Solomon sat at his desk, planning to watch the sunrise.
He wanted to do something meaningful for the first full day of his new reality.
His gaze remained fixed on the mountains in the distance while his fingers lightly tapped against the desk and his other hand patted down his messy bed hair.
He was still wearing his pajamas.
Leaning back slightly, he settled comfortably into the chair.
“I wonder what’s beyond those mountains.”
He rubbed his eyes, trying to chase away the lingering traces of sleep.
When he opened them again, the edge of the sun slowly peeked over the mountain peaks, bathing them in a soft, golden glow.
Several minutes later, it hung high in the sky, greeting the world with the beauty of a brand-new day.
Solomon smiled.
He had accomplished something.
A peaceful morning.
A beautiful memory he could look back on.
He rose from his chair and walked toward the window, resting both elbows on the windowsill as he breathed in the crisp morning air.
After exhaling slowly, he surveyed the estate.
In the distance, two guards sparred against one another.
“Sword or magic…”
He rested the side of his head against his right hand for a better view.
“I wonder which is better.”
A knock at the door interrupted his peaceful morning.
“Young Master, may I come in?” a woman’s voice called from outside.
Solomon sighed.
He enjoyed the idea of being an unimportant noble.
After all, Solomon Ashbourne had barely been mentioned in the novel.
Even during the Academy Arc, his appearances had been brief.
Back when he was Ethan, he often wondered why his friend had bothered highlighting the young noble every few chapters when he never did anything significant.
Now…
He was grateful the character existed.
“How ironic,” he chuckled.
“Come in.”
His voice instantly shifted back into the haughty tone of a young noble.
The soft click of the door echoed through the room as it slowly opened, bringing the quiet chamber to life for the briefest moment.
The maid stepped inside, her shoes tapping lightly against the polished floor.
The faint scent of fresh linen and soap following her in.
She was a young woman with chestnut-brown hair gathered into a neat bun and warm brown eyes.
Her black dress and spotless white apron were impeccably maintained, while her youthful face carried a polite smile as she folded her hands neatly before herself.
She curtsied gracefully before returning to her upright posture.
“I’m Jessica, Young Master,” she said calmly.
Once again, Solomon paused.
The original owner of this body had lived in this household.
Yet somehow…
Everyone introduced themselves whenever they met him.
It had happened during dinner the previous evening as well.
Even the servants placing food before him had each stated their names before quietly stepping aside.
“Why does everyone introduce themselves whenever we meet?” he asked.
Jessica’s eyes widened ever so slightly.
For a brief moment, she looked both baffled and surprised.
“Young Master…
please forgive me, but do you have a fever?” she asked before hurrying over and gently pressing the back of her hand against his forehead.
Solomon blushed.
“Umm…
I’m…
fine,” he stammered.
“Yes…
it appears so,” she muttered under her breath.
She stepped back into place and remained silent, clasping her hands together in front of herself while gently swaying them from side to side.
An awkward silence settled over the room.
Eventually, Solomon broke it.
“The answer…
to my question,” he demanded, emphasizing each word.
The maid immediately lowered her head.
“My apologies, Young Master.
Please forgive my earlier actions.”
She hesitated briefly before answering.
“It’s because you once told us that you couldn’t remember everyone’s faces.”
“So the butler wasn’t onto me…”
Relief quietly washed over Solomon.
“You don’t need to do that anymore,” he replied.
“I’ll make the effort to remember.”
Once again, Jessica looked completely unable to process the words coming from his mouth.
“Young Master…
are you truly alright?”
She fidgeted with her fingers, clearly resisting the urge to check his temperature again.
“I’m fine, Miss Jessica.”
He paused.
“By the way…
why did you come here?”
“Ah, yes.
Young Master, you’re required to change into your training attire and report to the training grounds.”
“By whom?”
He arched an eyebrow.
“By the Head Butler.”
“Since when did he have such authority?”
His voice was low, yet carried unmistakable weight.
The atmosphere inside the room suddenly grew heavy.
Jessica felt like cursing whoever had assigned her this task.
Every answer she gave seemed to aggravate the young master instead of calming him.
Solomon pinched the bridge of his nose.
“You may leave.”
She bowed respectfully before explaining that his training clothes had already been placed inside his wardrobe.
After saying so, she quietly left the room, gently closing the door behind her.
Solomon quickly changed into his training attire before standing in front of the full-length mirror beside his bedside drawer.
He examined himself.
He wore a simple outfit designed for comfort and movement.
A fitted black tunic covered his upper body, paired with dark trousers tucked neatly into sturdy leather boots.
Light leather guards protected his forearms, while a plain belt secured a practice sword around his waist.
The clothing lacked decoration, but it was practical enough to allow unrestricted movement during training.
Then…
His eyes slowly drifted upward.
Toward his face.
Solomon’s breathing became uneven, he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat within the silence.
A scream escaped his lips.
He stumbled backward before clutching his face with both hands.
“Where’s my face…?”
“Why…?”
He slowly sank to his knees, both hands covering his face as though he could erase what he had just seen.
Deep down…
He knew he was only deceiving himself.
After several long moments, Solomon shifted into a seated position on the floor.
He rested his head against the side of the bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.
He had always known he had transmigrated.
He knew he should have expected his appearance to change.
Even so…
He had stubbornly clung to that tiny sliver of hope.
The face staring back at him had been completely unknown.
Utterly unfamiliar.
As Ethan Locke, he had short black hair that was never quite neat, dark brown eyes, and a lightly tanned complexion.
His jaw was softly defined, giving him an ordinary yet approachable appearance.
There was nothing particularly striking about his features, but they were familiar in a way no other face could ever be.
It was the face that had laughed.
Cried.
And lived through every precious memory he held dear.
The reflection he had just witnessed belonged to someone else.
More specifically…
Solomon Ashbourne.
Now he possessed soft silver hair, a youthful face with sharp, well-defined features, and clear blue eyes that felt calm yet unfamiliar.
His fair skin was almost flawless.
His nose was straighter, his jaw more refined, and every feature seemed carefully sculpted, making him far more handsome than the man he used to be.
Yet no matter how perfect the face appeared…
It wasn’t his.
The stranger in the mirror wore his clothes.
But not his identity.
The realization became another painful reminder that Earth was now completely beyond his reach.
He had always searched for something different.
Something extraordinary.
He had found it within the solace of books.
Worlds filled with mystery, wonder, and grandeur.
Now…
He was no longer the reader turning the pages.
He had become part of the story itself.
His identity had been completely overturned.
He didn’t know how he was supposed to feel.
So…
He buried his face in the sheets and quietly sobbed.
Several moments later, hurried footsteps echoed through the hallway.
A guard rushed into the room.
The moment he saw Solomon sitting quietly on the floor, he visibly relaxed.
“Young Master, we heard a scream.”
Solomon slowly lifted his head from the bed and turned toward him.
His eyes were puffy.
His nose was red.
A fresh wave of tears threatened to escape at any moment.
“Young Master…
what happened?”
“It’s nothing serious,” Solomon answered.
“I just couldn’t believe how handsome I looked in these clothes.”
“My excitement got the better of me.”
“So…
I screamed.”
The guard stood there in stunned silence.
That was certainly not the explanation he had expected.
“What about your eyes?”
He pointed toward Solomon’s face.
“It’s from joy.”
The guard gulped.
Two possibilities immediately crossed his mind.
Either his young master had been possessed…
Or he had suffered a mild concussion.
The Solomon Ashbourne he had faithfully served would never have calmly explained himself.
He had always been reserved, speaking only when absolutely necessary.
Most of the time, he hardly seemed to acknowledge other people’s existence.
Instead, he devoted himself entirely to magic and meditation, desperately trying to climb higher than his sister despite his modest talent.
“Oh…
before you go, could you please tell me your name?”
Solomon wiped his eyes and nose with a handkerchief before looking at the guard with a small smile.
“I’ll do my best to remember it.”
The guard’s eyes widened.
Shock was written plainly across his face.
“Young Master…
what…
did you…
umm…
say?”
He struggled to form the sentence, taking several deep breaths between each word.
“I wanted to know your name.”
“My name…”
He lowered his gaze.
“No one has ever genuinely asked me that before.”
“Well…
I guess I’ll be the exception.”
Solomon smiled warmly.
Perhaps it was because he had allowed himself to be vulnerable only moments earlier.
Or perhaps he was simply tired of pretending.
For whatever reason…
He no longer felt the need to play a role that wasn’t truly his.
“My name is Wilfred Rashmond.”
“That’s a wonderful name.”
“I’ll remember it.”
The moment those words left his lips, the familiar ding of the system echoed inside his mind.
The room fell silent once more.
Solomon instinctively paused, waiting for the familiar blue screen to appear.
Daily Reboot Completed
Host has gained +3 Desire Energy.
“…Desire?”