The afternoon sun hit the sleek, metallic finish of the coupe, making it glisten like a polished diamond. Shin leaned back against the leather seat, the engine humming a low, steady rhythm that vibrated through his spine. Everything about the day felt right. The air was warm, the campus was buzzing with the usual energy, and for the first time in a while, he didn't feel like sitting through a lecture on advanced economics.
He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text. A few minutes later, a girl with a bright smile and long hair came jogging toward the parking lot. Rihanna. She looked as radiant as ever, her presence alone making the "perfect" life he lived feel even more complete.
"Skipping the last hour?" she asked, sliding into the passenger seat.
Shin grinned, his blonde hair perfectly slicked back without a single strand out of place. "I think the professor will survive one day without my presence. Besides, the weather is too good to spend it inside a dusty hall."
They spent the next few hours just driving. Shin took the long way, letting the sports car eat up the asphalt as they headed toward the coast. They talked about nothing and everything. Rihanna spoke about her upcoming exams, and Shin listened, occasionally chiming in with a joke that made her laugh.
He felt untouchable. At twenty-one years old, he was six-foot-four, possessed a lean, athletic build that came from years of disciplined training, and had a future that was already paved in gold.
"You're awfully quiet today," Rihanna noted, resting her head against the headrest as they watched the sunset from a cliffside overlook.
"Just taking it in," Shin replied. "Sometimes you realize how lucky you are. I've got the car, the grades, and the prettiest girl in the city sitting next to me. What else is there?"
Rihanna laughed softly. "Don't get too arrogant, Shin. The universe has a way of balancing things out."
He didn't think much of that comment at the time. He just smiled, leaned over, and kissed her forehead before starting the car back up to drop her off.
By the time Shin got back to his penthouse, the city lights were flickering to life outside his floor-to-ceiling windows. He dropped his keys on the marble counter and headed straight for the bathroom. He stripped down, catching his reflection in the mirror.
His golden hair was still mostly in place, though a few strands had finally loosened. His body was lean and defined, the result of hours spent in the gym between classes. He stepped into the shower, letting the steaming water wash away the day's light sweat and the faint scent of the ocean.
After drying off, he threw on a pair of comfortable silk pajama pants. He didn't bother with a shirt. He felt the familiar weight of his phone in his hand as he flopped onto his king-sized bed. The sheets were high-thread-count cotton, cool against his skin.
He scrolled through a few news articles and checked his social media one last time. He plugged the charger into his phone, set it on the nightstand, and let out a long sigh.
'Tomorrow is going to be another great day,' he thought.
His eyes grew heavy. The darkness of the room felt comforting, wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, drifting into a deep, dreamless slumber.
The first thing Shin felt was the pain. It wasn't sharp, but a dull, heavy ache that seemed to reside in his very marrow. His muscles felt tight, as if they had been cramped into a small box for days.
His eyes were sticky with sleep. He tried to rub them, but his arms felt heavy and sluggish. He groaned, the sound feeling strange in his throat. It was higher, thinner than it should have been.
'Must have slept in a weird position,' he thought.
He forced himself to sit up. The weakness in his vision was disorienting. Everything looked blurry and dim. He reached out to where his nightstand should have been, hoping to find his phone or a glass of water, but his hand met nothing but empty air.
He frowned. He knew his bedroom like the back of his hand. He could navigate it blindfolded. He stood up, his legs feeling uncoordinated and light. He needed to get to the door and find the light switch.
He took three confident steps forward, expecting to find the clear path to his master bath. Instead, his shoulder slammed hard into a flat, solid surface.
"What the fuck..." he muttered, stumbling back.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his eyes. His heart began to hammer against his ribs. The texture of the wall he had just hit didn't feel like the smooth, white-painted drywall of his penthouse. It was rough. It felt like splinters were biting into his skin.
He finally managed to focus. The weakness left his eyes, and the world snapped into a terrifyingly sharp clarity.
He was standing in a small, cramped room. They were made of dark, heavy wooden planks that looked hand-hewn. There was no floor-to-ceiling window. Instead, there was a single, small opening with a wooden shutter that let in a sliver of grey, morning light.
Shin spun around, his eyes wide with a growing sense of panic. "Where am I?"
He looked down at his feet. They were bare, resting on a floor made of packed dirt and uneven stone. He looked at his hands and then froze.
These weren't his hands.
The long, powerful fingers he was used to were gone. These hands were smaller, paler, and lacked the calluses from the gym. They looked like the hands of a teenager, or perhaps someone who had never lifted anything heavier than a book in their life.
He stumbled back, falling onto a small, rickety cot that creaked under his weight. He felt his face, his hands trembling. The bone structure felt different. His jaw wasn't as broad. His nose felt sharper.
'This isn't a joke,' he thought, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. 'This isn't some elaborate prank.'
He closed his eyes tight and tried to count. He tried to remember the previous day.
'I went to school. I hung out with Rihanna. I came home. I took a shower. I went to sleep in my own bed.'
He pinched his forearm hard. The pain was immediate and sharp. A red mark bloomed on the pale skin. He wasn't dreaming.
He looked around the room again. It was barren. A small wooden stool sat in the corner next to a cracked ceramic bowl. A tattered grey robe hung from a peg on the wall. There were no electronics. No sports car. No silk sheets.
He felt a cold chill run down his spine. He had spent enough time reading webnovels and watching anime during his breaks to recognize the tropes. He had seen the stories of people being hit by trucks or dying in their sleep only to wake up in another world.
He looked at his small, unfamiliar hands again. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in his chest, though it came out as a shaky sob.
"Is this... transmigration?"