Chapter 1: An Unspeakable Way to Transmigrate
Transmigrated…
This was Sherlock's immediate thought as he stood in front of the mirror, but thinking about the way he transmigrated, Sherlock still found it a bit unbelievable, even feeling like his outrageous mother opened the door for outrageousness, and outrageousness had arrived home.
As a 996 corporate slave, after a week of capitalist exploitation, Sherlock finally welcomed his long-awaited holiday, although his freedom would only last for one day.
As a standard corporate slave, Sherlock's mind was filled with the desire to sleep until the world turned dark, living a whole day of sleeping when waking up and eating when hungry.
In fact, Sherlock did just that; while others slept until they naturally woke up, Sherlock was called awake by his long-formed habits. That's right, Sherlock was woken up by hunger.
Drowsily, he randomly ordered some takeout, Sherlock didn't even check what he had ordered before falling back asleep. He was only woken up again by the knock of the delivery person.
Drowsily taking his ordered takeout from the delivery person, Sherlock even politely thanked the hardworking delivery boy, then opened a certain short video website and started filling his stomach with electronic pickles.
Sherlock didn't even know what he was eating, just mechanically stuffing food into his mouth, his attention fixed on the long-legged Miss Explainer on his phone, who were twisting to dynamic music while dressed in exceptionally revealing clothes.
After mechanically finishing what could be considered either breakfast or lunch, Sherlock lay down on his bed once more. With his mind full of long-legged Miss Explainer, Sherlock successfully reunited with those Miss Explainer he had just watched in his dream.
Looking at a large group of long-legged Miss Explainer wearing stockings that could almost form an entire color card, Sherlock in his dream was about to shout out and transform into a wolf to enjoy the pleasure of a wine pond and meat forest.
A sharp pain came from Sherlock's abdomen, directly waking him up. Feeling the Miss Explainer moving away from him, Sherlock could only curse the unclean takeout while casually grabbing a cigarette and rushing towards the throne in the toilet of his rented house.
Everything up to this point was normal, just a typical day off for a perverted corporate slave. However, there's always a "but," and what happened next was outrageous.
Sherlock, with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, sat on the throne, seemingly anticipating the upcoming tragedy. After taking a deep breath, he exerted himself and began his spraying journey.
Just as Sherlock was experiencing that unspeakable sensation in his nether regions, with just a blink of an eye, the previously obstructed and dim toilet of his rented house transformed into a luxurious toilet almost as large as his own bedroom.
At that moment, Sherlock's mind was filled with thoughts of quantum entanglement and trans-temporal cohabitation, completely oblivious to the fact that he seemed to have transmigrated. He even had the presence of mind to comment on the decor of this luxurious toilet.
After all, for Sherlock, transmigration was something he had only read about in novels; it was impossible for such a thing to happen in reality. Compared to transmigration, Sherlock would rather believe this was some hallucination caused by food poisoning.
Sherlock was even wondering if he should call 120 for an emergency, after all, up until now, besides the hallucination of this luxurious toilet, Sherlock only had diarrhea as a symptom.
The cigarette in his hand was still a Marlboro, the king of cost-effectiveness for corporate slaves, with a short filter and a long body. The only difference was that his hand seemed to have become a bit whiter and hairier…
Wait! A bit hairier? A bit whiter????
Frantically throwing the cigarette butt into the toilet, Sherlock hastily grabbed toilet paper to wipe his butt, then took three steps in two and left his throne to stand in front of the mirror.
What met his eyes was a White young man who was several points more handsome than Leonardo, the Earth's heartthrob, and even his physique was incredibly perfect.
With streamlined muscles, eight-pack abs, a lean waist, and a face even more handsome than Leo's, Sherlock admitted that even as a man, he felt like drooling over the young hunk in the mirror for a while.
Just as Sherlock felt he should call 120 or something for resuscitation, a vague memory then flooded into Sherlock's mind.
After a while, Sherlock finally grasped the fact that he had transmigrated. This young man's name was Sherlock Felix, a not-so-small second-generation rich kid.
Just like the common trope in transmigration novels, this kid, like Sherlock himself, was an orphan who enjoyed the "parents sacrificed" buff.
However, unlike Sherlock, his buff seemed to have loaded successfully. Born in New York, after graduating from high school, with the help of his parents, he opened a gun shop.
Later, with the help of a group of uncles who liked to cosplay 141, found by his parents from who knows where, he successfully transformed the gun shop located in the suburbs into a nationally renowned firearms training center. Even some active military personnel and celebrities would occasionally come to the gun shop for training.
And the young man's parents were very generous; after their passing, they even left him a fund that he would never exhaust in his lifetime. Simply put, as long as the young man didn't foolishly invest in startups or anything, he could regularly receive a monthly fund of 100,000 U.S. dollars.
Even the car the young man drove was a Ford raptor, a dream car that Sherlock could never afford even if he worked as a corporate slave his entire life.
Aside from these general memories, Sherlock didn't gain any useful ones. It seemed this young man was also a social phobic and rarely went out on weekdays.
Sherlock expressed extreme approval for the fact that a mere bout of diarrhea had transformed him from a 996 corporate slave into a rich second-generation with a carefree life.
After all, he was also an orphan in his previous life, and having grown accustomed to loneliness, Sherlock had nothing he couldn't let go of. If he had to say, it would only be his longing for his homeland.
The only thing Sherlock couldn't figure out was his utterly outrageous way of transmigrating, especially compared to the transmigration methods of his various predecessors.
Who would have thought that diarrhea would lead to transmigration? And not only did he transmigrate, but this body he transmigrated into was also having diarrhea! Sherlock could even confirm that he had transmigrated here just by blinking during the process of spraying, and the spraying process didn't even stop when he inexplicably transmigrated?
Sherlock gave himself a thumbs-up with one hand, then excitedly tidied his clothes, deciding to go downstairs to have a look. After all, according to the memories Sherlock inherited, downstairs was the gun shop he owned, and behind it was a very spacious shooting range and Sherlock's.
As an old gun enthusiast, Sherlock, born and raised, had coveted those beautiful firearms for a long time. Now that he had transmigrated and had the means, shouldn't he quickly go downstairs, grab his favorites, and have some fun?
Thinking of this, Sherlock could no longer contain his excitement and rushed downstairs. Hehehe, AK darlings, AR darlings, big shotguns, small pistols, await my affection!