He had countless questions spinning through his head, but only one kept returning with a relentless itch:
How did he even get here?
Just moments ago—no, what felt like mere moments ago—he had been crawling across the floor like a cockroach, pathetic and gasping for air. And now… now he was standing in an alleyway.
That alone was bizarre enough. But what truly unsettled him was the body.
It wasn't his.
Or rather… it didn't feel like his.
When he tried to think about it—his body, his life—it all dissolved into fog. The memories were smudged like ink in water. He couldn't remember why he'd been on the ground, or even if he actually had been.
Had I even fallen in the first place?
The very attempt to untangle the thought made his head ache.
What the hell is wrong with me? Have I gone insane? Am I losing it?
He remembered something—barely. A sliver of identity, clinging to the walls of his mind. A name.
Ronald.
Yes… Ronald. That was his name, wasn't it? At least, it felt right. Like a stamp burned into his mind, the only thing that wouldn't wash away.
But even as he clung to that name, the rest of him was unraveling. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at the dim alley walls, paralyzed for a moment. His thoughts tried to process, to analyze, to rationalize the absurdity.
And yet… nothing came. No answer, no realization.
The worst part? The more time passed, the more his past—his real life—felt like fiction. Like a fading dream. It had already started to lose its grip on him. And strangely… that didn't feel strange.
That alone should terrify me, right?
He noticed a mark on his neck. A wound. Blood.
There was blood around him too, but it was... fading. Quickly. Unnaturally.
In mere seconds, his wound began to vanish, skin knitting back together. The blood on the walls, the floor—it evaporated like morning mist.
And on one of the brick walls nearby, a message. Written in what could only be blood.
An apology.
"I'm sorry."
Ronald stared at the words. Oddly enough, they were written in a language he had never seen before—but he understood it perfectly. As if the meaning had bypassed his mind and embedded itself directly in his soul.
Someone apologized. Using blood. But why?
Had he—this body—been killed?
No weapon. Nothing on him, at least that he could see. That ruled out suicide.
So someone else had done it. Someone had attacked this body and written a message with his blood.
But who would apologize after killing someone? And why?
If it was murder, it didn't seem planned. Who takes the time to say "sorry" with blood if they meant to kill someone?
Maybe it was an accident.
Or worse—something they had no choice but to do.
Regardless, one thing was clear: if that person returned and saw him alive, fully healed, that could become very dangerous very fast.
And yet…
What unsettled Ronald even more than the death, the message, or the blood… was how calm he remained through it all.
Why am I not panicking? I should be screaming.
This wasn't normal. Neither was the body. Something inside him had changed.
The language on the wall, for one—he had no memory of ever learning it. Yet he'd understood it. Fluently.
All of this is… just too strange.
But dwelling on it led nowhere. The message had vanished now, and even the alleyway had begun to change. What once looked dingy and decrepit now felt colorful. Almost elegant.
This alley is… beautiful?
That thought should've been absurd. But Ronald found himself believing it. The lighting, the way the bricks shimmered under the sunlight, the scent of something floral in the air…
He could live here. In this alley. And be content.
Shaking his head, he stood up and took in the surroundings with a fuller breath. The sky above was painted in day's blue, but dotted with stars.
Stars. In broad daylight.
A surreal sight—impossible by all logic he knew. And yet, here they were. Winking down at him as if mocking everything he thought he understood.
This world… is not my world.
He had known it. Deep down. But only now was he starting to accept it.
Maybe the pain scrambled my mind. Or maybe… I really am somewhere else entirely.
Staying in the alley wouldn't do any good. He took a deep breath, gathered his resolve, and stepped out into the open.
And what he saw made him stop in awe.
People with long ears. Beasts walking on two legs, chatting like scholars. Humans with scales gleaming in the light.
Everything screamed fantasy.
Another world. An alternate reality where dreams and nightmares wore faces and walked beside you.
Is this… transmigration? Reincarnation? Whatever they call it in those Webnovels? Hah…!
Excitement began to rise in his chest, bubbling past the fear and confusion. He wandered the streets like a child let loose in a theme park, gawking at street performers breathing fire for children, sleek carriages gliding on air like futuristic trains, vibrant market stalls brimming with glowing crystals and scrolls.
Everything was beautiful. Everything was impossible. Everything was amazing.
He peeked into shops selling strange cards. Cards with swords and shields on them, like game collectibles. He had no idea what they were for.
He even accidentally stumbled into a women's changing room.
A loud SLAP quickly reminded him that yes—pain still existed in this fantasy.
He roamed the streets, eyes wide, ears open. Some people started avoiding him, whispering under their breath. That was fine. He was gathering intel. Tourist mode, engaged.
Eventually, he decided to get real answers. Enough wandering. Time to ask.
He approached someone who looked relatively normal—human, calm, approachable.
"Uhm… excuse me. Could you tell me… where exactly am I?"
The person blinked, then frowned. They stared at an insignia on Ronald's chest.
"You're seriously asking that while wearing an academy uniform? This is Academic City, District A. Are you trying to be funny?"
Ouch. That was harsh.
The stranger left, muttering something under their breath.
Still, it helped.
Academic City.
A city that's also an academy? That's… oddly on-the-nose.
He smiled to himself.
Judging from the Webnovels I've read, this must be one of those "mixed-race academies" where elves, dwarves, beastkin, and humans all study magic or something magic-adjacent together.
He had seen what looked like magic in action. He also saw posters with those "cards" again, showing weapons and glowing effects.
In fiction, academies were always breeding grounds for drama, romance, and ridiculous power-ups.
Where harems formed. Where rivals appeared. Where plots thickened.
It was always Ronald's favorite part of the story.
And here he was, apparently enrolled already.
Ronald had always been the type to romanticize misfortune—so naturally, his sudden arrival in an unfamiliar world didn't terrify him. Instead, it excited him. Somewhere deep inside his overactive imagination, he was already composing the first lines of his own Webnovel. "Chapter 1: The Chosen Nobody."
Everything fit the mold, didn't it?
A mysterious transmigration.
A world that reeked of mysticism.
An amnesiac body that somehow retained a cool badge pinned to its chest.
And maybe—just maybe—magic.
Yes, Ronald could feel it already. This was his story. His tale of rise, of power, of harem-building and plot-armored survival. He even chuckled to himself as he walked aimlessly through the unfamiliar streets. He was convinced the world would soon unveil its mechanics to him like a tutorial quest.
Only—it didn't.
No blue window popped up with stats.
No mysterious narrator whispered rules into his head.
No sudden download of memories occurred.
This was… unfair.
He had read enough transmigration Webnovels to know the drill. Usually, the MC (Main Character, duh) would inherit the memories of the body, or at the very least, get a helpful guide. Something like: "Welcome to [Insert Fantasy World Name Here]! You've inherited the body of a young genius/loser/noble bastard/suppressed demon king."
Instead, Ronald felt like a broken record on shuffle—confused, excited, terrified, and mildly hungry all at once.
He looked around and began to notice patterns. People were moving in small groups, many of them wearing the same kind of insignia as the one on his chest. Some were talking animatedly, others looked serious—like soldiers preparing for war. The symbols they bore seemed more than decorative.
A guild? An organization? A class system?
His thoughts spiraled. "This is an academy," he muttered, narrowing his eyes as if that made him smarter. "And I'm wearing their crest… so I must be a student."
That meant there had to be dorms, right?
Beds? Food? Magical coursework?
Maybe a tsundere or two?
"Alright," Ronald murmured to himself, standing taller. "First mission: find shelter. Second: understand this world. Third: survive long enough to become overpowered."
But then came the real problem—currency.
He fished through his pockets, trying to determine whether he had any form of money. What he found were small, glimmering coins and strange paper slips. Nothing with a president's face. Nothing labeled "USD." Just runes, crests, and a general air of mystery.
"How do I even know what counts as currency?" he thought. "I might just tip someone with a rare magic relic without knowing it."
If he didn't understand the monetary system here, he could be conned easily. Scammed. Robbed. Turned into an eternal servant for accidentally buying a donut with an ancient soul coin.
Ronald rubbed his temples. His mind raced with questions.
What kind of world is this? Who brought me here? And why?
In Webnovels, transmigration was never random. Some deity always pulled the strings. A god, a forgotten spirit, a multidimensional cosmic frog—it didn't matter. The MC was always chosen for a reason. Always part of some plan.
If that was the case… then he was being watched. And if he was being watched, he needed to be careful. He couldn't just rush into things without knowing the stakes.
And then there was the creeping sensation he hadn't fully admitted to himself yet—the strange duality in his mind.
Part of him—the fanboy part—was thrilled, constantly making meta-comments in his head.
The other half was... quiet, strategic, maybe even paranoid.
It felt like two personalities coexisting. One treating this world like a playground. The other treating it like a battlefield.
So far, the balance was fine. They even worked together in a weird, dysfunctional way. But what if they clashed? What if the dreamer wanted to take risks and the realist wanted to survive?
Would Ronald be forced to choose between them?
"No," he told himself. "Don't spiral. One problem at a time."
That's when he saw it.
Floating letters shimmering in the air, projected like a magical hologram across a large stone building:
"Academic City A: Where Stars Shine the Brightest."
This wasn't just a school. This was a city dedicated to learning—no, power.
And if anime had taught him anything, it meant students could probably destroy mountains by sneezing.
This was the perfect place to begin his journey.
A place where weaklings became heroes.
Where rivals were forged.
Where—hopefully—there were public bathrooms and cheap sandwiches.
But just as the faintest hint of a smile spread across Ronald's face, a pain like molten iron exploded behind his eyes.
"Ugh—what—what the hell?!"
He collapsed, his limbs twitching as a blinding pressure clawed through his skull. His vision blurred, and all thoughts—both the dreamy and the logical—vanished in a singular scream of agony.
"No… not again!"
Darkness took him.
---
When Ronald opened his eyes, everything had changed.
He was no longer on the stone streets of Academic City. He was inside… a library?
No, not just any library. The Library.
Books towered over him like skyscrapers. Endless rows of leather-bound tomes stretched into the distance, glowing faintly with magical runes. There were ladders reaching into the sky, and ethereal whispers echoing across the vaulted ceiling.
He turned in place, eyes wide with disbelief.
It felt holy. Ancient. Like he wasn't just in a place of knowledge, but inside the concept of knowledge itself.
Then the memories started returning—not clearly, but in bursts.
Pain, fear, confusion… and then clarity.
He staggered forward as his muscles screamed, each step a battle.
"My name…" he whispered, grabbing his forehead. "My name is…"
More pain.
But then, like a puzzle clicking into place, it came:
"Christ Ronald."
He gasped, dropping to his knees.
How could I forget that?
Then, a shimmer.
A mirror.
Not just a mirror—a portal.
He looked into it, expecting to see himself. Instead, he saw a figure standing behind him. A man—or perhaps a boy—with wide, awestruck eyes.
The figure stared directly at him and whispered,
"Are… are you a god?"
Ronald blinked.
"What… the actual hell?"