The first thing I learned after opening my eyes in a strange world was that pain did not care who I used to be.
The second thing I learned was that rich people had outrageously expensive taste in bedrooms.
Unfortunately, the second realization was considerably less comforting than it should have been.
I remained beneath the blankets for several minutes, unwilling to move while a dull ache throbbed behind my forehead. The mattress was remarkably soft, the pillow beneath my head felt more comfortable than anything I remembered owning, and the air carried a faint floral fragrance that reminded me of expensive perfume.
For a brief moment, I considered the possibility that I had somehow ended up in a luxury hotel.
Then I remembered that I had never been able to afford one.
I kept my eyes closed and tried to reconstruct my final memories. I could picture the fluorescent lights of an office, the glow of a computer screen, and a cup of cheap coffee sitting beside a report I had been working on for hours. My phone had buzzed sometime that evening. A friend had asked whether I wanted to meet for dinner, and I had promised myself I would reply after finishing my work.
I had always been good at postponing things. There was invariably another deadline, another responsibility, or another excuse to tell myself that I would enjoy life once I had more time.
After that, my memories dissolved into darkness.
I could not remember leaving the office or returning home. Whenever I tried to reach farther back, a sharp pulse of pain spread behind my eyes, making me abandon the attempt. Whatever had happened after that ordinary evening remained frustratingly out of reach.
Fine. I can investigate my mysterious disappearance later. First, let’s establish where I am.
I opened my eyes.
A white ceiling decorated with elaborate golden patterns greeted me. The designs curved along its edges, their symmetry so precise that even the plaster seemed expensive. I stared at it for several seconds, waiting for my mind to produce a sensible explanation.
Nothing came.
"...What the hell?"
The voice that emerged from my mouth made me pause. It sounded younger and smoother than I remembered, without the roughness I usually heard when I first spoke in the morning.
I slowly sat up. The room tilted, and I gripped the mattress until the dizziness passed. When I finally looked around, the full extent of my surroundings became clear.
Heavy curtains framed tall windows. A chandelier hung overhead, scattering sunlight across the walls, while a polished desk stood beside a bookshelf filled with neatly arranged volumes. The bed beneath me possessed an ornate wooden frame, and the wardrobe against the opposite wall was large enough to accommodate the entire collection of clothes I had owned in my previous life.
Everything was clean, spacious, and unmistakably expensive.
Yet the room felt strangely impersonal. There were no scattered belongings, unfinished projects, or small signs of someone pursuing private interests. The furniture appeared carefully selected to maintain a certain standard, as though the room’s purpose was not simply to accommodate its occupant but to reflect the status of whoever owned it.
Before I could investigate further, I noticed my hands resting on the blanket.
I stopped moving.
The fingers were long and slender, their pale skin free of the small marks and rough patches I remembered from my previous life. I turned my palms upward, examined my nails, and flexed each finger in turn.
These were not my hands.
Mine had been ordinary, slightly rough, and often tired after long hours at a keyboard. They belonged to someone who spent too much time working and too little time looking after himself. I remembered the faint ache in my fingers after a particularly long day, and the way I sometimes rubbed my wrists while waiting for a report to finish processing.
These hands looked as though they had never experienced an unpleasant day in their lives.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood carefully. My balance returned after a moment, allowing me to cross the room toward a full-length mirror beside the wardrobe.
A stranger stared back at me.
He had black hair falling untidily across his forehead, pale skin, and sharp features that gave his face a naturally composed appearance. His jaw was well-defined, and his dark eyes seemed almost too calm for someone standing in front of a mirror with the expression of a man whose entire existence had just become questionable.
He was also considerably more handsome than I remembered being.
That was a nice development, I supposed. It was unfortunate that I had no idea what to do with it.
I leaned closer and touched my cheek. The reflection mirrored the movement perfectly. I traced the line of my jaw, pushed back my hair, and examined the unfamiliar face from several angles, hoping to discover something that might connect it to my memories.
Nothing did.
The realization settled over me with an uncomfortable finality. My hands were different, my voice was different, and even my reflection belonged to someone else.
Well, this is a problem.
For several seconds, I simply stood there, staring at the stranger in the mirror. Then I drew a slow breath and forced myself to look away. Panicking would not change my circumstances, and repeatedly examining my face was unlikely to produce an explanation.
I needed to understand who I was now.
As I searched through my memories, a different kind of recollection surfaced. I remembered a fictional kingdom, powerful noble families, immense castles, and dragons whose existence had once belonged entirely to the pages of a novel.
The fragments came back unevenly, but the setting was unmistakable.
I knew this world.
Or, at least, I knew the story it came from.
The novel had followed a kingdom where noble bloodlines carried immense influence. Family names determined privilege, political alliances shifted according to ambition, and even seemingly insignificant disputes could become dangerous when powerful people became involved. Beneath the polished manners of aristocratic society, everyone seemed to be competing for something.
A name emerged from the scattered memories.
Kain Valerian.
I straightened.
House Valerian was one of the kingdom’s great noble families, known for its wealth, influence, and formidable position among the aristocracy. Kain was its third son, born into a household that possessed more status than most people could ever hope to achieve.
Unfortunately, his personal reputation was less impressive.
His eldest brother was a sword genius whose talent had earned him admiration from an early age. His second brother possessed a different kind of brilliance, combining intelligence with the political awareness required to navigate the family’s complicated interests.
Kain, meanwhile, had become known for what he lacked.
He was the disappointing third son, the member of a powerful family whose potential had never seemed to match his birthright.
I stared at my reflection again.
"Kain Valerian," I murmured.
The name felt strange in my mouth, but the recognition was strong enough to make my stomach tighten. I could not recall every detail of the novel, and I had no clear memory of everything that had happened to Kain. He was not one of the central characters I remembered following most closely.
Still, I recognized enough to understand the situation.
I had apparently awakened inside the body of a character from a fictional world.
Of all the people I could have become, I get the disappointing third son. No legendary sword talent, no exceptional reputation, and no obvious advantage beyond a family name.
I rubbed my temple.
At least the bedroom is nice.
The joke brought little comfort. My knowledge of the novel might prove useful, but only if I remembered the right details at the right time. Knowing a story from the outside did not mean I understood the reality of living inside it. Characters who had once been names on a page could now make decisions that affected me directly.
For the moment, I would have to work with what I remembered and remain alert to anything that contradicted it.
I turned toward the desk and noticed a folded note near its edge. The paper was thick and smooth, and the message written across it was brief.
Do not leave your room until called.
I read it twice, then turned it over. There was no signature.
"Such welcoming hospitality," I muttered.
The instruction was clear enough, but its purpose was not. Perhaps Kain had done something to deserve it. Perhaps the family was preparing for an important occasion and wanted him to remain out of the way until summoned.
Both explanations were possible.
I placed the note on the desk and examined the objects nearby. Several coins rested beside a small key and a few folded letters. A compact wooden box, reinforced with metal fittings, had been set slightly apart from the other belongings.
The key fitted its lock.
Inside, I found a folded handkerchief, a small charm, and a scrap of paper tucked into the lining. The handkerchief was made from fine fabric and carried a faint scent of lavender. A name had been embroidered into one corner, but the lettering had faded enough to make it difficult to read.
I set it aside and picked up the charm.
It resembled a dragon’s tooth, narrow and slightly curved, with a dark surface that reflected very little light. A small metal fitting at one end suggested that it had once been attached to a chain.
The moment my fingers closed around it, I felt a chill.
The metal was unnaturally cold. I turned it over, searching for markings, but its surface appeared unremarkable.
Then pressure gathered behind my breastbone.
I froze as the sensation spread through my chest. It was not quite pain, but it carried an uncomfortable weight that made me tighten my grip on the charm.
For an instant, the room disappeared.
I saw a narrow corridor filled with smoke. Darkness clung to the walls, while an orange glow flickered somewhere beyond the passage. Something moved at the far end, but before I could identify its shape, the image shattered.
I was standing beside the desk again.
My breathing had quickened, and the ache behind my forehead had returned. I lowered the charm and stared at it, waiting for another vision or some indication that the experience had been real.
Nothing happened.
The sunlight continued falling across the floor. The chandelier glittered overhead, and the room remained as quiet as before.
I examined the object once more before placing it back inside the box.
I had no intention of testing it again merely because I was curious. Whatever had happened, I could not explain it, and provoking another reaction without understanding the consequences seemed unnecessarily foolish.
I replaced the handkerchief and scrap of paper, closed the lid, and locked the box.
The charm had introduced a mystery that my memories of the novel did not immediately resolve. I would have to remember its appearance and the vision it had shown me, but for now, there was little else I could do.
I turned my attention to the letters on the desk.
The first contained another brief message.
Remain quiet today.
I examined the paper for a signature, but found none. The wording was different from the note beside it, although both messages appeared to place restrictions on Kain’s behavior.
I set the letter down beside the other one.
Someone in this household had apparently decided that Kain needed instructions about where he could go and how he should behave. That did not necessarily mean he was being mistreated. However, the messages raised a practical question I could not ignore: what was the original Kain expected to do, and why did someone consider these reminders necessary?
I glanced toward the bedroom door.
The answer, assuming anyone was willing to provide it, would have to come from someone who knew him.
Before leaving, I crossed to the window and drew the curtains apart. Sunlight flooded the room, revealing an enormous estate surrounded by carefully maintained gardens. Pale stone paths wound between clipped hedges, while trees shaded several smaller buildings farther from the main residence.
Beyond the estate walls stretched a city I had never seen before. Its rooftops crowded together beneath the morning sky, interrupted by towers and larger structures whose designs seemed to belong to a different age. Far below, people moved along the roads, beginning their daily routines without the slightest awareness of the stranger who had awakened inside a nobleman’s bedroom.
The sight was extraordinary.
Part of me wanted to explore the city immediately, to see how much of the world resembled the novel and how much had changed. Another part reminded me that I did not yet understand the household I was standing in, let alone the kingdom beyond its walls.
For now, the estate was the problem directly in front of me.
I released the curtain and turned back toward the room. I had just begun considering whether to investigate the desk more thoroughly when a knock sounded at the door.
I looked up.
"Yes?"
A woman’s voice answered from the corridor. "Young Master, the steward requests that you prepare yourself."
I glanced toward the wardrobe. "For what?"
There was a brief pause.
"The family gathering, Young Master."
I remained silent for a moment.
Of course. I had been awake for less than an hour, and my first official duty was apparently to meet the people who knew the original owner of this body.
The gathering was an opportunity. Rather than piecing together Kain’s circumstances from brief notes and incomplete memories, I could observe his family directly. Their reactions might tell me more about his position than anything I could discover alone in this room.
It was also a risk. They knew Kain’s habits, his personality, and the history he had shared with them. I knew none of those things well enough to imitate him convincingly.
Still, hiding in the bedroom would solve nothing.
"Very well," I answered. "I’ll prepare."
"I shall wait outside."
Her footsteps moved away from the door.
I crossed to the wardrobe and examined the clothes hanging inside. Several outfits were decorated with elaborate embroidery, while others were made from dark fabrics with restrained fastenings. I selected a clean shirt, dark trousers, and a fitted outer garment with little decoration.
The fastenings took longer to figure out than I would have preferred, but eventually I managed to dress without making a complete mess of myself.
I returned to the mirror and adjusted my collar.
The young man staring back at me looked composed enough. His sharp features and dark clothing gave him an air of seriousness that I hoped would discourage unnecessary questions, at least until I had a better idea of what I was dealing with.
I studied his face for another moment.
Kain Valerian. Third son of a powerful noble family. Poor reputation, uncertain relationships, and a bedroom full of unanswered questions.
It was not the most reassuring introduction to a new life, but at least I had a starting point.
I opened the door.
A young maid stood several steps away, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She wore a traditional household uniform, and her straight posture suggested that she had been carefully instructed in the proper way to behave around the nobility.
When she noticed me, she lifted her eyes.
For the briefest moment, her gaze lingered on my face. Surprise crossed her expression before she lowered her eyes again and inclined her head.
"Young Master. This way, please."
I stepped into the corridor and allowed the bedroom door to close behind me.
"Has the gathering already begun?" I asked.
"The family is assembled. The steward requested that you join them as soon as you were ready."
Her answer was polite, although she seemed careful about her wording. I considered asking another question but decided to wait. Her hesitation might mean something, or it might be nothing more than ordinary nervousness around a member of the family.
I had more important things to learn than the meaning of a single glance.
"Then I shouldn’t keep them waiting," I replied.
The maid led me along the corridor, past polished wooden panels and tall windows that allowed narrow bands of sunlight to fall across the stone floor. Portraits of stern-looking ancestors hung along the walls, their ornate frames reflecting the pride House Valerian apparently took in its history.
I slowed briefly before one painting. The man depicted within it wore formal noble attire and possessed an expression that suggested he had spent his life expecting disappointment from everyone around him.
Judging by the other portraits, the family had cultivated that expression across several generations.
I continued after the maid.
We descended the staircase toward the entrance hall, where sunlight poured through tall windows and illuminated the pale floor. A corridor extended deeper into the estate, framed by carved pillars that made even an ordinary passage seem unnecessarily grand.
Voices drifted from somewhere beyond it.
Several people were already talking, although their words were too distant to distinguish. I recognized no voices, and I could not tell whether the gathering was formal or merely a family meeting.
My steps slowed as we approached a set of tall doors at the end of the passage.
Until now, I had been able to examine my circumstances in private. The people waiting ahead would not offer me the same luxury. They knew Kain Valerian, and even a casual question might expose how little I understood about the life I had inherited.
I thought briefly about the novel and the incomplete memories guiding me. Perhaps I would recognize the people inside. Perhaps their behavior would contradict what I remembered. Either way, I would learn more by observing them than by continuing to guess from a distance.
The maid stopped beside the doors and turned toward me.
"We have arrived, Young Master."
I looked at the entrance.
Beyond it waited the family whose name I now carried, including the brothers I remembered as far more accomplished than their younger sibling. I had no idea whether they would welcome me, dismiss me, or treat me according to a reputation I had not earned.
The uncertainty no longer felt like an abstract problem.
In a few moments, it would have faces, voices, and opinions.
I straightened my shoulders and drew a quiet breath.
"Thank you," I said to the maid.
She appeared briefly surprised before inclining her head. "It is my duty, Young Master."
Then she stepped aside.
I turned toward the doors, listening to the indistinct conversation on the other side.
It was time to meet the people who knew Kain Valerian—and discover what kind of life I had inherited.