The sun had just crept up over the horizon, shining through the velvet curtains of the luxurious bedroom in the main residence of House Hawthorne.
On a plush king-size bed surrounded by intricate carvings, Lucien Hawthorne—or rather, Luciel Reed, the nihilist, had ended up trapped there, trying to fall asleep to relish the pinnacle of life’s pleasures: carefree sleep, despite having just woken up in another person’s body.
The bedroom door opened slowly.
The figure of a butler, dressed in immaculate attire and white gloves—reminiscent of a classic butler from a fictional manga—walked silently toward him.
“Young Master Lucien, it’s time for breakfast.
Today we must prepare for your departure to the Royal Academy next week, as well as for the birthday celebration of your grandfather, Lord Hayes,” the butler said in a measured, respectful tone.
Instead of responding, Lucien buried his face deeper into the down pillow, pulling the thick blanket up over his head.
His mind groaned lazily.
‘The academy?
That old fart’s birthday?
This world really doesn’t know how to respect a person’s right to lie down.’ Seeing that the young master refused to budge, the servant began to panic.
He gingerly touched Lucien’s forehead.
His body temperature felt slightly warm under the blanket, but to the servant, familiar with Lucien’s fragile health, it was an alarm bell.
“Young Master?
You’re sweating!
Could it be that your fever has returned?!” the butler shouted hysterically, then ran out of the room to call for family reinforcements.
Beneath the covers, Lucien let out a long sigh.
His mind wandered to the remnants of this body’s memories.
Besides preparing for the Royal Academy next week, in a few days, it was his grandfather’s birthday—Hayes, the aging former Duke.
That fact alone made him want to die for the second time.
Not long after, the sound of footsteps thundered in the corridor.
The bedroom door opened wide, revealing the core members of the Hawthorne family who came storming in in full formation: Duke Nathaniel, his father, Duchess Estelle, and his two older brothers, Roveniel and Reichardt.
Luckily, his uncle, Daniel, didn’t live in the main residence, so at least he was spared the circus this morning.
Lucien was forced to sit up, leaning against the headboard.
For a moment, his eyes widened slightly in shock at the vivid image of his family members in this fictional world.
Shiny, neatly styled hair, piercing green eyes like jewels, and a well-proportioned physique worthy of a top-tier character.
Damn, their looks were too dazzling for a sleep-deprived person.
“Lucien!
My son, what’s wrong?
Your body feels a bit warm, do you feel dizzy?” Duchess Estelle exclaimed anxiously, immediately placing her palm on Lucien’s cheek.
“He looks so weak.
Damn it, who’s stressing my little brother out?” grumbled Reichardt, the second older brother and a third-year student at the Royal Academy.
Roveniel, the eldest brother, who merely observed in silence with a calculating expression but one that implied deep worry, while Duke Nathaniel clenched his fists to hold back his anger.
“Call a healer to check my son!
Quick!” Duke Nathaniel ordered the servant.
Lucien felt very uncomfortable.
This excessive attention stemmed from two annoying factors: the family’s innate affection for this body, amplified by the strange, magnetic aura of Luciel Edelweiss’s remaining soul.
In their eyes, Lucien’s blank, bored-to-death stare was interpreted as a fragile, adorable expression of sadness.
Lucien reluctantly spoke, using a flat, emotionless tone.
“I’m not sick.
I just want to sleep.
You guys don’t have to be so loud, please stop making noise.” Hearing the hoarse voice, they became even more convinced that Lucien was hiding his pain.
Before they could summon a dozen royal physicians, Lucien hurriedly threw aside the blankets and got out of bed to assure them that he was fine.
However, as his family gradually left the room with lingering feelings of anxiety, Lucien’s throat felt itchy.
Cough!
Cough!
Lucien covered his mouth.
When he pulled his hand back, there was a fresh trace of blood on his palm.
He stared at the blood without the slightest expression.
There was no panic, no drama.
This wasn’t some ancient curse or some cheesy novel curse; the body he currently inhabited was simply that comedic.
The blood vessels in Lucien’s throat were very thin, similar to someone prone to nosebleeds, only in the respiratory system.
Even the slightest hint of cold morning air or the stress of a voice could cause him to cough up blood.
“What a troublesome body,” Lucien muttered dryly as he dusted his hands.
If only he could choose not to live as a frail extra, because it required such physical effort, he would rather die permanently on the sidewalk of his homeworld.
After finishing his shower and getting dressed neatly with the help of the servants who were moving like a bomb squad, Lucien went down to breakfast.
The next agenda was much more annoying: preparing for the departure to the academy, and most pressingly—thinking about a birthday present for Grandpa Hayes with his two brothers after breakfast.
“Lucien, have you thought about a gift for Grandpa?” Reichardt asked as he sipped his tea.
“Grandpa usually likes ancient artifacts or decorative swords.” Roveniel nodded in agreement.
“Or you could give him a magical protective cloak made by an imperial workshop.” Lucien fell silent.
As an orphan in his home world who had never known what family was, the tradition of giving birthday presents to decrepit nobles was the most abstract thing in the world.
In the midst of his confusion, the acute nihilistic nature in his head suddenly gave him a very brilliant and yet immoral enlightenment.
An idea crossed his mind.
The corners of Lucien’s lips lifted into a faint smile.
Unfortunately, due to the magnetic aura of his body, his cynical and lazy smile actually looked like the mysterious smile of an angel harboring a profound, heart-rending secret.
His two older brothers were stunned to see that smile, while Lucien was already laughing in his heart, imagining what practical gift he would give to the old man soon.