"This fucking bitch—"
The curse died in Zeiren's throat as his eyes flew open.
The first thing he noticed was the absence of pain.
A few moments ago—or what felt like a few moments ago—he had been lying on the floor of a convenience store with several bullets in his body. He distinctly remembered blood, screaming, and the growing certainty that his life was ending in the most ridiculous way imaginable. Yet now, instead of cold tiles stained with his own blood, he found himself sprawled across a bed so large that five people could probably sleep on it comfortably.
For several seconds, he simply stared at the ornate canopy above him.
Then he sat up.
"What the hell?"
The room looked nothing like a hospital. In fact, it looked nothing like anywhere he had ever been. Expensive furniture filled the spacious chamber, each piece appearing handcrafted rather than manufactured. Golden patterns decorated the walls, reflecting the warm morning light streaming through enormous windows. Beside the bed stood polished tables holding an elegant lamp and a vase overflowing with fresh flowers. Everything looked absurdly luxurious, like the bedroom of a noble from a fantasy movie.
Zeiren swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. His bare feet sank into a carpet so soft it felt more expensive than his monthly salary.
The room was real.
The carpet was real.
The bed was real.
Which raised a rather important question.
"Where the hell am I?"
Before he could investigate further, the door burst open.
A young maid rushed into the room, her expression filled with panic. The moment her eyes landed on him, she visibly froze before shouting, "Y-Young Master?!"
Young master?
Zeiren stared at her.
The maid stared back.
Then a sharp pain exploded inside his head.
His vision blurred instantly.
It felt as though someone had taken a thousand books and forcibly shoved their contents into his brain all at once. Memories that didn't belong to him flooded his consciousness, carrying unfamiliar faces, places, and names. The sheer volume of information hit him like a tidal wave.
Mana.
Heroes.
Hunters.
Villains.
Elves.
Dwarves.
Demons.
The Miasma Crypt Order.
The unfamiliar terms crashed through his mind one after another, accompanied by fragments of memories that felt both foreign and strangely familiar. Zeiren staggered backward, clutching his head as nausea twisted his stomach.
"What the—"
Pain shot through his skull before he could finish.
The room spun violently.
The maid screamed.
Someone rushed into the room.
An older man dressed in a pristine black butler uniform appeared at his side, his composed expression immediately cracking with alarm.
"Call the Madam!" he barked. "Quickly!"
"Y-Yes, Butler Lin!"
The maid sprinted out of the room without hesitation.
Zeiren barely heard them.
His mind felt like it was tearing itself apart. Every second brought another flood of memories, another fragment of a life he had never lived. Faces appeared and vanished. Names echoed inside his head. Information piled atop information until he could no longer distinguish where his memories ended and someone else's began.
The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him again was the worried face of the butler leaning over him.
When Zeiren opened his eyes for the second time, he found himself trapped in a surprisingly strong embrace.
"Sulien!"
A woman's trembling voice reached his ears.
He blinked several times before focusing on the face in front of him. The beautiful woman holding him looked exhausted, her eyes red and swollen as though she had spent hours crying.
For a moment, confusion returned.
Then the memories came back.
Not all at once this time.
They settled into place naturally, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle.
Sulien Von Wald.
That was the name of the boy whose body he now occupied.
And somehow, against all logic and reason, Zeiren realized he knew exactly where he was.
A mixture of disbelief and dread settled in his stomach.
No way.
No.
Absolutely not.
He had read this story years ago while he was still in high school. It had been his favorite novel at the time, one he reread often enough to remember most of its major events.
Above Helot.
The realization made his heart sink.
The story followed Aiden McFerrin, a slave forced to fight in an underground arena. After years of suffering, Aiden was eventually rescued when a hero investigating a villain's escape uncovered the illegal operation and reported it to the Hero Association. The discovery triggered a large-scale rescue mission that freed dozens of enslaved children and teenagers. Among them was Aiden himself.
Recognizing their talent, the headmaster of Apex Hero Academy personally sponsored several survivors and brought them to the most prestigious academy on the continent. That was where the novel truly began and where Aiden's journey from slave to hero unfolded.
Unfortunately, Zeiren wasn't Aiden.
Or rather, Sulien wasn't.
As the memories continued settling into place, he searched for information regarding the family whose name he now carried.
The Wald family.
A powerful noble house.
A respected bloodline.
And a complete disaster waiting to happen.
Five children had been born into the family, but four died under mysterious circumstances before reaching adulthood. The sole survivor, Aloysius Von Wald, eventually descended into madness after uncovering the truth behind their deaths. Consumed by grief and vengeance, he abandoned humanity and joined the Miasma Crypt Order, becoming one of the major antagonists of the first volume.
Zeiren remembered him well.
Aloysius was popular with readers.
Powerful.
Tragic.
Dangerously handsome.
Most importantly, he survived long enough to become relevant.
Sulien, meanwhile...
Zeiren searched both his memories and his recollection of the novel.
Nothing.
No major scenes.
No significant role.
No memorable dialogue.
Barely any mention at all.
A terrible realization slowly dawned on him.
"Wait."
His expression stiffened.
"If Aloysius was the only surviving child..."
The room suddenly felt colder.
Aloysius survived.
Sulien did not.
Which meant there was only one possible explanation for why he remembered almost nothing about this character.
He had died before the story even began.
For several long moments, Zeiren sat in silence while the implications sank in.
Then he covered his face with both hands.
"Fantastic."
His voice sounded painfully tired.
"I get shot in one world and respawn directly into another death flag."
A few memories from Sulien's life surfaced again, revealing a household filled with hidden tensions and secrets that had gone unnoticed by a child's eyes. Looking at them now through an adult's perspective, however, they felt significantly more concerning.
Zeiren slowly lowered his hands.
Fear lingered in his chest, but beneath it was determination.
Panicking wouldn't help.
Complaining definitely wouldn't help.
Well, it would help a little.
Just not enough.
If the future he remembered remained unchanged, the Wald family was doomed.
And if the Wald family was doomed, then so was he.
"I need to prepare," he murmured.
For the first time since waking up, his thoughts felt clear.
Whatever had killed the original Sulien, whatever had destroyed the Wald family, and whatever had pushed Aloysius toward becoming a villain, Zeiren intended to find it.
Because dying once was already more than enough.
He had no intention of making it a habit.