Stepping into the adjoining bathroom, Asterius stripped off the dirt-crusted garments.
He shoved the foul pile directly into the modern cleaner slot in the wall, which hummed to life with a satisfying *whir-click*, immediately going to work.
He filled the porcelain bathtub with steaming water and sank in, letting out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since his rebirth.
The heat seeped into his muscles, loosening the tension built up over weeks of life-or-death survival in the mystical planes.
In his past life, a bath meant meditating atop a glacial peak to refine his mana or resting in a medicinal cauldron surrounded by lethal herbs.
Floating in soapy, lavender-scented water while staring at a chrome faucet was entirely foreign—and surprisingly divine.
“Who knew the mundane world had perfected the art of soaking?” he mused, leaning his head back and watching the steam rise.
But as his body relaxed, his mind raced.
How was he supposed to play the role of Ceres Turner?
He possessed the boy’s body and his memories so it shouldbe easy.
He was an ancient magic user and master swordsman trapped in the skin of a teenage gaming addict who lived with a mother who cooked heavenly stews and a sister he hadn’t even properly met yet.
“**CERES!** If you don’t bring your back-talking self down these stairs in thirty seconds, I’m feeding your stew to Mr.Choi’s dog!” Elara’s voice boomed up through the floorboards, shattering the tranquility like a heavy war hammer.
Asterius jolted, splashing water over the rim.
“Coming!” he shouted, his voice cracking slightly on the high note.
He scrambled out of the tub, furiously toweling off.
Rushing into the bedroom, he pulled open the wardrobe and threw on the first reasonable things he saw—a oversized dark hoodie and a pair of gray sweatpants.
Catching a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror, he winced.
The clothes were baggy, comfortable, and looked completely ridiculous compared to the sleek, enchanted battle robes he used to wear.
Deciding not to fight fashion today, he practically sprinted down the stairs.
The dining room was small but cozy.
Elara placed a steaming, heavy plate of curry rice, savory beef, and vegetable stew right in front of him the moment his rear hit the chair.
Asterius hesitated.
In his previous life, high-tier existences often abstained from mortal food to keep their bodies pure, relying instead on spirit pills and refined elixirs.
He stared suspiciously at the glowing orange sauce.
“Well?
Eat before it gets cold.
You look like a starved stick,” Elara scolded gently, sitting down across from him.
Taking a leap of faith, Asterius picked up the spoon and took a mouthful.
His eyes widened.
The flavors exploded across his palate—tender beef that melted on his tongue, a rich spicy curry kick, and vegetables so fresh they practically sang.
*By the gods,*he thought, his refined pride instantly evaporating.
He didn’t just eat; he demolished the plate like a beast breaking a month-long fast.
For several minutes, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic clatter of spoons against ceramic.
Elara cleared her throat, setting her spoon down with a soft *clack*.
The honeymoon phase of dinner was officially over.
“So,” Elara started, crossing her arms and leaning forward, her eyes narrowing into dangerous motherly slits.
“Care to explain why you were out in the planes for a whole *month*?
You said a weekend hunting trip, Ceres.
A weekend.
Do you have any idea how many gray hairs you gave me?
I was two hours away from filing a missing person report with the Star Origin Fort garrison!”
Asterius froze, a spoonful of rice halfway to his mouth.
“Right.
The explanation.”
He couldn’t exactly tell her that the real Ceres was brutally slaughtered by magic beasts, or that he—an ancient reborn archmage—had to slay an epic-grade horror just to wear his skin home.
He needed a lie.
Something grounded.
Something normal.
“Uh…” Asterius lowered the spoon, mind racing.
“I…
got chased by a pack of monsters?”
Elara raised an eyebrow.
“For thirty days?”
“Well, no!
I had to…
hide,” he stammered, sweating more now than he did while fighting for his life in the jungle.
“In a…
mud hole.
Yes.
A deep, muddy hole.
I hid in it for days so they couldn’t smell me.
Lost my tracking gear.
Took me forever to sneak back to the fort!”
Elara gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
“A mud hole?!
Ceres Turner, did you go hunting out there *alone*?!”
Asterius blinked, realizing too late the trap he’d just walked into.
*Wait, do teenagers not hunt alone?* He suddenly remembered—or rather, pieced together—that Ceres had zero friends at the fort because he’d been completely ostracized after getting on the wrong side of that arrogant brat, Morgan.
No, of course not!” Asterius lied rapidly, waving his hands defensively.
“I went with a…
group!
A big group.
Very responsible people.
But, you know, the monster ambush was so chaotic…
we got scattered.
Total mess.”
Elara’s expression morphed from worry to sheer, unadulterated suspicion.
“A group scattered by a mud-hole-worthy ambush, and not a single one of them pinged your communicator or came back to check on you?
What kind of useless, fake friends are you hanging around with?”
Asterius opened his mouth, closed it, and stared blankly.
*Note to self: I am terrible at lying to mothers.*
From across the table, his sister finally lowered her wrist screen.
She leaned back, resting her chin in her hand, a small, wicked smirk playing on her lips.
“Translation, Mum: he probably pissed off his team five minutes in, got ditched, and hid like a stray pup until he ran out of snacks,” she chimed in, her tone smooth, nonchalant, and entirely icy.
“Hey!” Asterius protested, though he privately acknowledged her sharp intuition.
“Quiet, both of you,” Elara huffed, though the tight line of her shoulders visibly relaxed.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long, exhausted sigh.
“I swear, Ceres, you’re going to put me in an early grave.
No more long trips.
You’re grounded from the planes until you prove you have an actual brain in that head of yours.”
His sister gave a subtle, almost imperceptible roll of her eyes, but as she picked her spoon back up, Asterius caught the faint, fleeting look of genuine relief in her eyes.
She’d been worried, too.
“Finish your food,” Elara ordered, though her voice had softened back into warmth.
“And take the dishes to the washer when you’re done.”
Ten minutes later, after clearing the table under the watchful, judging eyes of his mother, Asterius practically fled back up the stairs.
He shut his bedroom door, leaning his back against the cool wood and letting out a massive breath.
He had faced terrifying abominations, survived lethal curses, and crossed dimensions, but sitting at a dinner table dodging a mother’s interrogation was easily the most nerve-wracking ordeal of his two lives.
Turning around, his eyes fell back onto the crimson Battle Online pod, its blue neon lights pulsing quietly in the dim room.
Asterius crossed the room and ran a hand over the cold, polished metal of the machine.
“Right then, Ceres,” he murmured to the empty room.
“Let’s see what kind of life you were building in here.”