"Wait a second…" I squint at the bright screen. "Did you really just call me a bastard?"
The blue text flickers, looking smug as ever.
[Noted, bastard host.]
"OH YOU BASTARD!" I throw my hands at the screen as if I could strangle it, but of course, it's just a floating beam of light. "I swear, if you had a face, I'd punch it until my knuckles bled."
Ding.
[STATUS MENU UNLOCKED]
And just like that, my little rant gets interrupted by a bunch of numbers.
Bastard Host: Yaramel Jerick
Strength: 9/10
Speed: 8/10
Agility: 6/10
Stamina: 6/10
Body Toughness: 7/10
Endurance: 6/10
Mana: 5/10
Senses: 5/10
Mental Resistance: 7/10
"Oh wow, thanks. A glorified report card. Super helpful. Maybe next time you could throw in a gold star sticker while you're at it."
I scroll through the details, feeling half-interested and half-annoyed. The abilities list reads like a twisted job description:
[Skill Information Available]
Twin Demon Swords Swordsmanship (Passive) – Proficiency: Newbie
→ Grants basic dual-sword handling instincts. Currently unreliable.
Demon Steps – Movement speed increases by 50%.
→ Allows sudden bursts of speed and short dashes.
Demon Aura – Imbues your twin swords with demonic energy, increasing damage by 60%.
Twin Demons Manifestation – Summons two demonic clones with half of your full strength and overall stats.
I read it twice. Then a third time.
"So let me get this straight. I've got swords I don't even have yet, a skill that literally calls me a newbie, and clones that are basically budget versions of myself? Oh yeah. This is great."
"Nothing screams 'hero material' like being a knock-off brand from day one."
I rub my temples, groaning. "And don't even get me started on this 'demon aura' nonsense."
"Increasing damage by sixty percent? Sounds great, until you realize I don't even have a weapon to swing."
"What am I supposed to imbue, my bare fists? 'Beware my demonic karate chop!'"
The system doesn't respond, obviously. It just sits there, glowing, probably chuckling at me in binary.
"Seriously, what am I supposed to do with this? Imbue my nonexistent swords? Summon my broke-ass clones? Dash really fast… into a wall and die?"
Silence. Then—
[Understood, you bastard.]
"Wait. Wha—"
And then my skull explodes.
"AAAAHHHHHHH!" I scream, loud enough to wake the dead. My knees buckle, and I crash to the floor, clawing at my scalp like that'll somehow help.
White-hot pain floods my head, like someone's taking a power drill to my brain while dumping every Wikeypedias article ever written straight into my eyeballs.
Images, words, sounds—languages I've never even heard of—slam into me like freight trains made of pure information.
Memories that aren't mine surge through every nerve ending.
The common tongue of this world, Valerian. Street names, currency systems, social hierarchies, monster classifications—all of it branding itself into my mind like someone's using a hot iron on my brain.
My chest heaves. I can't breathe. My throat is raw from screaming, but it just won't stop. It feels endless, like I'm drowning.
The Widely Known Academies. Noble houses. The Famous Guilds. Hero Rankings, powerful weapons, and a thousand little details about this world I never wanted to know, all force-feeding themselves into my skull at once.
And then—silence.
I'm sprawled on the floor, sweat dripping down my face, my body trembling like I just got hit by a truck. My tongue tastes like copper, and there's drool on my chin. Real classy.
"…F…fuck you," I croak at the ceiling.
No response. Of course.
I drag myself up, my legs wobbling like a newborn giraffe. For some reason, my fists ball up, and I just start punching the air.
"RAHHHHHHHHH YOU GODDAMN BASTARD!" I throw hooks at nothing, jabs at the empty air, uppercuts at the goddamn atmosphere—wild and sloppy, like I'm fighting my own demons and my mind's only goal is to take his life.
Slowly, I stop. Maybe. Calmly. Thinking.
Bits of memory flood into place like puzzle pieces made of pain. I… know things now. Things I really shouldn't.
Apparently, I'm seventeen. Seventeen. Again.
There's school. Tomorrow. Valemont Academy—some great place for kids with magical talents and combat skills.
And a sister—what? Her name is Lyralei, she's fifteen, and apparently, she's some kind of prodigy with light magic. And parents. They're alive.
My parents are alive here. Marcus and Elena Jerick, and they run some sort of enchanted item shop.
I slump back against the wall, my head pounding like someone's using my brain as a bass drum.
The information keeps settling in, unwanted and overwhelming.
This body—my body now, I guess—has been living a normal life until today.
lazing around, dealing with all the usual nonsense,
probably stressing over his annoying sister and friends instead of demonic corruption and dying a horrible death.
"Oh, great. So not only do I have a demon system trying to corrupt my soul, but I also get to do homework? Nice. Just… kill me again."
The worst part? Some tiny, treacherous corner of my mind is almost… happy? My parents died when I was twelve back in my original life.
Car accident. Here, they're alive, breathing, probably downstairs making dinner or bickering about bills like normal people do.
But I can't enjoy it because I know what this world is.
I know there are monsters that can level city blocks, heroes who can split mountains, and villains who treat genocide like it's a hobby.
And now I'm stuck right in the middle of it with a class that's going to slowly turn me into one of the craziest guys around.
"This is so messed up," I mutter, finally pushing myself to my feet. "I'm basically a ticking time bomb with a student ID."
Tomorrow, I'll have to wake up, pretend to be a normal teenager, go to that academy, and somehow figure out how to survive in a story where I'm probably destined to be cannon fodder and get obliterated by something.
All while my new demonic class slowly eats away at whatever's left of my humanity.
"Well," I say to my reflection in that quirky mirror, "I suppose I'm kind of handsome." At least I can take comfort in looking good.