With a sharp gasp, a boy in his early teens jolted awake. His chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat trickling down his temple as his wide eyes locked on the unfamiliar ceiling above. A dull throb echoed through his body, every muscle aching as if he had been crushed and remade. He clenched his teeth, fighting back the urge to scream.
What… what is going on?
The silence of the room offered no answer. He lay on a massive canopy bed draped in fine sheets, far removed from the cramped apartment where he had spent his previous life. Around him, the chamber stretched wide and noble, lit faintly by the glow of a lantern hanging from the wall. No machines, no cables—only carved wood and polished stone.
As he lay there, fragments of unfamiliar memories surged into his mind. Names, faces, places—all belonging to a boy called Ardent Lacksmith, the fifth son of a minor noble house.
The influx of knowledge blended with the searing fever in his body until both slowly began to subside.
'Reincarnated…?' The thought was ridiculous. He had scoffed at stories like this, dismissing them as wish-fulfillment fantasies. Yet here he was, living the trope he once mocked. The absurdity should have shaken him, but instead, a quiet laugh escaped his lips.
"…Hah. I'm really a lord's son. Though… the fifth one."
The smile tugging at his lips was bitter, but not unwelcome. For someone who had lived a lonely, detached existence, this new role held a certain strange allure.
Click—
The sudden creak of the door startled him. Ardent instinctively straightened his posture, his still-aching body protesting the movement.
A young woman stepped inside—a maid, judging from her uniform.
She looked to be in her twenties, with short brown hair framing her refined features.
Her eyes widened briefly at the sight of him awake before softening with warmth.
"Young master…" she said gently.
The words landed oddly in his ears, foreign yet strangely fitting.
Before he could respond, she turned and motioned, prompting two more maids to step inside. They carried trays and bowls, their movements careful as their gazes settled on him.
Ardent's lips pressed into a thin line. He wore a poker face, the same expressionless calm that had served him in his previous life as a hacker navigating digital shadows.
Inside, however, his thoughts churned.
'So it's real. This identity… this world…'
The maid approached with practiced grace, placing a tray on the bedside table. A faint herbal scent drifted up as she poured steaming tea into a delicate cup.
"Young master, are you feeling well enough to sit up?" she asked softly.
Ardent gave a short nod. Though his body still felt heavy, he pushed himself up with effort, leaning against the headboard. The maid handed him the cup, and the warmth seeped into his palms. He sipped slowly, the faint bitterness of herbs grounding him in this strange reality.
Another maid soon brought a small plate of bread and broth, setting it gently before him. For the first time since waking, his stiff expression eased. "Thank you," he said, his voice low but steady.
The words seemed ordinary enough to him, yet the three maids froze for a heartbeat. Surprise flickered across their faces, quickly replaced by joy. They bowed their heads slightly, smiles breaking through their composure.
Ardent blinked. 'Did they just… get stunned by a simple thanks? Strange. Did the original Ardent never show basic courtesy?' He stored the thought away, deciding not to press it for now.
A little later, the door opened again. This time, a woman entered, her complexion pale but her bearing graceful. Ardent recognized her instantly through the unfamiliar memories merging with his own—his mother. She had been ill recently, and he now recalled how the boy called Ardent had caught this fever from her after stubbornly staying by her side.
Her eyes softened at the sight of him sitting up. She reached out, brushing his cheek with cool fingers. "I'm so glad you're awake," she whispered, the relief in her tone betraying her exhaustion.
Before he could respond, a tall figure stepped in. His father. Broad-shouldered, dressed in a noble's attire, he carried himself with quiet authority. His expression was firm, almost stern, yet not unkind. He stopped only long enough to give a short nod.
"It's good to see you up. Get well soon."
And with that, he turned and left.
Ardent sat frozen for a moment, cup still in his hands. 'That's it? No embrace, no words of comfort?' He frowned faintly, though his calm demeanor never broke. It was only later, through the casual chatter of the maids, that he understood—this was simply his father's way. A man of few words, equally distant with all his children. To them, that very aloofness carried a certain dignity, even coolness.
Ardent leaned back against the pillows, quietly digesting this. 'So that's the kind of family I've landed in… Interesting.'
The night passed quietly. Anna—the maid with the short brown hair—remained by his side the whole time, changing the damp cloth on his forehead whenever it cooled, her presence steady and unobtrusive. Ardent said little, content to let silence wrap the room. His body, weak from fever, soon surrendered to exhaustion, and he drifted into sleep beneath the soft glow of the lantern.
The next morning
The sound of footsteps woke him. A different maid entered, carrying a small glass vial filled with a cloudy liquid. She offered it to him with both hands.
"Young master, please drink this. It will help restore your strength."
Ardent accepted it without question, uncorked the vial, and downed it in one breath. A wave of bitterness washed over his tongue, sharp enough to make him grimace. But almost immediately afterward, warmth spread through his chest and limbs, coursing like a current through every muscle. Within the hour, his body felt lighter, clearer—free of the fever's weight.
'So this is a potion… bitter, but effective.'
The maid explained in passing that it was a stamina potion, far cheaper than the more expensive healing variety. Healing potions were known for their sweetness but cost several times as much. His father, pragmatic as ever, had chosen the more affordable option.
Ardent only smirked faintly. 'Efficient. I can respect that. Why waste coin when the result is the same?'
But it wasn't the potion that thrilled him most—it was what came after.
As he stretched his newly restored body, something stirred deep within his awareness. A faint glimmer, like a hidden window opening in the back of his mind. Words, labels, and numbers—all crisp, structured, and familiar in their logic.
"...Identification," he whispered.
A skill. An actual skill. He focused, and instinctively, a glowing panel of information appeared before his eyes, details written in neat lines only he could see.
His breath caught. 'This… this is basically appraisal. Like in the novels. Except—'
No, it was more than appraisal. The depth of information it provided went far beyond a simple status check. It was closer to a full diagnostic tool, peeling back layers of data no one else seemed able to access.
'Identification… huh. My previous self never had this. Or maybe he never knew how to trigger it. Either way, it's mine now.'
The memories of the boy called Ardent confirmed one thing: in this world, no one could awaken skills before receiving their "job" at the age of fourteen. He was thirteen. This should have been impossible.
And yet, here it was—his first real edge.
Ardent's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.
Ardent's discovery gnawed at his thoughts. Identification wasn't just a skill—it felt deeper, like a hidden interface only he could access. When he focused on a person, lines of data seemed to rise into view, forming neatly above their head like a bracketed title bar.
[ Anna ]
The maid sitting by his bedside blinked at him, puzzled by his sudden intent stare. To her, nothing had changed. But to Ardent, an invisible overlay shimmered above her head, as though he were looking at a character in an online game.
He willed the brackets open. Instantly, more details unfolded before him in cascading panels, crisp and orderly.
Status Window
[ Anna Wexley ]
Age: 22
Race: Human
Condition: Healthy
Affiliation: House Lacksmith – Servant
Classes:
Blessed Class: [Maid of Grace] Lv. 3
Acquired Class: [Housekeeper] Lv. 7
Acquired Class: [Herbal Assistant] Lv. 4
Skills:
[Household Management] (Intermediate)
[Brew Herb Tea] (Intermediate)
[Etiquette] (Basic)
[Minor Healing Touch] (Dormant – Unawakened)
Ardent's eyes widened slightly. It wasn't just names and jobs—he could see levels, conditions, and even dormant skills that Anna herself might not know she had.
'This isn't just appraisal… this is like pulling raw system data.'
He leaned back against the headboard, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. From his point of view, the world had just revealed its "code." Others saw swords, spells, and noble titles. He saw databases waiting to be queried.
'If I can see this… can I also edit it? Rewrite the values, maybe even unlock skills ahead of time?'
The thought sent a ripple of anticipation through him. A familiar thrill, like the moment before breaching a secure firewall in his old world. Except now, the system wasn't a computer. It was reality itself.
But the thrill didn't last long. Reality hit him like a splash of cold water.
Unlike a computer interface, the panel floating before him had no keys, no touchpoints, no code to manipulate. He tried focusing harder, willing changes to appear, but nothing responded. The glowing window remained static, like a locked file.
Ardent exhaled through his nose, his faint smirk fading. So it's not that easy. I can observe, but I can't modify. Not yet.
Still, there was more than nothing. When he concentrated on a skill, the status window expanded seamlessly, revealing additional layers of description.
[ Minor Healing Touch ]
A latent ability of blessed lineage. Allows channeling of life energy through touch to mend small wounds and reduce fever. Dormant until awakened by class advancement.
The information folded back the moment he pulled his focus away. Ardent's brows furrowed. Detailed, layered… as if the system wants me to peel it apart piece by piece. There has to be more hidden under the surface.
For now, though, he accepted a simple truth: he lacked the "permission" to tamper with anything. His Identification gave him access, but only at the level of a reader, not a writer.
He leaned back against the pillows, his rational calm returning. 'Alright. If this world is a system, then there must be an exploit, a crack in the framework. It won't open itself to me at once, but if I probe it long enough, I'll find a way. For now, observation is data—and data is the first step to control.'
Ardent closed the panel with a thought, his expression returning to its usual poker calm. Around him, Anna hummed softly while folding sheets, oblivious to the glowing secrets floating above her head.
'Patience, he reminded himself. Even the hardest firewall takes time to crack.'