear,too vivid, too painful.
"What... happened to me?" I murmured softly.
Until I saw it—the large mirror across from the bed. The old silver frame reflected a figure sitting somewhat weakly on the white sheets. His hair was silver, impeccably neat. I focused on the eyes: bright blue, clear, and wide open, radiating genuine shock. The facial features were sharp... and far too handsome. This was clearly not my face.
"What in the world..."
My mind raced. Fragments of foreign memories surfaced. Charles Luprax. The name appeared again. A young nobleman, an academy genius, but—but he died young.
I knew of him. I had read his story.
The Feather Knight. The fantasy novel I read last night. Its story centered on Sera, an orphan from the church who became the academy's top graduate. Meanwhile, Charles? He was merely a side character who appeared only once, during a tournament, and then vanished. There were whispers that he died during his first-year exam—a tragedy that wasn't even fully explained in the novel's plot.
But... why did I know this?
And why could I smell the pesticide,hear the ticking clock, feel the chill of the air as if it were all real?
I looked at my hands again, trembling.
This world was too real.Too detailed. Too alive to be just a dream.
I smiled bitterly, my heart pounding fast in this unfamiliar chest.
"So...I really became him."
Charles Luprax.
The young genius...who died off-screen.
The doctor checked the pulse on my wrist, his movements quick yet calm. He just let out a long sigh.
"Just as I suspected, Young Master Luprax," he said. "Your Sensory Hypersensitivity has flared up again. I have warned you often, the poison itself isn't severe. It seems the pesticide in the back garden was too concentrated. Your body... always reacts unexpectedly."
"Too concentrated?" I repeated, my voice still strained.
"Correct," he replied, his gaze serious. "A normal person might just sneeze, but we know you are not like that. This extraordinary sensitivity to smells, light, and chemicals is your condition. Even minimal exposure to a small dose of pesticide is enough to make you faint."
Extraordinary sensitivity...
I took a slow breath. But the room's air felt dense, full of scents: the scent of pinewood from the floor, the sharp fragrance of medical alcohol, and a faint metallic tang from the tools on the table. All of it assaulted my senses at once, making my head throb again.
"Can... the window be opened a little?" I said, closing my eyes.
The maid by the door immediately moved. A young girl with black hair in a neat ponytail—her striped silver maid uniform indicated she was from a great family.
"At once,Young Master," she said quickly.
As the outside air flowed in, I could immediately distinguish the scent of damp soil, morning dew, and the lingering trace of pesticide in the distance. Even outside, the smell was still perceptible.
These senses...were too sharp.
"How could you endure this every day..." I murmured without thinking.
The doctor looked at me, puzzled. "You were born with extraordinary sensitivity, Young Master. Many consider it a blessing, but for your own body, it can be a burden."
He looked at me for a long moment before adding quietly,"That is why your family is so protective of you, keeping you away from the chemicals around the garden."
I swallowed. So this body was indeed overly sensitive.
The maid returned to the bedside, carrying a glass of water.
"Young Master,please drink this first," she said politely. Her hand trembled slightly as she offered the glass—perhaps from worry.
I took the glass slowly. The cool temperature of the glass felt piercing against my palm, even before I took a sip. The water was tasteless, but somehow it felt too clear—as if I could distinguish the minerals within it.
"Thank you," I said, slightly hesitant about the sound of my own voice.
His voice...wasn't mine. It was deeper, smoother, yet carried a subtle, authoritative pressure.
The maid bowed politely. "We are glad to see you awake, Young Master Charles. We were all worried."
Charles.
That name made my throat tighten.
"Was... I unconscious for long?" I asked carefully.
"Only a few hours," the doctor answered. "You were found by a garden servant around dawn. Your body was weak, but there were no signs of serious damage."
I nodded slowly. My gaze shifted to the window—towards the garden he mentioned. From here, I could see a vast expanse of green, with tall trees and flowers that seemed to reflect the dew. Beautiful, but it also felt... dangerous.
The fresh air carried a faint scent that made my skin prickle.
Somehow, this world was too alive.
Too clear.
Too...real.
"Doctor," I called out softly. "Have I been like this often before?"
"No, Young Master. This is the first time you've fainted."
He looked at me again,somewhat hesitant. "But... to be honest, I have never seen a patient with sensory reactions as strong as yours. Even the sound of a clock's ticking can change your pulse."
I fell silent.
So,this body didn't just belong to an ordinary noble.
This body...was excessive in perceiving the world.
"Alright," I said slowly, trying to steady my breathing. "I understand."
The maid—Lira, if I heard her name correctly—bowed once more.
"Shall we call Master Luprax,Young Master? He is still in his study."
I paused for a moment. So, his father was still alive.
It wasn't the time to meet him—I hadn't even mastered this role yet.
"No need," I finally replied. "I just need to rest."
Lira and the doctor exchanged glances, then bowed respectfully before leaving the room.
Once the door closed,I stared at the wooden ceiling adorned with the Luprax family crest.
A name I had only encountered on the pages of a book was now attached to my own body.
I took a deep breath—and the scent of this new world once again invaded all my senses.
One reality was undeniable:
I was no longer my old self.
I was Charles Luprax...
and this body,with all its strange sensitivities, was the key to something I did not yet understand.
---
Once the door closed and I was alone, the resulting silence felt... deafening.
The ticking of the clock on the wall echoed like metal strikes inside my skull.
The whisper of wind from the window rustled the curtains,but to my ears, it sounded like the roar of a storm.
Even the sound of my own blood flowing in my ears was loud- thump-thump-thump - like an incessant bell.
I held my head.
"What...is happening to me..."
Nausea surged. The air temperature fluctuated against my skin; cold on one side, hot on the other. Every scent in the room—wood, soap, fabric, even the air—became thousands of distinct layers, all screaming at once.
I slumped onto the edge of the bed. The world spun, too fast, too noisy.
"Stop..."I whispered. But the world didn't listen.
And suddenly—
My head throbbed even harder,and then.
Random images flashed into existence,not my memories... but someone else's.
Young Charles's memories.
---
A child's crying echoed in a large room.
A silver-haired boy sat on the floor,his body trembling, hands covering his ears.
The candles around him swayed as if disturbed by an invisible vortex of energy.
Servants panicked,running around, calling for a physician.
"He won't stop crying!"
"Any sound causes him pain!"
The boy screamed—not from fear, but because the world was too loud for him.
Drips of water from a vase,the rustle of a servant's dress, the ticking of the wall clock—everything stabbed like thousands of tiny knives.
Then... soft footsteps.
Someone ran and knelt beside the boy.
A young woman with black hair and soft blue eyes—his mother.
She hugged the child tightly, burying his small face into her warm shoulder.
The surrounding noises slowly faded,replaced by the gentle rhythm of his mother's heartbeat.
"Be calm, Charles... Mother is here," she whispered softly.
That voice...calm, deep, like water soothing a rippling surface.
The boy's crying weakened, but his body remained tense.
He buried his face in his mother's shoulder,then whimpered hoarsely:
"It's noisy, Mother! The sound of the wind hissing, those insects, and the colors of these flowers are too glaring! I hate the smell of cut grass, and this soil is so itchy on my skin! I can't stand it, Mother. I can't stand it!"
His Mother rubbed his back slowly. She whispered:
"The world is indeed noisy, my child. Sometimes too loud. But not everything you hear, see, or touch is bad."
The boy lifted his face, his eyes wet.
"It hurts... everything hurts..."
"Then," his mother smiled softly, "try to find what doesn't hurt."
Her hand touched the child's chest.
"There are many beautiful things in this world. The sound of rain. The smell of warm bread. The embrace of those who love you. Feel those too, my dear... not just the bad ones."
The boy closed his eyes.
Slowly,the sounds of the world around him transformed: from a roar to a soft whisper, from chaos to harmony.
For the first time,he learned that the painful world could also be soothing... if he chose what he wanted to hear.
---
I jolted back to reality. My breath was heavy.
The room was quiet again—but this time,I tried to listen to it differently.
The clock on the wall still ticked, but now it sounded like a gentle rhythm.
The wind from the window was no longer frightening,but like a living melody.
Even the scent of medicine and wood now felt...peaceful.
I touched my chest, feeling the heartbeat in this body.
That memory wasn't mine,but I could feel the warmth of that embrace as if it were real.
"...Mother," I whispered.
Perhaps that was the reason this body had endured.
Because behind all the sensitivity and pain,there was someone who had once taught him how to make peace with the world.
I took a long, deep breath, then let the air enter slowly.
This time,there was no dizziness, no nausea. Just... a living silence.
I opened my eyes and looked at the window.
The sky had changed color,the soft afternoon light falling gently into the room.
This world still felt too clear, too beautiful, and too real.
But for the first time since waking up—
I was no longer afraid to feel it.