The day began like any other… yet it became the day that changed everything.
I still remember it clearly—how ordinary it all felt.
I was standing at the bus stop, my schoolbag hanging loosely from one shoulder. The sun had already dipped behind the buildings, leaving the sky painted in shades of orange and violet. It was almost six in the evening, that quiet hour when the world starts to settle down.
My name was Leon. Back then, I was just another high school student—quiet, forgettable, the kind of person no one paid much attention to. My hair was always a bit messy, my face pale from too many nights spent awake. I wasn't sickly or anything, just… tired. Tired in a way I couldn't really explain.
When the bus finally arrived, I stepped inside. The vehicle was nearly empty, just a few passengers scattered here and there. Perfect. I made my way straight to the back corner seat—my usual spot—so no one would bother me.
I slipped my earphones in and pressed play on that same song I'd listened to more than five hundred times. It was comforting in a way, like an old friend who never changed no matter how many times you met. As the music filled my ears, the world outside the window began to blur and fade. The hum of the engine blended with the melody, and soon everything felt distant.
The bus moved steadily through the city. The lights outside flickered by—street lamps, headlights, signs—all melting together into lines of color. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing second. The rhythm of the song lulled me into that soft, sleepy haze where thought begins to drift.
My stop was next.
I tried to stand—
…but my body didn't move.
At first, I thought I was just too sleepy. But when I tried again, panic hit me like ice. My fingers wouldn't respond. My legs felt heavy, as if they didn't belong to me anymore.
My heartbeat echoed in my ears. Somehow, I managed to grab the support pole beside me, forcing myself up—but the moment I did, the world around me began to twist. The bus lights warped into streams of color, spinning, blending together like fireflies caught in a storm.
And then everything went dark.
It felt like falling into deep water—cold, endless, and silent. My lungs burned, yet I couldn't breathe. My thoughts scattered. My body felt weightless, drifting further and further into that dark abyss.
Then… I heard a voice.
Faint at first.
Then clearer.
Then right beside me.
My eyes snapped open.
I wasn't on the bus anymore.
Above me stretched an unfamiliar ceiling—tall, ornate, decorated with golden carvings. A chandelier hung from the center, its candlelight flickering softly. The air was warm and faintly scented with something sweet—like lavender and old wood.
"—Young master? Is something wrong?"
I turned my head toward the voice.
A man stood beside me, dressed in a black suit. His posture was straight, his expression calm and polite. The way he carried himself… there was no mistaking it.
A butler.
An actual butler—like the ones you only ever see in anime or old novels.
My heartbeat quickened as I looked around the unfamiliar room, confusion clawing at my chest.
Where… was I?
And then, as the realization sank in, a single thought echoed in my mind—cold and sharp.
This wasn't my world anymore.
The silence pressed in around me.
Not the kind of silence you get in an empty room—but a deep, living quiet, heavy enough to make my heartbeat sound too loud.
I tried to sit up. The bed beneath me was absurdly soft, the kind that almost swallowed you whole. My body felt… lighter, somehow. The lingering ache from sleepless nights, the dull stiffness of a student's back—gone.
"Where… am I?" My voice came out hoarse.
The man in the suit—the butler—bowed slightly. "You're in the House of Valtair, young master. Please, do not strain yourself. The physician warned against sudden movement."
The House of what?
My mind stumbled over the words.
I looked down at my hands—smaller, smoother, paler than they should have been. My breath caught. I wasn't imagining it. These weren't my hands.
"Forgive me," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "But… who exactly am I supposed to be?"
The butler's expression didn't flicker. "You don't remember, young master? Your name is Theodore Valtair Roosevelt. Perhaps the fever still clouds your thoughts."
Theodore Valtair Roosevelt.
It kind of feels fantastical.
The air in the room felt warmer now, scented faintly with lavender and wax. A gold-framed mirror stood near the wall, its surface shimmering in candlelight. I forced myself to my feet, ignoring the butler's calm protest.
The reflection staring back wasn't me.
The face was younger—six or seven. Pale silver eyes, hair like the night sky, dressed in a nightshirt of fine silk.
I reached up, touching my cheek, half-expecting the image to crumble.
Then something burned—just beneath my collarbone. A faint light shimmered under the skin, pulsing like a heartbeat. The butler noticed too.
"Ah," he said softly. "Your divine mark… it appeared after you fainted."
"Divine mark."
The words sank into me like ice. A thousand questions clawed at the edge of my thoughts—but before I could speak, pain lanced through my chest. The light flared, searing bright—then vanished, leaving only darkness and a whisper echoing in my mind.
The gods have erred.
My knees hit the floor.
The butler shouted my name, his voice distant, fading.
And just before the world slipped away again, I could have sworn I heard it—the low hum of the bus engine, somewhere deep beneath everything.
I lost consciousness again.