I woke up due to the same damn eternal, never-forgiving bell of alarm.
Eyes still groggy due to sleep but I noticed something....
The sheets were too soft.
There was chirpings of the birds
And the ceiling was… definitely not supposed to be painted with gold-trimmed constellations.
Rishi sat up abruptly, blinking at the enormous bed beneath him, the silk canopy above, and the sprawling, sunlit chamber around him. This wasn't his room. Not even close.
His room had cracked paint, a noisy fan, and a half-dead potted plant.
But here ...The decoratives seem expensive and antique
This? This looked like a noble's guest chamber in some over-budget fantasy drama.
"The hell…?"
He got out of bed, feet sinking into an embroidered rug. He staggered toward the nearest door—which opened automatically—and stepped into a bathroom that looked like a marble temple. There was a bathtub large enough to drown a cow and more mirrors than seemed psychologically healthy.
He caught sight of himself and froze.
The reflection staring back at him wasn't exactly a stranger—but it wasn't him either.
His features were still vaguely familiar—same general structure—but sharper, more refined. His skin was fairer. His hair was pitch black and longer, tied back with a silver ribbon. His black eyes shimmered under the light, almost like they absorbed it.
He can't believe himself that he was so handsome.
He leaned closer.
And then—BANG.
His head throbbed. Not like a normal headache. This was like someone had ripped open his skull and dumped in a thousand memories at once.
Screams. Swords. Blue fire.An academy courtyard.A duke's estate.A pair of black eyes staring at a crowd of nobles.And one name echoed through it all:
Rishi Lux Dankworth.
The knowledge came crashing down like a dam breaking in his mind.
This wasn't his world.
This wasn't his body.
This was—
"No. No, no, no—" Rishi gripped the edge of the sink as the truth slammed into him.
He had transmigrated.
Into a novel.
A damn novel.
His hands trembled as fragmented memories filled in like puzzle pieces.
He knew this place. This story.
The title hit him like a punch to the gut:
"The World's Last Stand."
A dark fantasy web novel he'd read half of—before rage-quitting because the author kept killing off good characters and never updated on time.
It was a brutal world of political games, magical bloodlines, awakenings, and a sprawling academy arc that quickly devolved into war, betrayal, and power struggles. The weak were crushed. The strong were hunted. Everyone was a pawn—until they weren't.
And now?
Now he was in it.
"No. Oh, hell no—WHY THIS BOOK?!"
He staggered backward, eyes wide, panting.
Of course it had to be this world.
The one where the protagonist nearly dies before he even awakens. The one where nobles smile while stabbing each other in the back. The one where the academy entrance exam involved survival in a mana-saturated beast forest. It is the world which is going to collapse but people are still running for profit.
"Oh, this is just fantastic," Rishi muttered, pacing the marble floor. "Why couldn't it be a cooking novel? Or a dating sim? Or literally anything where I don't get assassinated before breakfast?!"
He paused.
Wait.
Memories—new ones, not his own—resurfaced.
He was Rishi Dankworth.Nephew of Duke Ronan Dankworth, one of the five High Nobles of the Empire.He had no parents—they died years ago.But he had a younger sister named Lilia.And thank god—she was fine. Not sick. Not cursed. Not kidnapped. Just... a bright, chatty ten-year-old who liked sweet buns and sword-fighting.
"That's... something," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "At least they didn't nerf the sister into a tragedy bait."
He looked up at the mirror again, wide-eyed.
He laughed.
A short, sharp laugh.
Then another.
Then—full-blown, manic laughter echoed through the bathroom.
"Haha... hahahaha! Of course! Why not?! Throw me into the storm of death and betrayal! Sure! Make me the dead-duke's nephew with a target on his back! Why not?! I love this! This is great! Best. Monday. Ever!"
or was is Tuesday... whatever...who cares
He pointed at the ceiling.
"YOU HEAR THAT, WHOEVER DID THIS?! THANKS FOR THE LIFETIME SUBSCRIPTION TO PAIN!"
He was mid-laugh—still teetering between nervous breakdown and sarcastic acceptance—when the door creaked open.
"My lord, breakfast is—"
He turned to see a young maid standing in the doorway, holding a silver tray with a tea set. Her eyes went wide. She froze.
He was shirtless, sweaty, laughing like a lunatic in front of the mirror.
Not a great look.
"...I'll come back later," she said, backing out without waiting for a reply.
The door clicked shut.
Rishi stared at it for a long moment.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Nice. First day in a new world, and I've already scared the staff."