"The deadline is tomorrow, no excuses." The words were replayed in his head as he dragged his feet slowly to the entrance of his apartment. His boss had leaned across his desk earlier that evening, breath wrecking from cigars. He was at wit's end.
The lock to his apartment resisted before unlocking as the stale air hit him. The room was just as it was when he left in the morning, the monitor screen flickering with scattered trash lying around at different corners. He just let the door close with a light thud.
The faint sound of his custom PC filled the silence. As two monitors glowed to life after he pressed on the keyboard. The dim light painted shadows across the unkempt room. Piles of manga, video games and movies slumped on the desk.
He pulled open a can of energy drink as he took a large gulp down his throat. His PC had booted completely, showing on screen. Lines of code, system interface.
A game, his game.
Not just the regular types escape the dungeon or farming simulation. No, this was different. If his theories were correct, then his theories could take fiction into reality.
That was the dream anyway, the dream he had been clinging to ever since life had shown him, he was no hero, just an average otaku scraping by his twenties.
"Become the protagonist of my story, huh!" He muttered, pushing his glasses up with a finger. His reflection on the black glass of the monitor looked unconvinced.
Time went by in a blur under the glow of the screen, fingers tapping furiously lines of logic spun across the display. He leaned closer, muttering corrections to himself, deleting, rewriting and testing. His body screamed at him to stop but the thought of his boss's face wouldn't let him.
Cans of energy drinks piled up.
Just then, it happened. A sequence that had failed all week suddenly clicked into place. Windows opened as codes compiled without red errors popping back at him. A green bar edged across the monitor.
"Come on... Come on..." His pulse quickened.
The system booted into testing mode. Across his second monitor, a grid appeared. Number changing rapidly as though alive.
His thoughts were drowned out by exhaustion. He rubbed his temple. His vision blurred as he blindly searched for his half-finished energy drink beside his keyboard.
His finger clipped as the can tipped. The cold liquid spilt on the desk as it seeped into the keyboard, dripping onto the lower shelf below.
"Shit..."
He lunged forward, but it was too late. A sharp crackling filled the room.
---
"Cough, cough! What is that smell, and why is it so bad?"
A young boy woke up from where he lay on top of some hay as he muttered complaints.
Maxwell Gillette opened his eyes, and what he got to see first were horse faces and asses together. On his thighs was horse shit that stunk worse than he could imagine. "Horse shit?" His eyes grew wide in surprise while his body froze from astonishment.
"What the? How is this happening?" Maxwell's thought got lost. How is this even happening? "What's going on? Transmigration?"
"Just now I was working on my game and now this!"
Everything was just too much for him to handle all at once. He looked at the clothes he was wearing, then at his pair of hands, and then at the long golden hair that reached his waist. All of this was not part of his original body, so this clearly proved that he had transmigrated! The moment his hands touched the data plug...
Maxwell was now completely downcast.
He could easily be compared to a kid who was left at home alone in a dark room with no guidance. "Why did it have to be now?" He cursed angrily.
Transmigration, how was that even possible? He never thought of that.
He enjoyed working on online games, especially the types with great storylines where the main character was so overpowered and could step on others and beat the crap out of everyone... but those were merely what he enjoyed.
These were all imaginary and would never happen in real life.
Transmigration is just a genre of some particular novels, anime, games or series, and it couldn't happen.
He would volunteer freely if offered the opportunity of transmigration, as a way of changing his already black sheep life. Now that he really transmigrated, he couldn't bring himself to be happy about it.
There's no other reason except for… His head began to flood immediately with memories of the owner of the body which now belonged to him.
The life experiences, family background and the thought of having no abilities or ever having anyone due to being crippled from cultivating. His life looked like the best you could ask for, the heir to the previous lord of the house.
His father was killed in a battle while his mother was so disheartened that she got sick and died not too long after. Once his parents had died, his life fell from heaven to hell.
Originally, Maxwell had become the Gillette Household stable hand; his status was even lower than that of a peasant.
To make matters worse he had lost all his abilities and would never be able to cultivate. Once the most talented with endless potential and considered a blessing was now trash, only important in the stables.
In a world where the strong are respected, not being able to cultivate was equivalent to a death sentence. He could never turn over a new leaf in his entire lifetime.
The moment he became trash was the moment he was bullied every single day. Those in the same household would beat and ridicule him constantly while the members from other houses would insult and laugh behind his back on the main streets.
People didn't dare to look at him directly before but now, just for showoff, he would be used for example.
The Gillette Household never bothered itself with his affairs after the incident. All they anticipated was his death. Maxwell was still the heir by birthright and could ascend the Lord's throne once he came of age.
Until yesterday…
Vincent Gillette had brought a girl to select a horse.
She was Lena Castro, daughter of the Castro Household, one of the five major households that were in Eden City. Once Maxwell's betrothed... Their engagement was called off immediately Maxwell had become crippled. A secret he only got to discover months later when a new engagement between Vincent and Lena was announced. He could only smile bitterly at all the backstabbing.
Vincent was the pompous type who liked to display power, to show off his authority, he came into the stables together with Lena. Together they worked in sync as they tried to force Maxwell to react. Seeing that Maxwell was acting nonchalant got Vincent at his peak and suddenly...
Vincent became physical, knocking out Maxwell with just a single blow. He was already at level 5 of the Bronze rank. As if the blow wasn't enough he started sending him violent kicks all over his body. This was the cause of Maxwell's death.
And now Him, the game creator.
"Why did it have to be me, and why now?" Maxwell was downcast, filled with powerlessness. "How will I survive in this world?"
Maxwell's thoughts were far-fetched; he needed a way out, and here he was in the body of a cripple. How would he ever get to the top?
"Oh, you're awake?" The sudden voice brought him back to reality.
He was the horse stables Steward, Drake. The surprise look on his face was something to worry about. "After taking a hell of a beating he's still alive, he must have nine lives then," Drake muttered to himself.
He could only watch as Maxwell was beaten up by Vincent and was not expecting Maxwell to survive. He snapped out of the shock immediately, smiling coldly as he approached Maxwell.
"I can see you're awake now, you'd better not pretend to be dead, when you're supposed to be working. I might just deliver another blow?" Spot, spit! Mucus landed on Maxwell's face.
Maxwell's eyes twitched as anger grew within him, he just let out a smile as he dragged himself up. "I'll get to work immediately."
Drake was currently at level 7 of the Bronze rank, which was enough to send him back to an early grave.
Maxwell just hurriedly exited the stables as he arrived outside.
"Crunch!" He had just stepped on something.
"Crackle."