Well, it could've been worse—I could've ended up as some magical girl in some hentai.
(An optimistic transmigrator with a rather unhealthy imagination.)
***
"Lee, thirty more laps and then sparring!" Master Piandao was quite the sadist, and his "sense of humor" would've suited an executioner far better than a instructor. Still, as an mentor he was nothing short of brilliant, and outside of "class hours" he was a genuinely interesting conversationalist—and even a friend. As much as a snot-nosed seventeen-year-old and a battle-hardened veteran in his forties can be friends. Though our acquaintance had certainly not begun with friendly embraces… but I suppose I should explain everything from the beginning.
It all started about a year and a half ago, when one unlucky engineer, in a moment of sheer stupidity, went to install a switch without checking that his dumbass coworker—whose education barely stretched beyond three years of parish schooling—had already flipped it to the "on" position. What came of that? Oh, nothing much—just a short circuit that should've ended with burnt contacts, a string of curses from the boss, and a docked bonus. The problem was that the equipment was far from a shining example of proper maintenance, and the switch itself was anything but new. The result—a massive electrical arc that traveled along a trail of dust and grime, through the switch and straight through my body. And to top it all off, the poles of a two-hundred-kilogram piece of high-tech junk decided to play rocket engines when they exploded.
Which sent me flying into the opposite wall. Whether it was the arc, the blast wave, or the switch itself that hit me was no longer important. The effect was what mattered. First, thirty-five kilovolts through my body, and then a switch to the sternum for good measure. You didn't need to be genius to understand that people don't survive that.
And yet, against all odds, I came to. Judging by my condition, my only problem seemed to be a truly monstrous hangover.
Somehow dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled to the washroom, where—through a few simple manipulations of firebending (just directing a stream of flame at a row of special jugs) I heated some water and rinsed my head. Sure, I could've called for servants, but shouting in this state… no, that would've been cruel. Right, now just put my head under the lukewarm water.
Mmm… nice…
About thirty seconds later, it finally started to dawn on me that something was off. What the hell was firebending? What servants? Do I look like some millionaire's son?
What do you mean, "what servants"? The ones befitting the respected son of Admiral Chan—the Commander-in-Chief of the entire Eastern Fleet of the Fire Nation, of course!
And that's when I froze.
As they say, the memories came flooding in—the entire life of fifteen-year-old Chan, named after his father, flashed before my eyes. Childhood, etiquette lessons, literacy, hand-to-hand combat, weapons training, and, naturally, firebending. In short, everything the son of one of the country's military leaders was expected to know.
Yeah… I'd guessed right about the status. Chan was exactly that—a spoiled rich kid: vast family holdings, the status of sole heir, and absolute conviction that he could get away with almost anything. A textbook silver-spoon brat in the worst sense of the word. Still, the massive booze-fueled blowout he threw for his fifteenth birthday was a pretty clear hint that the kid's moral compass wasn't exactly pointing north. No real friends—just a swarm of sycophants and yes-men. His only ambition in life? To have fun. That was it. Nothing else interested him in the slightest.
How I ended up in this body?
Hell if I know.
The flood of memories that weren't mine made it abundantly clear that I'd ended up in a world that was either eerily similar to the universe of Avatar: The Last Airbender—with all that "the Four Nations lived together in harmony until the Fire Nation attacked"—or was, quite literally, that very world, without the slightest changes or alterations.
Realizing this was honestly surreal—mind-breaking, even—but… it was reality, tangible and undeniable. As for the "why" and "how"—no clue whatsoever. No bored higher beings lecturing me about how I was the Chosen One; no hallucinations with demons, corridors of souls, or heroic struggles to claw my way back from the afterlife by somehow hurtling from nowhere to nowhere and crashing into this particular world by sheer chance; not even an ancient cigarette case or some cloak clasp handed to me by a mysterious old woman on the street with ominous promises of a long journey.
Nothing like that had ever happened to me.
I watched Avatar back in the day, sure—but only because a certain sweet girl insisted (and we watched it together). I was never really a fan.
Yeah… if I'd known what was coming, I would've paid more attention to the plot instead of the pleasant curves and dips of my then-companion. So all I really remember are a few key moments she'd emphasized.
…Yeah. Figures.
Three things, in my current state, brought me genuine comfort.
First, I was alive again—whole and healthy. The sensation of an electric discharge tearing through your body is, of course, beyond description, as is the feeling of your ribcage collapsing into dust along with your lungs, heart, and the rest of your insides. But being alive and well is much, much better.
Second, no one was waiting for me back home anyway. The few friends I had had scattered to the winds, each living their own life. Sure, we met up from time to time, but… well, you get the idea.
And third—there was real magic here! And I could use it!! I had already confirmed that much!!!
Maybe it was stupid—for a grown man with a proper technical education to secretly wish for something like this—but Magic is Magic. A shame that I only had access to Fire—and maybe Lightning, though that was highly doubtful. Chan wasn't exactly a prodigy. In fact, he was painfully average as a firebender, if not outright mediocre. He simply hadn't needed to be anything more. What could you expect? His father was always busy, his mother had died in childbirth, and for a servant to so much as spank the heir of the household would've bordered on sacrilege. So he'd grown up a spoiled, arrogant little bastard.
Which left one question: what the hell was I supposed to do with all this?
I was never a warrior, nor some "great mage." Hell, I'm not even at an age where I could pass for your typical high school protagonist—or even a college transmigrator anymore… though I've only just barely aged out of the latter. In theory, I could just sat on my ass and watched the "forces of good" roll in, spreading "justice" and "democracy."
So what if Zuko becomes the new Fire Lord? So what if he throws away everything his people achieved over a hundred years of war and sacrifice? What's that to me?
Let's be honest—I wasn't exactly a social person back in my old life either, and I sure as hell wouldn't have gone charging in like an idiot, saber in hand, to defend the interests of those fat, self-satisfied bastards at the top. And here, if I decide to get involved, I'd be going in ass-naked against an aircraft carrier.If the stories about a "serious" Avatar's abilities aren't exaggerated, then that's about how our weight classes stack up. Yeah… I'll pass on that kind of happiness
So what did I want?
For starters, a proper drink. Just to take the edge off, to shake off the stress and… I don't know, come to terms with this new reality. Yeah. As for longer-term plans… I don't know. Study firebending, get better at it, I guess.
And that's where the real problems began.
Finding a truly good firebending master was extremely difficult—even for the son of an admiral. Oh, not that mediocre options are a problem—there are private tutors, retired military, all kinds of schools. The issue is, none of that would teach me anything new.
From my hazy memories of the canon, I recalled some guy who could fire a concentrated beam of flame from his forehead, dragons, and some kind of library in the desert. The problem was, I had no damn idea who that guy was or where to find him—let alone whether it was even possible to strike a deal with him. I mean, I remembered he was some kind of mercenary hired by Prince Zuko to hunt the Avatar, but whether he'd agree to teach me was a whole different question. Judging by his face alone, he didn't look like the type to moonlight as a tutor.
Dragons… dragons were promising. I remembered that they had seriously "powered up" both Zuko and Aang in firebending. I even recalled that they were hidden in the ruins of some temple-city, which narrowed the search down to a handful of locations. But there was one ti-i-i-i-i-iny problem.
Going by the host's memories—and the local folklore—dragons were incredibly powerful and dangerous creatures. Killing one was out of the question; surviving an encounter with one was already a stroke of luck. And I wouldn't have a "harmonizer" Avatar at my side, so there was a very real chance I'd just end up getting eaten.
Being devoured or roasted by a giant lizard was very much not on my to-do list.
Which left the desert library—supposedly maintained by an owl spirit with a foul temper, a deep dislike for humans, and an obsessive love of knowledge.
Huh. Almost like me. Just with feathers.
That option seemed the most promising. It wouldn't be too hard to find, and in the worst-case scenario, I'd simply be told to get lost—which was infinitely better than being eaten. The problem was, in my current condition, I wouldn't survive crossing a desert—even with an escort. And I'd somehow have to explain such a long journey to my father.
Hmm… my father. Admiral Chan.
I'd called him that purely out of reflex, but it didn't stir any real feelings in me. Then again, the original Chan hadn't felt much either—they rarely saw each other, and even when they did, their meetings were almost semi-official.
After some thought—and a break for breakfast, thoughtfully arranged by the servants—an idea came to me.
Master Piandao.
In the show, he'd been portrayed as a monstrous swordmaster and a brilliant teacher—the kind of man who could turn one of the most useless characters, a literal boomerang-wielding clown, into something close to a killing machine in just a couple of weeks.
First, if he could turn canon Sokka—that very same clown—into a lethal fighter, then maybe he could mold something out of me too.
That left the question of timing—and how to approach the master himself.
As for timing, I had no idea. Prince Zuko was already in exile, but no one had heard anything about the Avatar being unfrozen yet. Though… if I remembered correctly, he should be around fifteen now—barely older than Chan. By the time the main events kicked off, he was… well, I didn't actually remember. Seventeen? Maybe closer to twenty?
Let's assume the minimum. That gave me about two years of relative peace. Maybe another year before things truly went to hell.
And even if they did, the worst that could happen is my family losing some land and influence—which, frankly, doesn't bother me all that much.