Graduation Day.
They called it a historic day. A day of farewell. A day of new beginnings.
I called it... Thursday.
At 10:13 in the morning, I received the graduation letter. I picked it up with my right hand, although I could've used my left. It wasn't a conscious decision. My body simply followed habit. Reflexes honed by endless repetition in the White Room, where I was molded into a tool—and like any tool, I operated on efficiency, not meaning.
They danced in joy. Some cried, shook hands, took selfies, made promises they wouldn't keep. Classmates joked about a five-year reunion they'd forget by the second year. Everyone... busy shaping their future.
I stood under a falling sakura tree. The breeze was gentle. It was supposed to bring peace. But to me, wind was merely the result of air pressure differences. Nothing more. Nothing less. No will. No soul. Just like me.
The paper in my hand was thin. White, with golden ink spelling out my name—Ayanokouji Kiyotaka. But I doubted if that was truly me. A name is just a label. And I... am just a product.
No one approached me. Not Horikita, not Ichika, not Kushida. Honestly, even if they had, I'm not sure I would've acknowledged them. Social interaction to me is theater. And I? An actor reading a script without emotion.
I decided to head up to the school rooftop. My steps were unhurried, despite having no destination. I didn't know why I went there. Maybe because it was high. Maybe because I liked the sky. Or maybe… because I wondered what it felt like to fall.
When I opened the rooftop door, the scent of concrete and metal greeted me. The wind was stronger here. I walked to the edge, placing my palm on the railing. Its surface was cold. Real. Maybe the only real thing today.
Then I saw it.
A speck in the sky. Small. Flickering. Moving fast.
I thought it was a bird. Then a plane. Then... a satellite.
The object grew. Sparkling. Glowing.
I knew\... it was going to fall.
Logically, I should've run. Or screamed. Or... done something.
But I just stood there.
Because in my mind, one thought surfaced:
"This... is interesting."
I watched the light as if witnessing fireworks for the first time. But this wasn't fireworks. It was a massive bullet from the heavens. A system error. An abrupt end.
I didn't know why I didn't move. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe... because finally, something appeared that I couldn't control.
The explosion came fast.
No heat. No pain.
I just... vanished.
---
Darkness. Silence.
I felt like I was sinking. But not in water. In a vacuum.
How long was I here?
Time lost its meaning. Like everything else.
Then, a jolt.
My mind was suddenly filled with unfamiliar thoughts. Memories that weren't mine. Emotions I never felt. A boy's pain, his confusion, his loneliness.
Kyros. That was his name. A seven-year-old boy. A low-ranking prince in the royal family of Clover Kingdom. Ignored by nobles, mocked by his older siblings, and forgotten by a king who saw no use in a weak, quiet child.
His mother—his only warmth—had died years ago. Since then, he had lived like a shadow. Not abused, but neglected. The kind of pain that left no scars but hollowed the heart.
And now\... I was in his body.
This wasn't reincarnation.
This was transmigration.
My consciousness, Ayanokouji Kiyotaka, had forcefully replaced Kyros's own. But it didn't completely erase him. His memories lingered like whispers. His personality... fragments of it still clung to the corners of this mind.
I could feel his fear, his longing. And slowly... I accepted it.
I opened my eyes.
Bright. The light was blinding, but not painful.
The ornate ceiling. The velvet canopy. The cold silence of royalty.
A servant entered the room and gasped upon meeting my eyes.
"Y-Your Highness, you're awake...!"
Others rushed in. They didn't call a physician. No magic healer. No royal concern. Just hushed voices.
"Strange... he hasn't spoken since his mother passed."
"Look at his eyes. So calm... almost sharp."
They kept their distance. Reverent, but not warm.
I sat up. My body was smaller, lighter. Weaker. But functional.
"Where is my father?" I asked.
They exchanged glances. Surprised that I spoke at all.
"His Majesty... is attending court in the Capital. He rarely visits this estate."
So Kyros had been exiled, in all but name. A prince discarded without fuss.
Fine.
I moved my fingers. Slowly. Testing the limits of this vessel.
His mana—no, *my* mana now—stirred inside. Raw. Untamed. But vast.
I took mental notes.
The stonework of the walls. The arrangement of books. The tone of the servant's voice. The structure of authority. The depth of negligence.
They saw a boy.
But Kyros's body now housed something else entirely.
Not just a prince.
A strategist. A manipulator. A planner.
They thought Kyros Kira Clover was broken.
But what they now had... was someone who would not remain in the shadows.
This world gave me a throne to ignore.
But I intend to claim far more than that.
And this time... I will win.