"What the hell…"
It was surreal—almost unreal. One moment that stretched into eternity, I was drowning in a flood of unending pain.
And in the very next breath—absolute comfort. Like the warmest, most sincere embrace. Nostalgic. Home.
Then I saw it—a mirror. Something far too expensive for me to ever own as a bedroom accessory. And beneath my feet… damp tiles.
A neatly placed toothbrush and toothpaste in a clean basket. A shower tap to the left. And… a bathtub?
What was this? Another pathetic dream, fantasizing about the impossible—being born as the son of a wealthy heir?
But the real shock came when I looked back at the mirror.
Blond hair I'd never had. A sharp, symmetrical jawline. A square, masculine chin. A broad, bare chest dusted with hair. My fat rolls replaced by well-defined abs.
Transmigration wasn't exactly new to me—not after spending twenty hours a day devouring novels, comics, and anime.
But not like this. Not into this character—this idiotic bastard from my own novel:
Havel Maggaelheis.
My mouth hung open, and a hysterical scream burst out—almost as melodic as the melancholic tunes my father adored.
***
It took five minutes and a raw throat for me to stop.
But my mind wouldn't. I mean, what kind of monstrous sin had I committed in a past life to deserve this?
I rubbed my temples, lowering my head until it nearly touched the sink.
The good news? I was now rich enough to have a bathroom half the size of my last house.
The bad news? I wasn't sure I'd survive until tomorrow.
Because, let's face it, this guy, Havel, was a walking piece of shit.
Just look at that sinful pretty face. With nothing but his looks, he'd already stolen the woman who was meant to marry our tragic original protagonist.
That scheming brain of his? He'd managed to frame the protagonist so badly he was nearly expelled from the academy.
And his greatest asset? His family name.
The Maggaelheis weren't just powerful nobles, they were royal contenders. The blood of the First Hero ran in their veins, placing them above even other aristocrats.
With credentials like that, you'd think it would be stupid to sulk here, right?
I could just use every asset I had now to crush the protagonist, and live comfortably.
Yeah, if the protagonist didn't have that cursed ability: regression.
It was the novel I wrote after graduating middle school—ten years ago—when I first shut myself off from the world. I barely remembered the details.
I didn't even know which part of the plot, or which loop, this was.
If it was already past the first loop, walking out of this bathroom might be suicide.
[Installation complete…]
And there it was, the mandatory feature in every transmigration story: the system.
So now I'd get some seemingly useless cheat that turned out to be broken? Or maybe… infinite charm so overwhelming that even the protagonist would fall for me?
Okay, that second one sounded weird, not my thing anyway. Just give me a proper power. Doesn't have to be overpowered, just enough to keep the protagonist off me.
[Dream on, loser!]
What the…
[What? Hoping for some stupid cheat? Once a loser, always a loser, huh.]
I laughed dryly. Right. Obviously just another hallucination. My panicked brain was making up absurd scenarios and twisting what I saw.
All I had to do was blink and—
[This isn't a hallucination, you moron!]
[As shitty as it was, this was your new reality]
…
[What's this? Feeling nostalgic over your failures? Not that you've ever succeeded before. Honestly, your very birth was a disappointment.]
My fists tightened. Of course. If there really was someone—or something—sadistic enough to put me here, they wouldn't be kind enough to make my life easier.
"So, what are you? God? A deity? A demon?"
[Who knows? Does it matter?]
"I'd rather talk to someone with actual authority. So if you're not it, this conversation's over."
[Oh? Acting like you're brave enough to really end it. What will you do? Try killing yourself again, only to fail halfway like last time?]
Tch. "That was… because the rope was too short."
[Hahahaha, please. What a childish excuse. Just admit it—you're scared of the pain of dying. You're afraid what waits after might be far worse.]
[Well, joke's on you—it is worse.]
[You wanted a cheat? Fine. I'll give you the ultimate one.]
[With this, you'll never die. Your heart won't stop beating—even if the world ends.]
[Welcome to your very hell]
***
———————
[You have acquired SSS-Rank Skill: Immortality]
You are the beginning, and the end. Even the most impossible of causes will fail to destroy you.
[You have acquired Passive Skill: Rapid Regeneration]
[You have acquired Passive Skill: Pain Amplification]
[You have acquired Passive Skill: Accelerated Aging]
———————
That bastard… they even bothered to throw in incredibly useful passives skills for my well-being.
I didn't need to read the descriptions to know exactly what they did.
And just like he said: this was hell.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Complaining or looking pitiful would only amuse him more. But damn it, what the hell was I supposed to do?
Knock! Knock!
The knocks—hurried and impatient—echoed through the door. I must've been in here too long, talking to myself. Whoever was outside would definitely think something was wrong.
If there even was someone there.
If I remembered right, I'd made this Academy as a boarding school in the story—each room assigned to one person only. A rule that couldn't be broken, even by someone from a powerful clan like Havel's.
Which meant… having a servant here was impossible.
So who—?
"Havel, are you done yet?"
A girl's voice. Damn it. Had this bastard already started his filthy work? Was it too late to fix things?
"Or… maybe we could bathe together?"
What? No, no—that was too much, especially for someone like—
CREAK…
The doorknob turned before I could answer, and the door swung open.
A graceful figure appeared. The first thing I noticed was her hips—not too wide, not too narrow. A perfect fit for a hand.
My eyes drifted up to her stomach, barely covered by a towel, then to her chest—full, pressing against the fabric.
Filthy thoughts bubbled up, until I saw the mark on her neck.
A scar bloomed on the left side, totally—fortunately—not a hickey. The shape was too structured, like a faded tattoo of a tiny dragon.
But it wasn't a tattoo. It was natural, more like a birthmark.
The problem? That same birthmark belonged to someone important in this very novel.
The mark of the protagonist.
Leon D'Arville.
That black hair. Those sharp violet eyes.
No doubt about it—that was Leon. But… who's this girl?
"Sorry for barging in. You screamed pretty loudly so I thought something serious happened."
I swallowed. Her tone was still firm and flat, just like it should be—but that voice… it was unmistakably female.
"Are you… done?" She glanced at my bare chest, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks as she spoke shyly. "Or… do you want to bathe together?"
My head felt like it was going to explode.