"It looks like I lost them…" Ken ran through the narrow, dark streets, one hand pressed against his bloodied shoulder. The bullet had passed through his flesh without exiting properly, sending sharp pain with every movement. His breathing was irregular and rapid, his legs trembling beneath him. The wet cobblestones slipped under his shoes as voices shouted his name from behind. He pushed forward despite the burning ache.
"He's hurt, he can't get far!" a hoarse voice yelled. Ken gritted his teeth and forced his weak legs to move, blood streaming down his arm. He turned sharply into a narrow, damp alley. Each step on the uneven cobbles made him stifle a scream. His pursuers were closing in fast.
Leaning against the cold stone wall to catch his breath, he muttered through clenched teeth, "Damn dogs…" His hand probed the still-smoking wound. The bullet had pierced his shoulder, pulsing with pain at every heartbeat. Fatigue threatened to overtake him, but he knew he could not stop.
Footsteps echoed at the entrance of the alley. "There! He's here!" someone shouted. Ken tried to run again, but his legs nearly betrayed him. He stumbled forward a few meters, almost falling. His vision blurred, his body teetering on the edge between pain and exhaustion.
A gunshot cracked again. This time, the bullet struck him square in the chest. The impact threw him backward. Air left his lungs, and the burn of pain spread throughout his body. His breath halted for a moment as the threatening silhouettes approached slowly.
Ken fell heavily onto the wet ground, the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. His pursuers drew closer, their voices sharpening. "This time, he won't get up," one of them declared, certain of victory. Ken felt darkness rising within him. "If I had known I was going to die like this… I should have stayed in the slums," he thought, letting out a weak laugh.
He raised his eyes to the night sky, the lamplight trembling around him. "I should have killed them when I had the chance…" he thought. Pain began to fade as if his body refused to continue. Cold seeped into his limbs, numbing arms and legs. His mind wavered between consciousness and absence.
The world blurred and became silent. The shouts and footsteps faded, replaced by a strange calm. His heart beat weaker and weaker until it almost stopped. Every breath became a struggle. Then, everything went dark.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying on an enormous bed with sheets of perfect white. The air was soft, carrying a subtle scent of flowers. No city noises, no sirens. Light streamed through heavy blue curtains, filtering the sun's rays. Ken blinked, adjusting to the strange serenity of the room.
The chamber was vast, with high ceilings adorned with discreet moldings. Dark woodwork was finely carved, and gilded accents added a touch of refinement. A thick carpet covered the marble floor, softening each step. A crystal chandelier reflected light across the room, delicately illuminating every corner. Everything seemed both luxurious and calm.
By the door stood a maid of delicate beauty. Her black-and-white dress was simple yet elegant, fitting her posture perfectly. Her brown hair was neatly tied back. Her large, attentive eyes studied Ken with concern. She stood straight, awaiting his move.
Ken slowly lifted his head, observing the maid. She stepped forward quietly, her feet making no sound on the floor. "Young master, you are awake," she said, her tone gentle but confident. She extended her hands to offer him his shirt, watching him cautiously.
Ken did not react immediately, even after her call. He scanned the room, analyzing every detail. "Where am I?" he thought. He knew he could not speak aloud, for in his former life, every word could be dangerous.
The maid noticed his lost expression and asked softly, "Young master, are you alright?" Her face showed genuine concern. Her hands stayed slightly raised, motionless. Her body was tense, yet she tried to appear calm.
Ken did not answer. He rose from the bed, sensing the strange lightness of his fragile body. Every movement felt amplified by his newfound delicacy. He moved toward a large mirror framed in solid gold. The plush carpet muffled his silent steps.
What he saw shocked him. A young man of striking beauty stared back. His features were fine, symmetrical, and harmonious. His bright eyes reflected rare intelligence and gentleness. Long, silky white hair framed an almost perfect face. He did not recognize this body but was fascinated, wanting to startle himself but holding back.
"I can't believe it… So, life after death really exists?" he wondered, a faint smile on his lips. His hands were delicate, seemingly incapable of force. His narrow shoulders bore no visible muscle. His entire body seemed fragile and vulnerable.
"Why am I so beautiful yet so weak?" he thought, clenching his fists. His proud, dominant nature could not accept this weakness.
"Young master, are you alright…" murmured the maid, worried. Ken briefly averted his gaze. "She's beautiful… I've never seen a woman this beautiful in my life," he thought, captivated by her simple yet refined appearance.
"Hey… I don't remember anything… what happened to me?" Ken asked, his voice calm yet questioning. The maid jumped in surprise. "A-are you serious, young master?" she exclaimed, fear in her eyes.
Ken stepped toward her slowly. "I don't remember anything, not even your name." His tone was measured, calm. The maid paled, her face frozen in a blank expression. Surprise and worry were written clearly on her features.
Without a word, she hurriedly left the room. The door closed softly behind her. Ken remained alone in the center of the room, observing the silence. "Did I play this card wrong? Doesn't matter, I'll improvise if it goes bad," he thought.
He slowly put on his shirt. "I'd like to make that damn gang pay… but oh well." He examined the luxurious room again. The furniture was well-kept, the objects arranged tastefully. "It seems whoever lived in this body had a rich life… after so much hardship, I'm finally rewarded."
Drawn by impulse, he moved toward a drawer. "Hmm…" Inside, a dark leather-bound book awaited him. He picked it up carefully and opened it. "A personal journal?" Ken murmured as he flipped it open.
My name is Virth Ashven, seventh heir of the grand ducal house, the Ashven family. I was born with a Grade F talent, the weakest possible, considered useless in every way. I was born useless, judged incapable in all things. That is my situation. Many wish me dead. Despite my weakness, I tarnish my family's honor, which displeases them. All my brothers and sisters see me as a burden, a nothing. Even among the high ranks and major authorities of the family, the advisors… all want me dead. According to them, I soil the family's honor. My sister, cruel and ambitious, has always despised me. She has always sought to control me. My brothers, arrogant and calculating, despite their constant absence, continue to torment me. In this house, in this kingdom, I have only one ally, the only person I fully trust. That is my personal maid, Marie. Her loyalty and character are exceptional. As for my parents, my father, Darius Ashven, fifty-eight, is an authoritarian man who has never given me a single glance. I rarely see him, always traveling, and when he is here, I am invisible to him. My mother, Selena Ashven, forty, remains in the estate but never pays attention to me. To her as well, I am invisible. This is my life, this is what I am, and this is the situation I am in.
Ken closed the book slowly. "I get out of trouble and fall into more… what a miserable soul," he thought, gritting his teeth. He now understood he was nothing in this family and that survival would be difficult. "And me, I thought I'd live a peaceful life."
As he was about to put the book away, the door opened abruptly. A woman entered, walking with confident, assured steps. Her dark red dress was simple yet elegant, her posture commanding. A distinct mark glimmered faintly on her chest.
"Is it true that my dear little brother remembers nothing?" she said, her voice full of authority. Ken took a deep breath and remained calm. He put the book back in the drawer, his hands steady despite his nervousness. He glanced at the woman. "Wait… I don't remember anything. Can you tell me who you are?" he asked, calm and measured.
His sister stared at him coldly. "He's starting to tire me with that face… should I kill him now? Father isn't here anyway… we'll say he died in his sleep." Her gaze was icy, impenetrable, and irritated