The day I died, even God must've facepalmed.
I wasn't fighting monsters.
I wasn't saving a kid from a truck.
I wasn't even doing something impressive like revolutionizing technology.
No.
I was sitting on a plastic chair at 3:07 a.m., in a one-room rented house, writing a webnovel about—ironically—a transmigrated villain.
My name was Kyle. Twenty-two years old. Broke, Dark circles,One kidney still safe, but only because the internet doesn't allow organ listings.
My phone screen showed a grand total of $0 in webnovel income for the month.
"Zero views… zero power stones… zero comments…" I muttered, staring at the stats. "Even bots ignore me. Nice."
Outside, a dog barked at nothing.
Inside, my stomach growled at nothing.
I leaned back on the chair, stretching my arms.
The chair made a soft creak.
I froze.
"Don't you dare," I whispered to the chair like it had emotions.
It answered with betrayal.
CRAAAACK.
The back legs snapped. The chair shot out from under me like it had a personal grudge. I flailed my arms, grabbed at the table, missed completely, and went down.
My head met the corner of the old, metal table with a solid, cartoon-style DONK.
White pain exploded. My vision shook, then blurred.
I lay on the floor, staring at the dusty ceiling fan spinning slowly above me like it was mocking me.
"Did… I… just die to a budget chair?" I croaked.
My last thoughts were very deep and meaningful:
If this turns into a transmigration, I swear to God I'm suing someone.
Then everything went dark.
---
I expected hell.
Or at least relatives crying fake tears at my funeral.
Instead, there was… nothing.
Just blackness. No body. No sound. No time.
For a long moment, I wondered if this was just unconsciousness. Then, something appeared in front of me.
A floating blue screen.
Like a game window.
[SYSTEM BOOTING…]
[CALCULATING CAUSE OF DEATH…]
[RESULT: EXTREME STUPIDITY + CHEAP FURNITURE]
If I had eyes right now, they would be bleeding.
"…excuse me?" I said into the void.
A new line appeared.
[CONGRATULATIONS, HOST!]
[YOU HAVE DIED PATETHICALLY!]
As compensation, you have earned:
1 (ONE) chance at transmigration. 0 dignity. 0 common sense. 1 very questionable System.
"Is this… a prank?" I muttered.
This was exactly like all those cliché webnovels I read instead of sleeping.
I was dead.
I had a system.
It was already bullying me.
So far, pretty standard.
"A–Alright," I said slowly. "If this is some cosmic department, where am I going? Another world? Fantasy? Cultivation? Sci-fi? At least tell me I'm not reincarnating as a rock."
The screen flickered.
[TARGET WORLD SELECTED.]
World: "Holy Hero's Requiem"
Type: Dark Fantasy
Genre: Tragedy. Blood. Betrayal. Mental trauma. No refunds.
My nonexistent heart skipped a beat.
"I know that name," I whispered.
Holy Hero's Requiem.
It was one of the most popular dark fantasy novels. Everyone died. Everyone suffered. The comments section was a graveyard of "Author, why?" and crying emojis.
I had rage-read it in four days.
"Wait. Don't tell me… am I going there as the hero?" I asked hopefully.
Pause.
[NO.]
You are going as the Final Villain.
Silence.
Cold, heavy silence.
Then I laughed. It sounded a bit hysterical.
"Of course I am. Of course. Why not? I got killed by a chair; clearly I'm destined for greatness."
The blue window expanded, and a profile slowly formed.
New Identity: Kyle von Blackthorn
Role: Final Villain – "The Mad Sovereign"
Status: Hated by everyone.
Fate: Public execution at age 20.
Death: Beheaded by the Hero in front of the entire capital.
Time Left Until Canon Execution: 2 years.
I remembered now.
Kyle von Blackthorn.
In the novel, he was:
Rich,
Handsome,
Crazy,
A complete nightmare.
He burned villages, betrayed his fiancée, killed the hero's family, did random evil things just because "it was Tuesday".
Readers hated him so much that even the author wrote in an extra chapter just to kill him again in an illusion.
And now… that was me.
"Can I… get a different role?" I tried. "Background extra? NPC villager? Maybe a decorative tree?"
[REQUEST DENIED.]
The void trembled.
[MEMORY TRANSFER BEGINNING.]
Something slammed into me.
Images. Emotions. Pain.
A noble mansion of black marble. A cold, giant father. Silent maids. Bowing knights. Bloodstained corridors. Screaming. Burning villages. A city kneeling under a dark throne.
I saw myself—no, Kyle—laughing as things burned.
I saw the moment he was dragged in chains, thrown on a platform, the crowd cheering for his death.
I felt the blade slice through his neck, the last thought:
"I regret nothing."
The memory ended.
I wanted to vomit.
"That was not me," I whispered. "That was the old Kyle. Different guy. I like peace and quiet, not burning peasants."
The system beeped.
[NOTICE:]
Original soul erased.
New Host: Kyle.
Emotional alignment: Broke, sarcastic, morally confused.
You have taken over the body of Kyle von Blackthorn at age 18—
Two years before execution.
That meant…
This was the start of the story.
Before Kyle did his worst crimes.
Before he destroyed the heroine's life.
Before he turned fully insane.
If I changed things now…
I could survive.
Maybe.
Probably.
Hopefully.
"…alright," I muttered. "New life. New world. New chance. I just need a nice, serious system to help me become strong, low-key, slow and steady. I'll be a background noble. I'll avoid flags. I'll act average. I'll—"
The screen pulsed.
[MAIN SYSTEM ACTIVATING…]
[WELCOME TO: CRINGE SURVIVAL SYSTEM]
I stared.
"…come again?"
The window happily expanded like a proud parent.
━━ CRINGE SURVIVAL SYSTEM ━━
Because living a normal life would be too easy.
★ Core Rule:
The more embarrassing, socially humiliating, and cringe your actions, the stronger you become.
★ Power-Up Methods include:
Public rejection Failed flirting Misunderstandings that ruin your reputation Slipping in public Accidentally saying the wrong name Awkward silences lasting more than 10 seconds
★ Penalty:
If you act cool, mysterious, or dignified for too long… your stats will be reduced.
I felt my soul aging five years.
"You're kidding," I whispered. "You're actually kidding. I died for this?"
[NO. THIS IS VERY SERIOUS.]
Example:
Confessing to a girl and being loudly rejected = +5 Charm, +3 Luck Tripping in front of a crowd and eating the floor = +4 Agility, +3 Endurance Accidentally calling your teacher 'Mom' = Passive Skill: Social Damage Resistance (Level 1)
My past life flashed before my eyes. Every awkward moment I had ever experienced.
"…so I've been training my whole life for this," I muttered.
[YES, HOST. YOU ARE NATURALLY TALENTED.]
I wanted to fight it.
I wanted to resist this stupid fate.
But I also wanted to not be executed in front of an angry fantasy crowd while a hero gave a long speech about justice.
I sighed.
"Fine," I said. "I'll play your cringe game. I'll be embarrassing. I'll die inside every day. Just don't let me actually die. Deal?"
[DEAL ACCEPTED.]
[INITIATING TRANSFER TO BODY.]
The void shattered.
---
I woke up to softness.
A huge, soft bed. Heavy blankets. The air smelled like expensive perfume and burning incense.
My head pounded like I'd watched twelve episodes of drama back-to-back.
Something cold touched my forehead.
"Young Master Kyle?" a soft voice called. "Can you hear me?"
I opened my eyes.
A maid was leaning over me. Pretty. Silver hair tied back neatly. Worried blue eyes.
She wore a black-and-white uniform, and in the background, I could see a room so luxurious it almost gave me a heart attack.
Black marble floors.
Tall windows with blood-red curtains.
A crystal chandelier bigger than my old bathroom.
"I'm… alive," I croaked.
The maid gasped in relief. "Thank the heavens. You collapsed during training, Young Master. The physician said it was fatigue."
Right.
Kyle was training when I took over.
He was the heir of the Blackthorn Dukedom, one of the strongest noble houses in the empire.
In the novel, people trembled when they heard his name.
Meanwhile, I was trembling with anxiety.