I woke up in silk sheets.
Which was already suspicious. I don't own silk sheets. I barely own a bed.
The second red flag was the velvet canopy above me, embroidered with gold-threaded angels, like the ceiling of a Renaissance cathedral had a one-night stand with a royal nursery.
And then there was the light.
Sunlight drifted lazily through gauzy curtains, soft and diffused like it had been through a photo filter. The kind of lighting you only see in commercials for designer perfume or very expensive funerals.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
"…Huh."
The air smelled sweet and full of entitlement. The whole room reeked of wealth - the kind that never had to think twice about taxes or grocery lists. There were chandeliers on the ceiling. Actual chandeliers. Multiple. The kind that probably cost more than my student loans. Each.
And the bed?
The bed was so big I could've hosted a five-player Smash tournament on it with room to spare. I sank into it like a marshmallow in a memory foam coffin.
For a moment, I just lay there. Letting the quiet settle. Letting my brain boot up.
Then it hit me.
"Wait. I died, right? Truck-kun came for me. Finally collected after years of offering up my characters like sacrifices."
My voice sounded unfamiliar - too dry, a little hoarse. But that was the last thing on my mind as a wave of strange calm washed over me.
'So this is it. Transmigration…'
I looked around.
'At least I'm not a baby. Thank god.'
Honestly, the number of stories I'd written or read where the protagonist reincarnates and starts life again in a crib was disturbing. Conscious diaper changes and feeding? Full-grown brain in a body that can't even crawl?
Nope. Hard pass.
'I'd rather get hit by that truck again.'
I sighed, sitting up - or at least I tried to. My body protested as if I'd betrayed it in a past life. Pain lanced through my joints like they were trying to sue me for negligence.
"Agh, dammit…"
Everything ached. Every. Single. Thing.
My ribs popped. My neck cracked. My spine sounded like someone stomping on bubble wrap.
'Okay, so… transmigrated, yes. But apparently not into a healthy body.'
I groaned, rolled off the bed, and crawled across a floor so polished I could see my reflection in it. The rug was thick enough to count as a minor terrain obstacle. I stumbled toward the nearest mirror - an absurdly ornate thing taller than me, framed in enough gold to trigger a heist.
Grabbing the edge, I pulled myself up and looked at my reflection.
I froze.
Same black hair. Same tired eyes. Same vague aura of chronic existential dread.
But the body?
It was somehow worse.
My height seemed similar, average at best. But my limbs were twigs. My skin, pale and thin like it belonged on a vampire with an iron deficiency. Cheekbones sharp enough to file weapons on. My arms looked like someone had glued boiled spaghetti to a scarecrow.
I tugged at the collar of my robes - silk, trimmed in silver - and stared at the bruises dotting my chest and ribs like a connect-the-dots of failure.
"…Wow. Copy-paste, but with less nutrition."
And then it really hit me.
'This body's been through something. Something bad.'
The soreness wasn't just from disuse. It was deep, raw, like I'd lost a fight with gravity and then insulted gravity's mother for good measure.
'Was I… beaten?'
I flexed a hand. Trembling fingers. Slow reflexes. Weak muscle response.
This wasn't illness.
This was the aftermath of who knew what.
'So whoever I am now… someone doesn't like me very much.'
I slumped against the mirror, drawing a long breath as I forced my thoughts into order. It felt disturbingly natural, waking up in someone else's body. Not that I hadn't hoped for it before… I just never actually believed it would happen.
'Okay. Checklist. Not a baby - check. Not dead - check. In a noble-looking room, wearing noble-looking clothes. So… status? Maybe. But the body is trashed, so… fragile status. Not a great start.'
And the worst part?
No memories. No flashbacks. No dramatic internal monologue from the original body's soul. No helpful system window with a lore dump.
Just silence.
'Which means I'm on my own.'
I didn't panic. Panic takes effort.
Instead, I analysed.
'I'm not tied up or in present danger. From my clothing, the room, and the fact that there aren't guards at the door, I must have some sort of status and at least freedom. I can work with that.'
'But… shouldn't I have some sort of cheat skill or system? Even my least favourite MCs had something. Wait - there was something, wasn't there?'
That thought made me freeze.
Right before everything went black, I'd heard… something. A sound. A chime. A voice? I hadn't thought about it since I woke up in pain, too busy trying to piece myself together. But now-
Ping!
The air shimmered.
A soft chime echoed inside my skull.
I blinked.
From nothing, a projection coalesced - lines of light sketching themselves into existence until a floating chessboard hung in the air before me, translucent and radiant like a piece of magic pretending to be technology.
An 8x8 grid. Only one piece sat on it: a single, regal King.
Me.
Then came the text:
[King System Initialised.]
[You are the King Of Pieces.]
[You currently possess no pieces.]
[Acquire pieces to expand your influence.]
[Each piece is unique and has abilities and functions based on the role.]
[Protect the King at all costs.]
[If the King falls, the game ends.]
I stared. Then laughed.
A low, disbelieving chuckle bubbled up from my sore chest.
"A system. A real, actual system."
I didn't seem to have some bullshit SSS-Rank Skill or invincible body, but I had something intriguing - something I'd never written or read.
A chess motif. Tactical. Fitting. Familiar.
I loved it.
The board shimmered, following me as I limped across the room.
"So I'm the King. Central piece. Important. Weak on my own, but pivotal. Game over if I die."
I grinned.
"That means I don't have to fight. I just have to survive. And think."
No swinging swords. No spamming fireballs. Just maneuver, calculate, and let others do the heavy lifting.
'Lovely.'
I wasn't built for the frontlines, nor did the action appeal to me very much. The risk of pain, injury, and death far outweighed any thrill.
More text appeared:
[New Objective Unlocked!]
[Recruit your first Piece.]
[Hint: All pieces are valuable - even pawns can become queens.]
I pulled aside the curtain and peered out.
Knights patrolled a stone courtyard. Gardeners tended to trimmed hedges. Beyond the walls, towers stretched skyward, capped in slate and gold.
Definitely a noble estate in some kind of fantasy world. Not Earth.
Exactly what I was hoping.
'Alright. Somewhere in this fancy sandbox is my first piece.'
And whoever left this body black-and-blue?
They were going to pay for it.
Because I'm not just going to survive.
I'm going to win.
"Let the game begin."