The headache didn't hit him all at once. It wasn't a explosion or a flash of white light. It was a slow, grinding throb, like someone was tightening a vice around the back of his skull.
Ken groaned, rolling over. He expected to feel the cool, cheap fabric of his mattress, or perhaps the hard, unforgiving floor of his apartment where he'd probably passed out after an eighteen-hour grind session. Instead, his hand brushed against silk. Heavy, expensive, embroidered silk.
His eyes snapped open.
He wasn't in his apartment. The ceiling was too high, made of dark stone arches held up by carved mahogany beams. Sunlight was filtering through heavy velvet curtains, dust motes dancing in the shafts of light that pierced the gloom. The air smelled different—not like stale pizza and energy drinks, but like old parchment, beeswax, and the faint metallic tang of polished armor.
Ken pushed himself up, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He looked down at his hands. They weren't his. These hands were pale, elegant, and completely free of the calluses he'd earned from a lifetime of typing and mousing. When he flexed his fingers, a heavy gold signet ring flashed on his right index finger, bearing the crest of a snarling wolf.
"What the hell..." he croaked. His voice sounded deeper, richer.
He threw the heavy duvet aside and stumbled out of bed. His legs felt strange, longer, and the muscles were leaner. He walked across the room, his bare feet sinking into a plush fur rug, and stopped in front of a full-length mirror propped against the wall.
The reflection staring back was a stranger.
He looked to be in his early twenties, with sharp aristocratic cheekbones, pale skin, and shoulder-length black hair that was currently a tangled mess. The eyes were the same color as his—dark brown—but there was a coldness to them that Ken had never possessed. This was the face of a man who looked down on the world, and the world knew it.
"Okay," Ken breathed, pressing his palms against the cold surface of the mirror. "Okay, Ken. Think. Truck-kun? Isekai? Is this a coma dream?"
He turned and scanned the room. It was a study in arrogance. Weapons mounted on the walls that looked like they'd never seen combat, a wardrobe that probably cost more than his parents' house, and a desk piled high with documents.
He moved to the desk. He recognized the handwriting on the top parchment immediately. It was the common script of the Aethelgard universe, but he could read it fluently. He had spent thousands of hours reading lore entries, quest logs, and flavor text in this game.
Legends of Aethelgard. The game that had consumed the last five years of his life.
He picked up the parchment. It was a letter from the Royal Palace.
Lord Kaelen,
Your presence is requested at the commencement of the Training Selection. Her Highness, Princess Seraphina, shall be overseeing the recruitment of new guards for the Royal Vanguard. Ensure your house's standard is upheld.
A cold realization washed over him, settling in his stomach like a lead weight.
He wasn't just in Aethelgard. He was Kaelen Valerius. The minor antagonist. The arrogant noble son who gets humiliated by the Heroine in the tutorial chapter and then vanishes from the story, presumably executed in a side-quest the player never sees.
"Kaelen," he whispered, testing the name. "I'm the trash mob."
He sat down heavily in the leather chair behind the desk. This was insane. He was inside the game. He knew everything that was going to happen. He knew where the legendary loot was hidden. He knew the boss mechanics. He knew the secret backstories of every major character.
If he played his cards right, he wouldn't have to die. He could change the script. He could avoid Seraphina today, feign illness, and just live a life of luxury as a noble. Why risk getting involved in the plot? The plot was where people got stabbed, burned by dragons, or sacrificed to dark gods.
A life of leisure sounded good. No more dead-end job, no more loneliness, just gold, wine, and safety.
Ken—no, Kaelen—leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to formulate a plan. He would send a servant to tell the Princess he was ill. He would stay in his room. He would wait for the "Calamity" event to pass, then pick up the pieces.
He let out a long sigh, trying to calm his racing nerves. The headache was fading, replaced by a strange buzzing sensation at the base of his skull. It felt like electricity, or maybe anticipation.
Then, the world turned blue.
A translucent rectangle of light hovered directly in front of his face, the text glowing with an unnatural, neon luminosity that made his eyes water. It looked exactly like the game's UI, but sharper, more real.
[ SYSTEM INITIALIZATION COMPLETE ]
[ SOUL VERIFICATION: SUCCESSFUL ]
[ HOST: KAELEN VALERIUS ]
[ LOADING MODULE: CORRUPTOR'S CODEX... ]
Kaelen stared at the screen, his breath hitching. A system? He had a system? This was every isekai protagonist's wet dream. He waited for the prompts. Choose your class. Receive the Holy Sword. Begin the path of the Hero.
The blue text flickered and shifted, turning a deep, bruising purple.
[ WELCOME, PLAYER. ]
[ MISSION STATEMENT: ]
[ The world of Aethelgard is flawed. Its heroes are hypocrites, and its virtues are chains. ]
[ Objective: Corrupt the Purity Holders. ]
[ Target Acquired: Princess Seraphina. ]
[ Current Purity Level: 100% ]
[ QUEST 1: THE FIRST TAINT ]
[ Description: The Princess will arrive within the hour to inspect your guards. You must not simply meet her. You must leave a mark. ]
[ Task: Insult her convictions or touch her inappropriately without consequence. ]
[ Reward: +10 Stats, Skill: Aura of Allure (Level 1) ]
[ Failure: Stat reduction -20. Immediate Pain Penalty. ]
Kaelen felt the blood drain from his face. He blinked, expecting the text to change, expecting a "Just Kidding" or a "Main Story Quest."
It didn't change.
"Corrupt?" he said aloud, his voice trembling slightly. "You want me to... what?"
He looked at the Quest description again. Touch her inappropriately. This wasn't a hero system. This was a villain system. A porn-villain system.
He stood up and paced the room, his hands clenching into fists. He wasn't a rapist. He wasn't a monster. He was just a guy who liked RPGs. He wanted to be powerful, sure, but not like this. He didn't want to be the guy everyone hated, the guy who ruined lives for stat points.
"Screw this," he muttered, swiping his hand through the holographic text. "I'm not doing it. I'll ignore it."
The screen didn't vanish. It just pulsed, as if mocking him.
A sharp, blinding spike of agony drove itself into his temple. Kaelen gasped, clutching his head and falling to his knees. It felt like a hot poker was being twisted into his brain. His vision blurred, and he vomited bile onto the expensive rug.
[ WARNING: NON-COMPLIANCE DETECTED. ]
[ INITIATING PAIN PENALTY... ]
"Stop! Stop!" he screamed, pounding the floor with his fist.
The pain vanished as instantly as it had appeared, leaving him panting, sweat soaking his silk shirt.
The System hovered there, innocent and unmoving.
[ QUEST TIMER: 58 MINUTES REMAINING. ]
Kaelen stared at the countdown, his chest heaving. He looked at the door, then back at the screen. He knew what was coming. In less than an hour, Seraphina would be here. She would be wearing her white armor, looking holier-than-thou, expecting the sniveling coward that canon-Kaelen was supposed to be.
If he didn't do this... he would suffer. He would be weak. And in a world like Aethelgard, the weak didn't get to live in luxury. They got devoured.
He pushed himself up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His heart beat with a dark, frantic rhythm. He had to survive. He had to play the game.
"Just a touch," he whispered to the empty room, trying to convince himself. "Just an insult. I can do that. I can be an asshole. It's not that hard."
But deep down, looking at the purple glow of the text, he felt a terrifying shiver run down his spine. He had a feeling that by the time this was over, being an asshole would be the least of his sins.