"Patrick, get over here. Do you think I'm paying you so you can slack off? Looks like your salary is going to be reduced again this month. Stop staring me in the eyes and get lost," said an old man, thin, with a wrinkled face, speaking to his interlocutor with a look full of contempt.
For the umpteenth time that day, Patrick was being humiliated by his boss in public. Orphaned at the age of three, Patrick had been entrusted to one of his aunts, who had to raise him until he was 18 before throwing him out to take his inheritance.
"One day I'll manage to get out of this. And then, they'll pay for everything they made me go through, with interest. None of them will be spared," he muttered to himself before getting back to work.
Throughout his schooling, Patrick was a brilliant student. In class, in sports, or even in everyday life, he excelled in everything. He was simply a genius, surpassing his aunt's children in every way. That was what infuriated her the most, and she tormented him relentlessly.
The year he was supposed to take his baccalaureate exam, due to money issues and many other small problems, Patrick unfortunately failed. He was already 18, so technically an adult. When he decided to reclaim his parents' inheritance, he found out it had already been stolen by his aunt. Furious and wanting to confront her, he ended up being thrown out. Sleeping under bridges for the first time, Patrick had to figure out how to make a living, and soon took on small jobs to meet his needs.
"Gather up!" shouted a young worker as the sky began to darken.
"That's it. Good job, everyone. Come and collect your pay. Make a line, I'm in a hurry," said a young woman before starting the distribution.
"Goddamn it, why does the boss seem so stingy? We even did overtime this week and still got zero bonus," grumbled a worker who had just opened his envelope.
Patrick's turn came right after.
"Hey Patrick, I'm really angry. You've been ignoring me all week. What's going on?" asked the young woman when he reached her.
"Clara, well… uh… Don't you see the boss watching me all the time? It's like he's ready to tear my head off anytime I'm around," he said while opening his envelope to check his pay.
"That's normal, isn't it? I'm his daughter after all. When we have kids, you'll see what it's like to be a dad," Clara replied teasingly, rolling her eyes to see his reaction.
"We? Stop that, people might get the wrong idea." Patrick glanced around before walking away.
"Patrick, will you come next week?" she called after him, her eyes sparkling as he walked away.
"I don't know. We'll see, we'll see," he replied before disappearing from sight.
Once again, Patrick realized that being popular isn't always an advantage when you're poor. His pay had been reduced again. Normally he would complain, but what was the point? The boss would just come up with a thousand excuses to justify that it was what he deserved—just because he couldn't stand someone like him hanging around his daughter.
After 30 minutes of walking, he finally arrived in the neighborhood where he lived—a slum on the outskirts. In this area, insecurity was at its peak, especially at night. Patrick walked quickly to get home, avoiding the darker alleys, but unfortunately, he ran into a group of thieves in the middle of a robbery.
"Haha, well, look who we have here—Patrick?! Son of a bitch," shouted a young man from the gang, holding a kitchen knife in his hand.
"Wait, so this is the famous Patrick? Hehehe. You've got a nice face, no wonder you stole his girl," said another, taller than the first, with mockery in his voice.
Patrick didn't even recognize them. His angelic face had gotten him into trouble more than once, but this time didn't look good.
"Hand over your bag—don't make me regret asking," ordered the one who seemed to be the gang leader.
Patrick had no intention of giving them his bag. Sure, he valued his life, but he had already borrowed money from a loan shark that he had to repay by tomorrow at the latest. Cross a loan shark? He would rather die than have his organs harvested, be tortured, or be condemned to forced labor over a small debt. Between enduring that or finding a way to escape these petty thieves, the choice was clear—he had to escape.
Calmly observing his surroundings, Patrick took advantage of a moment of inattention to start running.
"Catch that son of a biiitch! Kill him!" shouted the leader, visibly furious, as part of the gang took off after Patrick.
The chase lasted nearly fifteen minutes. After those few minutes, no longer hearing his pursuers behind him, Patrick decided to take a break to catch his breath. That was the fatal mistake.
A large kitchen knife lodged deep into his throat. One of the pursuers, apparently skilled at throwing knives, had just finished him off.
"Damn, man, did you kill him? What the hell did you just do? I've never killed anyone in my life—deal with it yourself, hide the body or whatever. I'm not gonna be your accomplice."
Frozen by what he had just done, the killer also ran away, leaving Patrick to drown in his own blood.
Lying on the ground as his vision faded, Patrick wanted to scream, but his vocal cords had been severed. He cursed his aunt inwardly and blamed himself for not living the life he wanted. "Am I going to die such a pathetic death? Damn, if only I'd been hit by a truck, I could've hoped to be reincarnated in an isekai and live the easy life." Those were Patrick's last thoughts before his vision went black and he lost consciousness.
"Hmmm…" Patrick opened his eyes, and nothing he saw was familiar. This place wasn't a hospital, and the room's architecture seemed a bit unusual. At his bedside were some products he didn't recognize and a chair.
"Where am I? Have I been kidnapped?" he thought before quickly touching his neck to find it in perfect condition without a single scar.
"How is this possible? Have I gone insane?" he muttered before trying to get out of bed. That's when he noticed this body wasn't his. Panicking, he tried to get free quickly, until he saw his reflection in a mirror next to the bed. Frightened, he fell on his backside, trying to make sense of what was happening to him.
Suddenly, he was struck by a headache. Soon, foreign memories began flooding into his mind, overwhelming his thoughts and intensifying the pain.
After a few minutes, the memories stopped pouring in, and the pain began to fade. Lying on the floor, Patrick couldn't believe what was happening. His heart was racing. "Have I really transmigrated? But I wasn't even hit by a truck. Hmmm… this is insane," he thought before glancing one last time at his reflection.
"Déon… Déon," he murmured as he recalled some memories…
Patrick had transmigrated into a fantasy world called " Eridoria," where mages, swordsmen, and knights were part of everyday life. It was paradise for light novel enthusiasts. Patrick quickly accepted his situation. He was even thrilled to embrace his new life. "What kind of magic can I use?" he thought excitedly before remembering Déon's situation.
"No power is useless—if light novels have taught me anything, it's that," he told himself, before noticing the bedroom door opening. In front of him stood a woman in her twenties, with black hair, brown eyes, and a model-like figure, walking toward him with tear-filled eyes. It was Déon's mother.
Caught up in the moment, the only thing that came out of his mouth was,
"Mom!" It was instinctive; he didn't even remember the last time he had said that word so naturally.