The stale airplane air still clung to Liam's clothes, a faint reminder of his whirlwind European work trip. He'd barely stumbled through his front door, tossing his carry-on by the couch before collapsing onto his own familiar bed. The mattress sagged just right, the scent of his own laundry detergent a comforting embrace. With a sigh of pure exhaustion, he closed his eyes, ready for oblivion.
The first sensation was wrong. Not wrong in a painful way, but different. The mattress beneath him was firmer, the sheets a crisper cotton than his well-worn set. He blinked, heavy lids fighting to open, and found himself staring at a ceiling that was distinctly not his. A soft cream, with elegant crown molding he'd never seen before. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at the edges of his sleep-addled mind.
"No way," he mumbled, pushing himself up. This wasn't his cramped city apartment. This was… bigger. The room was tastefully decorated, a framed print of a serene landscape hanging on the wall opposite the bed. His own room was a chaotic testament to his bachelor life. He pinched himself. Hard.
Nothing. Just a dull ache in his arm.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting a plush rug. He tried to rationalize it. A dream? Maybe he'd fallen asleep on the wrong floor of a hotel, somehow? But no, this felt too real, too vivid. His gaze swept the unfamiliar room again, landing on a bedside table. On it sat a framed photograph.
He leaned closer. It was a picture of a smiling woman with warm, kind eyes, her arm around three teenagers. One was a blonde girl with a mischievous grin, another a darker-haired girl with a thoughtful expression. And the third…
Liam's breath hitched. The third was a boy, tall and lanky, with a shy smile and sun-streaked blonde hair. He looked… familiar. Unsettlingly so. A chilling suspicion began to form. He needed a mirror. Now.
His eyes darted around the room, desperate. His phone! He spotted a sleek, unfamiliar smartphone lying on the pristine white duvet. He snatched it, fumbling with the power button. The screen flickered to life, showing a generic lock screen. He tapped the camera icon, flipping it to selfie mode.
The reflection was blurry, pixelated, but it was enough. A face, yes, but not his face. The jawline was sharper, the nose straighter, the eyes… they looked dark, even in the poor resolution. His heart hammered against his ribs.
This couldn't be happening.
He needed a proper mirror. He bolted from the room, throwing open the first door he saw. A closet. Another door. A study. He tore through the unfamiliar space, a growing sense of dread coiling in his stomach.
Luckily, the house was silent. No voices, no movement. Just the echoing thump of his own frantic footsteps.
Finally, he burst into a larger bedroom, easily twice the size of the one he'd woken in. And there it was. A full-length mirror, set into the ornate wardrobe doors. He stumbled towards it, his reflection rushing to meet him.
He froze.
Staring back at him was a face that could have graced the cover of a magazine. It was unmistakably Henry Cavill-esque, but somehow younger, more refined, with a sculpted jawline that looked like it had been carved by a master. The hair was a rich, sun-kissed blonde, falling artfully across a broad forehead. And the eyes… they were a striking, intense shade of dark green, almost emerald.
Liam stared, transfixed. This wasn't his face. This wasn't even a face he recognized from his life. This was… someone else. Someone impossibly handsome. The suspicion solidified into a horrifying, undeniable truth. He wasn't in his apartment, or even his world. He had crossed over. He had transmigrated.
He stumbled back to the first bedroom, his mind reeling. Transmigration. It was a concept from web novels, a fantasy. Not something that happened in real life. But the evidence was staring him in the face – quite literally.
He sank onto the bed, trying to process. The photograph. The beautiful woman, the two girls, and the impossibly handsome boy. His brain, still reeling from the shock, felt a faint tug, a whisper of recognition. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to concentrate, to remember this body's life.
Slowly, agonizingly, memories began to surface. Not his own, but another's. A flood of sensory data, names, faces, experiences. It was like a dam breaking, a torrent of information rushing into his mind.
Lucas Kent. That was the name. His name now.
The beautiful woman in the photo – that was Eleanor Kent, his adoptive mother. The two girls were Susan and Chloe, his adoptive sisters. Susan, the blonde, was a year older, perpetually cheerful and always ready for an adventure. Chloe, the brunette, was younger, quieter, but with a sharp wit that often caught him off guard.
The room he was in was his own. Lucas's room. The larger bedroom with the mirror was Eleanor's. The other two were indeed his sisters' rooms. And the extra one? Ah, a guest room, just as he'd thought.
He was in a fairly large apartment, maybe even a small mansion, judging by the brief tour he'd given himself. He hadn't fully explored, too caught up in the panic of his new appearance. He needed to be careful. He needed to understand where he was, what this new life entailed, before he made any wrong moves.
The memories continued to trickle in, painting a picture of Lucas Kent. He was a Midtown School of Science and Technology student, just like some of the protagonists he'd read about in Marvel comics. He wasn't a standout, nor a slacker. A moderate student, blending into the background, but with a quiet dignity.
And then, a surge of pride, strangely his own, washed over him. This body, Lucas Kent, wasn't a pushover. He had a strong set of principles, a quiet strength that Liam admired. Lucas didn't seek conflict, but he wouldn't back down from injustice. This was a good foundation, he thought, for whatever bizarre reality he now found himself in.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing pulse. New York. Midtown. MCU. This was… real. And he had a new life, a new family, and a new face.
The sun, a brilliant yellow orb, began to stream through the window, bathing the room in warmth. As the light touched his skin, a strange sensation washed over him.
A profound sense of relaxation, of joy, unfurled within him. It was a deep, almost primal satisfaction, like the feeling of biting into his favorite food after a long day, or the intoxicating rush of an imagined perfect scenario filled with beautiful people. A deep, contented hum resonated through his very bones.
He frowned, curious. Was this… a Lucas thing? Or something else? He didn't know yet. But as the sunlight warmed him, a sliver of cautious optimism, a spark of wonder, began to push back against the lingering fear.
He was in New York. The MCU. And he was Lucas Kent. This was going to be… interesting.