The young man's eyelids opened slowly. It wasn't so cold anymore, but he wasn't completely safe. He was wrapped in something; it was soft, very soft, and he almost felt like he could slip out of the wrapping.
Little by little he came to. His life was no longer in immediate danger, but the exhaustion lingered. Still, the inevitable curiosity he felt at that moment was too persistent to ignore.
He wasn't on the shore anymore, and he was moving. He could hear the earth crunching beneath the feet of whoever was carrying him; yes, that was the most logical conclusion—someone was definitely carrying him right now.
Even so, something felt wrong. He was being held in two arms, curled into a ball. Strange didn't even begin to cover it—it was impossible.
His body wasn't that of a bodybuilder, but it wasn't light either. Even at his young age, a well-fed, fit man wouldn't be carried so easily; there was something odd about the whole thing.
Although he didn't sense anything outright wrong, it was obvious something didn't add up. His fatigue, however, was too great to ponder it. Feeling safe for the moment, the boy let Morpheus take him again.
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Heaviness—a heaviness he was oddly accustomed to. It was something beyond sleep, not like asking your mother for five more minutes. It was more brutal, as if extra weight had been added to every inch of his body.
Still, sleeping felt too boring; he had the sense he'd rested enough. So, summoning every ounce of strength he could, he forced his eyes open.
Light barely filtered through the thick curtains, but it was enough to make out the room.
With more difficulty than the task demanded, the boy sat up and scanned the place. It wasn't his home, and it definitely wasn't a hospital room, yet it felt familiar—too familiar.
He felt his breathing was heavy, as if the mere act of moving had exhausted him completely. Frustrating, but he assumed it was temporary.
Then his hopes collapsed in an instant. When he examined his body, he knew something was definitely wrong.
He was thin—absurdly thin, practically a skeleton. His skin was as pale as a ghost's, with a greenish tint that made him wonder if he was even alive.
He lifted his heavy limb to inspect it. Not only was it thin, but his hand was far too small. It was unnatural. One can lose weight, but hands don't shrink like that.
"This… this can't be my body."
It was a strange, extravagant thought; yet he couldn't accept that the body he'd worked so hard for had become "this."
He leaned against the wall behind him. It was too much effort to stay upright; even propped in bed, holding himself up was exhausting.
"Alright, stay calm… what the hell happened?"
Before continuing to question his condition, the boy decided to review the events that had led him here.
He had been stabbed, and suddenly—he pushed that thought away, hunching as he lifted his shirt to feel his back. Where there had once been a deep wound, there was only rough, sickly skin.
That was odd; he had definitely been stabbed, and he doubted surgery could have left him in such good shape.
He sighed. The only way to understand what was going on was to observe his surroundings—or at least that was all he could do for now.
The young man found himself in a fairly large room. It looked luxurious but rustic; there wasn't a modern item in sight, not even a single light bulb.
That surprised him. Even if it were old, it seemed impossible not to have at least a lamp on the ceiling. There wasn't even a visible switch.
Strange—hard to believe houses without electrical wiring still existed, but he'd leave that for later.
The clothes he wore—he hadn't noticed until now, but they were comfortable. By their cut, it was clear: pajamas. A soft purple garment.
Looking closer, he saw an embroidered emblem: a skull with tentacles, and strange symbols stitched beneath.
"LK. What could that mean? Initials, maybe? Wait… how can I even read that?"
He froze. He'd never seen those symbols before, yet they felt familiar.
"Lloyd Kaitos…"
A strange sensation washed over him. He had memories—memories that shouldn't have been there. It was like suddenly finding objects in a warehouse you've never seen before, and yet they don't feel out of place.
"Or is it… that voice? Wait… yes, it has to be."
The pieces of the puzzle began to click: the voice he heard before dying, the mission to escape the water.
"Wait—something doesn't add up. The voice only asked if I was willing to trample others to survive."
This, however, was completely different. "What am I doing in this body? I can deduce I transmigrated, but why in the first place?"
Lloyd thought for a while and could only conclude that it didn't matter for now.
Now he had to keep gathering information. In such a surreal situation, adapting would be hard—but he had to try.
"First I need to figure out what that voice was. If I remember correctly, it mentioned a… System? Can something so cliché really exist?"
[Tutorial Mission: discover how to summon the Mirror of Vanity] [Time Limit: 1:30 min] [Reward: 350 VP] [Penalty: Instant Death]
The boy's eyes widened at the announcement resonating in his head.
"What the hell? What kind of shitty tutorial is this? What the hell is a Mirror of Vanity? How are they going to kill me?"
Lloyd couldn't have been more astonished. Maybe the system got offended when he called it cliché—possible—but he didn't have time to dwell on it.
He had to calm down first. If he wanted to complete the mission, he needed to think about what had happened.
"Okay, how do missions work? The last one was getting out of a river—something spontaneous, I guess, so I wouldn't die."
[Alert: 1 minute remaining]
"Now, why do I have a tutorial mission? The only answer I can come up with is that it triggered because I asked about the voice."
"So what is this mirror? What does it have to do with me?"
[Alert: 30 seconds remaining]
"Mirror… mirror… reflection… oh, that could be it."
[Alert: 15 seconds remaining]
"Do you want me to check my status?"
The boy got it right. He didn't have to say a word—just think it. When he opened his eyes, he saw what he interpreted as a "pop-up screen" before him.