The question of whether he had any instant noodles left at home occupied his thoughts.
He pictured the kitchen cupboard, the sad, solitary packet of chicken-flavoured despair he thought he saw yesterday. Or was it shrimp? He rounded the corner onto his street, the setting sun casting long, gentle shadows across the pavement. The air was still. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. It was the absolute pinnacle of an uneventful Tuesday.
Maybe I should go and read that novel, he thought. That stupid harem novel. Why do I even read harem shit? Am I a fucking loser?
He knew the answer to that as he walked home, the day uneventful, knowing he would go home and do nothing, all alone.
Then suddenly, a deafening honk tore the evening apart.
He turned. A flicker of motion. A wall of yellow. An impossible shape.
A massive four-wheeled vehicle barrelled toward him.
It was shaped like a chicken.
Not a cute cartoon chicken, not a vehicle painted with a few feathers.
It was a structurally accurate, monstrously oversized chicken, from the ridiculous metal beak gleaming in the dying light to the fat, spinning wheels tucked beneath its absurdly round body. Its headlights, perfectly placed as eyes, stared with a vacant, glassy fury. A red wattle dangled precariously beneath the beak, and a defiant metal comb sat on the roof.
And then it slammed against him.
He had just enough time for one clear, final thought. Why does a chicken car exist?
Then his vision shifted.
The world vanished in a crunch of metal and poultry-themed humiliation.
He woke with a gasp. He thought, for one blissful second, that he was alive, that it was a dream, a nightmare born from a bad takeaway. He blinked, expecting the cracked ceiling of his small apartment. Instead, his gaze travelled up, and up, and up. The ceiling was a distant country of shadows and carved wooden beams.
He was in a bed he had never seen before, in a room larger than his entire flat. Heavy velvet curtains, the colour of dried blood, smothered the light from towering windows. The furniture, all dark, polished wood, looked heavy enough to anchor a ship. The air smelled of old books, waxed floors, and some kind of expensive fragrance that made his nose itch.
He sat up too quickly. The motion felt alien. The bed creaked under a weight that was not his own. His arms seemed to stretch further than they should. His shoulders felt broader, a solid wall of unfamiliar muscle. Even the way his hair, long and dark, fell against his cheek felt wrong. Panic began to coil in his gut, a cold snake waking from slumber. He scanned the room, a desperate, frantic search for anything he recognised.
Nothing. Not a hospital. Not a hotel. Not anywhere.
Then he saw it. A tall, silver-framed mirror stood across the room, angled just so. It caught his reflection. He froze.
A man stared back. Tall. Impossibly handsome, with the kind of sharp-boned, aristocratic face that felt like an insult to common people.
Pale skin, brown eyes, black hair. The man in the mirror watched him, a perfect mimic of his own shock.
"Who the hell are you?" a voice he did not recognise rasped from his throat.
The man in the mirror’s mouth moved in perfect sync.
He lifted a hand. The reflection lifted a hand. He leaned left; the reflection followed. He opened his mouth to shout again, but no sound came out. The reflection’s mouth hung open, if a fly flew into his mouth just then, he wouldn’t have been surprised.
The realisation landed in pieces, each one a fresh stab of ice. That was not someone else. That was him.
He lunged out of bed, his new, longer legs tangling, and he nearly crashed to the polished stone floor. He caught himself on a heavy bedside table, his palms flat against the cool wood. He stared down at his hands. Long, elegant fingers. A signet ring with a crest he had never seen sat heavy on one finger. The skin was smooth, unblemished by the small scars and calluses he had accumulated over a lifetime of working out and assembling cheap furniture.
He looked back at the mirror. This time, a different kind of recognition struck him, colder and sharper than the first. He knew that face.
Cane Valerian.
Air refused to enter his lungs as he realized the dire situation he was in. Cane Valerian. Not a hero. Not even a villain of any consequence. He was a scumbag side character from Heartsteel Paladin, one of the most popular harem novels of the last decade. A footnote. A plot device. Cane’s sole purpose in the story was to be an arrogant prick. He harassed the protagonist, Vinny, insulted his companions, and generally made a nuisance of himself across several early arcs. He existed only to be hated by the readers, a recurring annoyance who met a pathetic, comedic end at the hands of some random monster that had nothing to do with the main plot. A joke with a noble title.
He stared at his — at Cane Valerian’s — reflection, horror widening his eyes.
He had been reincarnated into a disposable douchebag.
His breath came in ragged, panicked gasps. He remembered the Chapter comments, the readers laughing at Cane’s stupid death. He remembered Vinny, the protagonist, stepping over his corpse without a second glance. This body was on a timer.
The panic sharpened and rose indescribelbly.
Then it stopped.
Not faded. Stopped. As if someone had reached into his head and flipped a switch. His racing heart slowed to a steady, even thump. His breathing smoothed out. His frantic expression flattened into a neutral mask. Something was profoundly wrong. This sense of calm was something he’d never felt before.
A translucent blue window shimmered into existence before his eyes.
Initiating System.
System? Like a game system? The blue box looked familiar. He’d seen it in manhwa’s he’d read in the middle of work breaks.
Another line of text appeared beneath it.
Initiating Personality Module.
Cane stared, unblinking.
Personality Module not found.
Searching compatible template.
Compatible template not found.
Using personality of current host.
Personality found.
The tone of the notifications changed abruptly.
The clean, systemic font remained, but the words felt different.
Calm the fuck down, dumbass.