The scent of incense drifted through the air, thick and heavy, clinging to every breath. Mourners lined the courtyard dressed in black, their heads bowed before the open casket resting atop the stone dais. The overcast sky gave no light — only a grey pall that matched the name of the land itself: Greyfield County.
Zeke opened his eyes to the sound of a bell tolling.
His head throbbed. His mouth tasted like ash and old wine. The first thing he saw was a sea of unfamiliar faces staring toward a coffin… and the second was his own hands — pale, refined, gloved in noble silk.
"What… the hell?" he muttered.
A man beside him coughed sharply. "Language, Lord Zeke. We are at your brother's funeral."
Zeke blinked. Brother?
A thousand fragmented memories rushed into his skull at once — the flash of a carriage accident, the blinding light of another world, and then this body, this name: Zeke von Aldenreich, second son of Duke Aldric, brother to the late Baron of Greyfield.
The realization hit him all at once. He'd transmigrated.
'…Well, that explains the hangover.'
Before he could gather his bearings, a deep, echoing voice cut through the quiet courtyard.
"Make way for Viscount Harrow of the Crown's Northern March!"
The crowd parted as a middle-aged noble descended from a black carriage, his cloak embroidered with gold threads that screamed arrogance. His sharp eyes swept over the mourners before landing on Zeke — the man who looked far too young and far too clueless to be standing there.
"Zeke von Aldenreich," the Viscount announced with performative solemnity, "By royal decree of His Majesty, and in acknowledgment of your bloodline, you are hereby granted inheritance of the late Baron's title and holdings. From this day forward, you are the Baron of Greyfield County."
Murmurs spread like ripples across water.
"The younger brother? The one who never even served in the army?"
"Wasn't he the one known as a drunkard in the capital?"
"He looks… lost."
Zeke could only stare as the Viscount offered him a rolled parchment and an insincere smile. "Do take good care of your brother's land, my lord," the man said smoothly. "The crown will, of course, keep a close eye on your… progress."
And with that, he turned and left.
Zeke wanted to laugh. If he didn't, he might just scream.
But before he could even open his mouth, a mechanical chime rang softly in his mind.
[System Activation Detected.]
[Initializing… Welcome, User: Zeke von Aldenreich.]
[Daily Sign-In Complete. Reward—"Perfect Noble Etiquette (Permanent)."]
[Congratulations, you no longer eat soup with a fork.]
Zeke froze mid-step.
He looked around. No one reacted. Not even the priest beside him.
"…What the hell was that?" he whispered.
[Your salvation. Or your doom. Depends on how stupid you are.]
His eyes widened slightly. A system? Here?
He muttered under his breath, "Why do you sound like a tax collector with a god complex?"
[Because that's what you deserve, my lord.]
Zeke coughed, covering his mouth to hide the smirk threatening to form. The nearby nobles whispered, taking his reaction as grief.
"Truly… tragic," someone said.
"Poor boy. He's lost everything."
If only they knew.
The ceremony concluded, and the guests slowly dispersed toward the manor for the wake. Zeke followed, trying his best to walk with dignity — and realizing halfway there that his posture had changed. His steps were measured, elegant. Every gesture radiated natural grace.
["Perfect Noble Etiquette" successfully integrated. You're welcome.]
'You gave me a skill just to make me look less pathetic at a funeral?'
[You're welcome again.]
Inside the grand hall, nobles swarmed him with condolences disguised as curiosity. He answered each with effortless composure — thanks to the system's skill — and unknowingly impressed them all.
The Viscount, watching from a corner, frowned.
"This fool… he wasn't supposed to handle himself so well."
As the crowd thinned, five young women approached.
Each bore traces of noble blood — proud posture, fine features — but grief shadowed their expressions.
The eldest, tall and commanding, bowed stiffly. "Uncle Zeke," she said, her tone formal. "I am Elara. We appreciate your attendance."
The others followed her lead:
Lyra, quiet and analytical, her eyes sharp with observation.
Mirielle, the only one who managed a gentle smile.
Selene, her arms crossed, wearing armor under her mourning dress.
And Celine, the youngest, clutching a small handkerchief, her eyes red from crying.
Zeke felt a pang of something — maybe guilt, maybe empathy.
"You girls have handled yourselves well," he said quietly. His own voice surprised him — calm, assured, almost noble. "Your father was a good man."
Elara's gaze flickered. "You… knew him well?"
Zeke paused. The real Zeke didn't. But this one — he'd have to fake it.
"I knew enough," he said softly. "Enough to understand what he'd want me to do now."
[Nice save. Try not to sound like a mysterious wanderer in a bad play next time.]
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
That night, after the final guest left and the manor had grown still, Zeke sat alone in the late Baron's study. The fireplace crackled faintly, throwing light over rows of dusty tomes and an unfinished letter on the desk — addressed to the Duke.
He stared at it for a long while.
"…So this is my life now," he muttered. "A dead brother, five nieces, a suspicious Viscount, and a sarcastic AI in my head."
[Correction: a very helpful AI. Without me, you'd have already spilled soup on your shirt.]
"Touché."
He leaned back in the leather chair, eyes drifting toward the moonlit window. The mist outside rolled over the fields like a living thing.
The system chimed again, softer this time:
[Tomorrow's Sign-In Location: Balcony of the Baron's Manor.]
[Hint: Fresh air improves comprehension. Try not to fall.]
Zeke snorted. "So I just… sign in every day, huh? And somehow things work out?"
[Essentially. You do the bare minimum. Miracles happen. It's your specialty.]
He chuckled, low and genuine this time.
"Figures. Even in another world, I can't escape being lazy."
The system hummed in amusement.
[Don't worry. You'll be the most productive lazy man alive.]
Zeke's eyes lingered on the portrait above the fireplace — his late brother's confident smile, the weight of duty in his painted gaze.
"Guess I'll take care of your girls," he said quietly. "In my own way."
Outside, the night deepened.
The mist swirled, and somewhere in the unseen corners of Greyfield, fate stirred — laughing along with him.
[End of Day 1: Sign-In Complete.]
[System Note: User shows signs of emotional maturity. Gross.]
Zeke smiled faintly.
For the first time since waking up, he felt strangely at home.