Falling feels nothing like I expected.

  No flashing memories. No deep realizations.

  Just regrets, the wind howling in my ears, and the city lights blurring into streaks.

  Then—impact.

  But there’s no pain. No cold pavement. Just... darkness.

  Thick and endless, like ink swallowing me whole.

  I try to breathe, but the air is heavy.

  “Again.”

  A voice hums in the void, twisting around me.

  “Try it again.”

  I don’t know whose voice it is, but it feels creepy yet familiar, like white noise buzzing in the back of my mind.

  “Where the hell has he gone?”

  The voice cracks, irritation seeping in before it fades into the endless dark.

  After that… it was just void, and my thoughts keeping me company.

  Just me and my good old thoughts.

  I thought falling onto pavement was supposed to hurt. I thought I’d feel something.

  But nothing.

  Just this endless stretch of black.

  Is this what death feels like?

  If it is, it’s really shitty.

  I mean, imagine this: you look to the left—nothing. Look to the right—also nothing. Oh, but wait, maybe if I just—nope. Still nothing.

  Oh, and the best part? There’s no concept of time here.

  I have no idea how long I’ve been falling, but I do know I’ve been here long enough to mentally sing The Prophet’s Song by Queen in its entirety.

  Which, by all accounts, should be an illegal amount of time for someone to be falling.

  “Ah, ah, people, can you hear me?”

  They can’t. Turns out, I don’t have vocal cords. Discovered that halfway through the descent.

  “La-la-la—”

  Ugh, I’m so bored.

  Can we just hurry up with the whole mysterious black fog thing? I’m kinda getting sick of it now.

  ...

  No response.

  ...

  I can’t even feel my body anymore.

  Everything that ever mattered—my mother, my dreams, the endless cruelty of fate—it all dissolves into the void.

  There’s nothing here but me.

  “Master… Magnus…”

  Wait.

  Was that another voice?

  No. I must be hearing things.

  “Magnus…”

  Nope. There it is again.

  “Magnus.”

  It brings me a small comfort, though I don’t know why. I don’t even know who’s speaking.

  But at least it’s something other than silence.

  “Master…”

  “Magnus…”

  But after a while, it started to get repetitive.

  “Mast—”

  If you say "Master" one more time—

  “Mast—”

  “Oh, for the love of—CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP ALREADY?!”

  …

  Wait.

  Did I just… speak?

  “Aaaa…”

  After an eternity trapped in the void, I realize—I can talk again.

  Which leads me to the next most logical reaction:

  “F*CK YEAH!”

  Did you catch that on tape, Mom and Dad? Are you proud?

  ‘Cause your son’s first words weren’t just words—they were a whole damn sentence.

  Oh, and get this—

  I can move my fingers too! And my feet!

  I raise my hands, letting out a breathless cheer. I’ve never felt so relieved in my life.

  In my joy, I fail to notice the presence behind me.

  “Well, sir, I beg your pardon, young master, if I have caused you any offense. If you feel the need to hurl such… language at me, then I shall take my leave.”

  A door slams shut behind me.

  Huh.

  “What the hell—who was that—”

  Wait.

  Forget that.

  A door?

  I whip my head around.

  The endless black is gone.

  Instead, I’m surrounded by… furniture?

  FURNITURE.

  I have never been so happy to see a goddamn chair in my life.

  After endless darkness, anything other than black is a miracle.

  Then, I notice it.

  A giant mirror stands before me.

  I take a step closer—

  And freeze.

  The reflection staring back at me?

  Not me.

  Well, not the me I remember.

  I rub my face, expecting to feel my own features, but the skin is softer.

  This body—this frame—

  It’s not mine.

  I look maybe fifteen. Smaller, thinner, weaker.

  I take stock of my surroundings. My clothes—fine, but old. A crimson tunic embroidered with gold thread faded with time. Black leather gloves cracked at the edges. Boots that should’ve marked me as nobility, but now just mock me—a cruel reminder of someone who once had everything and lost it all.

  The room is massive, too grand for what it has become. Dust clings to every surface, the air thick with abandonment. A chandelier hangs above me, its candles long dead. The walls are covered in tattered tapestries—stories of battles won and lost.

  None of this makes sense.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  I swallow the rising panic.

  “Where the hell am I?”

  [TWO DAYS HAVE PASSED}

  It’s been two days since I arrived in this place.

  Two days spent reacquainting myself with the sensation of moving—of breathing—in a body that wasn’t mine.

  Adjusting to the weight of unfamiliar limbs. The subtle difference in balance. The way my fingers curled a little too naturally, as if the body itself had its own habits.

  When dropped into unknown territory, the best thing to do isn’t to panic. It’s to watch. To listen. To understand the landscape before making a move.

  So that’s what I did.

  Day one consisted of me just observing things.

  Once I was steady enough to move, I took my time exploring the estate.

  The house—if you could even still call it that—was falling apart.

  Holes in the wooden floors. Dust layered thick over abandoned furniture. Torn tapestries hung lifelessly from the walls, their once-vibrant embroidery now dull and frayed.

  The place was empty. No servants, no guards, not even the usual noble trinkets like gold-rimmed plates or expensive carpets—nothing of what you would expect a grand manor to have. Just the skeleton of a once-grand home left to rot.

  I had assumed I was not on Earth, or at least not in a modern time period. Everything that surrounded me was exactly what you would expect to see in one of those novels.

  Now, you might ask, how could I just accept that reality so easily…

  I fell off a rooftop, or rather, was pushed, by a deer man in a suit, fell for a couple hundred million years, and now find myself in a grand manor.

  Of course, a part of me suspected it might still be Earth, and this was just some sick prank, but there was nothing on Earth for me, so a fantasy world was much more alluring than boring old taxes, bills, and work.

  What I also noticed was signs of life, but only just.

  A single candle flickered in the main hall. A few rooms still had furniture that wasn’t broken or covered in dust. And in the small kitchen, a fire was kept burning—its warmth the only thing keeping the place from feeling entirely abandoned.

  Tending to it was an old man, dressed in well-kept but aging formalwear. Dignified, despite the ruin around him.

  The first person I had seen in this place.

  So I asked him his name.

  "Adrian, Master Magnus."

  He had replied, but the moment I spoke, his movements froze.

  There it was again. That name.

  Magnus.

  So… that’s me, then?

  And this man—Adrian—was the one who had been calling it, almost obsessively.

  He looked up at me, eyes widening in something close to shock.

  A long pause stretched between us.

  Then—

  "You… do not remember?"

  His voice wavered as if he was afraid of the answer.

  Panic flickered in my mind for a split second.

  Crap.

  I hadn’t thought of the strangeness of the question.

  Think, think, think—

  I winced, bringing a hand to my temple, squeezing my eyes shut.

  "Ugh—my head… I—" I groaned dramatically, as if even thinking was a struggle.

  "I… I don’t know… it hurts… it’s like—like I’m struggling to remember things…"

  I peeked through my fingers to gauge his reaction.

  Adrian’s face paled instantly. "Young master…"

  Alright. Good. He was buying it.

  I sighed heavily, thanking the world for the overused I can’t remember trope.

  That was meant to be a thought, not a spoken sentence.

  Adrian blinked.

  I blinked back.

  Then, very, very slowly, his expression shifted into one of deep concern.

  "Young master… are you saying… you have lost your memories?"

  Adrian pressed his lips together, looking absolutely devastated.

  Which made me feel kind of bad.

  Kind of.

  I cleared my throat. "I mean—not all of them… Just… you know. Some. A bit fuzzy. Head still hurts from the fall."

  Technically, not a lie.

  "...I see."

  Did he really, though?

  Because I sure as hell didn’t.

  "...Are you alright, young master?"

  His voice had softened, just a little.

  I hesitated.

  Then, deciding it was best not to push my luck, I nodded. "Yeah. I think I just need some time."

  Adrian didn’t look fully convinced, but he gave a small, respectful bow.

  “I can understand why, young master, it was quite the shock.”

  He gave me a look like one a grandfather would give his grandchild

  "Forgive me for my earlier reaction. I shall refrain from pressing you further until you are ready."

  I exhaled.

  Crisis averted.

  For now.

  So, we now found ourselves on day two.

  Sitting at a wooden table.

  Eating what I could only describe as bean water.

  Adrian watches me expectantly as I take a cautious sip.

  The taste is… profoundly earthy.

  “…Is the broth to your liking, master?”

  I glance at the bowl again. The liquid is murky, with a few beans floating on top, like tiny survivors of some tragic culinary disaster.

  I give it a cautious sip.

  It tastes… beany.

  “…It’s very beany,” I say at last.

  Adrian’s expression falters. His shoulders droop slightly, as if I’ve just told him his entire life’s work was meaningless.

  “My deepest apologies, young master,” he says gravely. “It was all I could manage with our current resources. Had I had access to finer ingredients, I assure you, I would have prepared a proper meal worthy of your station.”

  I hold up a hand before he starts weeping into the broth. “It’s fine, really. I just… wasn’t expecting it.”

  Adrian straightens, visibly relieved.

  I set the spoon down, exhaling slowly. There’s been something weighing on me since the moment I woke up in this body, and I need answers.

  “…Adrian.”

  “Yes, young master?”

  I hesitate. How do I even ask this?

  I glance around the dimly lit room—the cracked stone walls, the flickering candlelight, the furniture covered in dust and neglect. Everything about this place screams abandoned nobility.

  “…Where am I?”

  Adrian blinks, as if caught off guard by the question.

  “We are in the Veinhart estate, master.”

  Veinhart.

  That name means nothing to me but I guess my name is Magnus Veinhart.

  What an ominous name.

  I tap my fingers against the wooden table. “And… What is this Veinhart estate?”

  Adrian’s brows knit together in concern. “Master… do you really not remember?”

  Shit.

  I need to tread carefully. If I act too clueless, I might come across as suspicious.

  I force a weak smile. “It’s… hazy. I only remember some things, but not everything.”

  Adrian’s expression softens. “Fair enough.”

  I lean forward slightly. “Then tell me, Adrian. What exactly happened?”

  A long silence stretches between us.

  Adrian inhales deeply, as if gathering his thoughts.

  “The Veinhart family,” he begins, his voice measured and solemn, “was once among the empire’s most esteemed noble houses. A lineage of warriors, scholars, and rulers who stood alongside the emperor himself.”

  He glances around the worn-down estate, his expression darkening.

  “But now… all that remains is this empty house. The name Veinhart, once spoken with reverence, has been reduced to whispers of disgrace.”

  Disgrace?

  I sit up straighter. “Why?”

  Adrian hesitates. “Master… are you certain you wish to hear this now?”

  I nod. “Tell me everything.”

  The butler folds his hands together, his gaze distant.

  “It was two years ago,” he says. “The Imperial Council accused your family of treason.”

  I tensed.

  “Treason?”

  Adrian nods gravely. “They claimed the Veinharts had conspired against the emperor, that your family sought to seize power for themselves.”

  A heavy silence settles over the room.

  I take a slow breath, trying to process his words. “And… was it true?”

  Adrian’s eyes darken. “No.”

  The certainty in his voice is absolute.

  “The accusations were nothing more than lies spun by those who feared your family’s influence,” he continues. “The Council sought to remove a powerful house from the political stage, and so they wove a tale of betrayal.”

  I clench my fists beneath the table.

  A noble house, framed and destroyed for political gain. A family wiped out, not by war, but by greed and deception.

  Sounds like something straight out of a tragic fantasy novel.

  Only this time, I’m living in it.

  Adrian’s voice softens. “Your father was executed. Your mother… she fell ill not long after. Without the support of the empire, without allies, without resources, there was nothing that could be done.”

  A strange sensation grips my chest. Not grief—because she wasn’t my mother—but something close. A dull, hollow weight.

  I exhale slowly. “And me?”

  Adrian looks at me, something unreadable in his gaze.

  “You, young master… were spared. But only because you were deemed harmless.”

  I blink. “Harmless?”

  His expression tightens. “They saw you as nothing more than a boy unworthy of notice. A disgrace to your lineage. Someone too weak to be a threat.”

  I stare at him.

  Me?

  Weak?

  Well. They’re not wrong. Physically, at least. This body is small and frail compared to what I remember.

  But I’ve never been one to let physical strength define me.

  I let out a slow breath, my fingers tapping against the table.

  Adrian remained composed, but I did notice the way his fingers tightened slightly over his knee. "The estate is in considerable debt, young master. Most of the land once belonging to the Veinhart family has been sold off to cover expenses. What remains is this house and the small plot of farmland attached to it."

  I blink. "...We have a farm?"

  "A modest one, yes. Though it is not nearly enough to sustain the estate in the long term."

  Great. So, not only was I dirt poor, but my new home was barely clinging to existence.

  I run a hand down my face. "And there's no other source of income?"

  "None substantial," Adrian admits. "The staff have long since departed, save for myself. Any remaining valuables have been sold."

  Fantastic. Just fantastic.

  "So, to summarize," I say, rubbing my temples, "I'm broke, my house is falling apart, and if something doesn't change soon, I'm going to be eating bean water for the rest of my miserable existence."

  "...That is an accurate assessment, yes."

  I drop my head onto the table. "God help me."

  A long silence passes between us.

  Then, after a moment, I asked the question that had been lingering in the back of my mind.

  "And...Adrian..you. Why are you still here?"

  He blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation.

  "You said it yourself—there's no money left. The estate is crumbling. You could have left. Found work somewhere else. But instead, you stayed."

  Adrian studies me for a long moment.

  Then, with a quiet, almost wistful smile, he says—

  "Because you are still here, young master. And that is enough."

  His voice is calm. Steady.

  Unshaken by the years of hardship.

  And somehow… that loyalty unsettles me more than anything else.

  I sit back, exhaling slowly. "...You're an odd man, Adrian."

  A faint chuckle. "So I have been told."

  So, to summarize:

  I’m in the body of Magnus Veinhart, a former noble turned disgrace.

  My entire family got wiped out due to a political setup.

  This estate is the last remnant of what used to be a powerful lineage, and it’s barely holding together.

  We have a farm. A small one. That is apparently my only source of income.

  What a fantastic start to my new life.

  I rub my temples. “So… I’m broke.”

  Adrian’s lips tighten, as if I just insulted his entire bloodline.

  I groan, slumping forward onto the table. “And here I thought reincarnation was supposed to come with some kind of benefit. Like riches and endless amounts of money. Or at least a starting bonus.”

  Adrian gives me a strange look. “...Starting bonus?”

  I waved a hand. “Never mind. Just… continue.”

  Adrian straightens. “The empire has turned its back on the Veinharts. Many who once called themselves allies have either distanced themselves or actively benefited from your family’s downfall.” His expression darkens. “In short, young master, you stand alone.”

  Alone.

  I sit with that thought for a moment.

  The old me would have laughed bitterly at that. Would’ve seen it as just another cruel twist of fate.

  But now?

  Now, I feel something else.

  Not despair.

  Not helplessness.

  No.

  It’s the spark of something sharp, something dangerous.

  It’s resentment.

  Not at Adrian, not even at this body’s former life.

  At the world that decided my fate before I even had a say in it.

  They think I’m weak. They think I’m harmless. They think I’ll just roll over and disappear like the rest of my family.

  That smug deer bastard’s face flashed accords my mind.

  I lifted my gaze to Adrian, a slow, wry smile curling at my lips. “Well. That’s inconvenient.”

  Adrian blinks. “Young master?”

  I push my chair back, standing up. “If the world sees me as nothing more than a footnote in history…” I cracked my knuckles, feeling an odd thrill run through me.

  "Alright. Let's figure this out."

  Adrian raises an eyebrow. "Figure what out?"

  I straighten my posture, looking him dead in the eye.

  "How to fix this. The estate, the debt—everything."

  Because if there was one thing I knew for sure—

  I refused to go down in history as Magnus Veinhart, the Man Who Died Drinking Bean Water.

  if the world expects me to roll over and die?

  They’re in for a rude awakening.

  Time to turn this mess around.