"I'm fucked." I muttered, tugging at my hair like it might fix something.
It's been a week since I transmigrated into this world. At first, I thought this was the afterlife. After all, the last thing I remembered was lying on my deathbed, finishing the final volume of my novel The Order of Love.
Funny thing is, that novel was never supposed to matter. It was just a way to kill time. But somehow, it blew up, gained readers, and even started making me money. Not that money meant much to a guy rotting in bed.
I'd been bedridden for three years with a chronic disease, staring out the same damn window every day. Reading kept me sane, but one day the urge to write hit me. So I wrote. By the time I finished the last volume, the doctors said it was time for surgery.
A sixty percent success rate. Sounds decent, right? Not for me. Turns out I was one unlucky motherfucker—I died right there on the operating table.
And when I opened my eyes, I was in a spacious room. The ceiling stretched high above me, a chandelier dangling like it belonged in a palace. Decorations covered the walls, every corner screaming wealth.
And the bed? Damn thing was massive—bigger than the cramped apartment I used to live in before I got sick.
But the real kicker? The family I'd landed in was the Zenithara house—one of the three great dukedoms of the Indrath Empire.
Everything was perfect—or at least it looked that way. After dying at the tender age of nineteen, I woke up in a wealthy family. Not just wealthy, but one that actually loved me. For a moment, I thought death had finally gone easy on me.
But of course, my shitty luck had to fuck me over even after death.
Because the body I transmigrated into belonged to Vivian D. Zenithara—a sickly heir destined to croak before twenty-five. And the funniest part? This pathetic bastard was my own creation—the very character I wrote to become the trigger that turns the story's villainess into a monster.
Haa. I sighed, cursing my fucked-up luck, and walked over to the mirror.
The face staring back was absurdly beautiful—silky black hair, ocean-blue eyes, pale skin. Peak male beauty.
A chuckle escaped me. Well, at least something about this messed-up life was working out,I wouldn't die a virgin atleast.
Sure, the face looked a bit girlish, but that only made it more… distracting. Honestly, I could see why people would stare.
Even though it had been a week since I transmigrated, I still couldn't get used to this family.
My "father"—or rather, Vivian's father—was a duke and one of the top swordmasters in the empire. Vivian's mother came from an equally prestigious family; she was the only daughter of Duke Kamesh Sant. She was kind, sure, but also clingy. Honestly, I had written her that way after my own mother, so her love didn't feel annoying—it was kind of… nice.
Vivian also had a little brother, around ten, while Vivian himself was fifteen.
So if I counted the age… hmm. Ah, fuck it—why do I even suck at math? Okay, whatever. Looks like I have around seven or eight years left to live. Honestly, I didn't expect much from this body when I knew it was seriously ill, but…
Three days into this world, while I was sulking in my room, something weird happened. A screen suddenly popped up in front of me.
Status Window
Character Name: Vivian D. Zenithara
Age: 15
Condition: Seriously ill
Stats:
Strength: 5
Agility: 3
Mana: 10
Charm: 50
Goal: Change your fate.
This system-like thing I'd read about in a lot of novels gave me courage. And the goal—"change your fate"—felt like a spoiler, a lifeline to keep going.
Thinking about it… would I get skills like Meteor Rain? Invisibility? Super speed? If so, I could even fight off the villains with this power, right?
Hehe… if I became the strongest person in this world, that damn villainess couldn't touch me.
Hahaha! I will be the strongest! I laughed maniacally, throwing my hands up in the air… when—
"Brother?"
A boy, around ten, with white hair and eyes that resembled mine, appeared in the doorway. His expression was a mix of confusion and disbelief.
It was Edward D. Zenithara, my younger brother. His facial features were distinctive, and every bit of him—except the hair—looked just like mine. Yeah, no doubt about it, he was my little brother.
"Ahem". I coughed awkwardly and turned toward him, trying to regain some dignity.
"Edward, what's up?" I asked, smiling and waving my hand.
"Brother… what were you doing, lifting your hands up like that?" Edward asked, tilting his head sideways in curiosity.
"Ahh… well… I… I was training. Yes, training. A good way to… strengthen my hands and… well, improve my swordsmanship." What the fuck am I even saying? Shit. I got carried away, but… what can I do?
Shifting the topic, I asked, " Anyways why are you here so early in the morning?"
"Mother asked me to bring you," he replied, his voice reluctant, like he wasn't convinced by the explanation.
"Well… she could've just sent a maid, though," I said, smiling awkwardly. I mean, it was true—in this uselessly huge mansion, there were hundreds of maids. Not to mention my personal maid, Eli. She could've just asked her, right?
"Nope," Edward said, puffing out his chest like Mother giving him this task was the most important thing in the world. "She said she had something important to talk with you, so she sent me."
"And by the way brother, yesterday I asked you to teach me that sword technique Father taught you. Why didn't you come?" he asked, pouting his cheeks.
Well, he looked cute, but cheeky brat… when you were sleeping soundly in the afternoon, I was coughing up blood and the whole house was in an uproar. Even then, you couldn't be bothered to wake up.
Gulping my words, I made up an excuse. "Mother asked me to do something important," I said. I couldn't tell him that his brother was seriously ill and would die in a few years—it would've crushed him at his tender age.
"But still, you could've taught me that technique at night!" he retorted, making faces at me.
Ahh, this cheeky brat. I swear I would've slapped him if he weren't my brother.
"Okay, I'll teach you today—after breakfast. So, let's go see Mother," I said, diverting his attention.
"Then promise me?" He stuck out his pinky for a pinky promise.
Ahh… there's no other way, is there? Bracing myself, I hooked my pinky with his and made the promise with that embarrassingly stupid rhyme Mother taught us when we were young.
"Now can we go?" I said with a sigh.
"Yes!" he replied happily and started leading the way. Seeing his smile, my lips curved upward unconsciously into a smile of my own.
As I followed Edward down the hall, I couldn't shake the thought: my death flag was already raised. The only question was how long until it fell.