The first thing Leon felt when he woke was pain
not the dull ache of a restless night, but the kind that gnawed at bone and burned under skin.
It was as if his entire body had been set aflame, only to be frozen mid-scream.
He tried to move his fingers. They twitched.
Then his arms. Nothing.
He lay there for a moment, eyes staring blankly at the canopy of his bed, chest heaving with shallow breaths.
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Guess I'm still alive…"
The sunlight crawling through the curtains painted faint streaks of gold across his room. Dust drifted lazily in the air peaceful, almost mockingly so.
He had trained all night.
Every repetition, every swing, every push against his own limits.
He could still hear the stern old instructor's voice echoing in his skull:
"Again! Until your body remembers!"
And now, it remembered — in pain.
With trembling effort, Leon turned his head. Two translucent screens flickered into existence before his eyes.
Blue light washed over his pale face. His reflection shimmered faintly in their glow.
[System #1 - Leon V. Solheim]
Level: 1
Strength: 2 → 3
Endurance: 3 → 4
Agility: 2 → 3
Vitality: 3 → 4
Mana: 1
Perception: 4
[System #2 - Han Jaeho]
Level: 1
Strength: 2 → 3
Endurance: 3 → 4
Agility: 2 → 3
Vitality: 3 → 4
Mana: 1
Perception: 4
Two systems.
Two sets of numbers.
Two worlds bound to a single soul.
Leon exhaled a shaky breath, a small smile forming despite the agony twisting through his body.
"Still there, huh?" he murmured at the second window — the one bearing his old name.
Han Jaeho.
His reflection stared back at him through the blue light.
The face of a young noble but the eyes of a man who had once died chasing an impossible goal.
He shut his eyes briefly.
"So even death couldn't get rid of you."
When he reopened them, both panels hovered obediently, shimmering in perfect silence.
His stats had grown.
Twice over.
Every ounce of pain now had a measurable reward.
Every scream from his muscles, a line of numbers that proved his progress.
And for the first time since coming to this world, he felt alive.
By the time he reached the dining hall, every step felt like a punishment.
His legs quivered under his weight. His back screamed with each breath.
But he didn't stop.
The servants gasped when he appeared limping, sweat-soaked, and pale, yet walking with his head held high.
The hall was bathed in morning light.
A long table stretched before him, lined with gold-rimmed plates and crystal glasses.
His family — the proud House of Solheim looked up in unison.
His father, Lord Reinhardt Solheim, set down his cup. His voice cut through the quiet like steel.
"Leon."
Leon stood straight despite the tremors in his knees. "Good morning, Father."
The lord's eyes narrowed. "What happened to you?"
"Training," Leon said simply.
The word dropped into the air like a boulder into still water.
Silence followed.
The kind that felt loud.
His eldest brother nearly choked on his drink.
The second one blinked, as if unsure he heard correctly.
Even the youngest usually indifferent froze mid-bite.
Then came the laughter. Soft at first, then louder.
"You? Training?" one of them said with disbelief. "Since when did you care about anything other than avoiding sunlight?"
Leon didn't respond.
He simply walked to his seat, posture calm, eyes unreadable.
The maids exchanged nervous glances as he sat, wincing when his muscles tensed.
Lord Solheim broke the silence.
"...Training, you say?"
"Yes," Leon said. "I want to become stronger."
The lord studied him for a moment a long, silent measure that weighed more than any word.
Then, to everyone's surprise, he smiled faintly.
"Then prove it."
Leon met his father's gaze and nodded. "I will."
The meal resumed.
The chatter returned, soft and cautious at first.
Leon ate quietly, forcing his stiff fingers to hold the utensils steady. Each bite tasted faintly of metal — the copper tang of fatigue.
But he kept going.
Because every movement, every breath, every act of endurance reminded him:
He was changing.
When the meal ended, Leon stood and bowed — deeply.
The hall stilled again.
In this noble house, bowing wasn't a gesture of respect — it was humility. Something no Solheim heir had ever shown.
"Thank you for the meal," Leon said softly.
His brothers stared, confused. His mother blinked in surprise.
Lord Solheim leaned back in his chair, lips curving into the faintest of smirks.
"You've changed, Leon," he said. "Let's see how long it lasts."
Leon straightened. "It will."
Then he turned and walked away, the faint limp in his step echoing like a quiet defiance against the polished marble floors.
Outside, the morning wind brushed against his face — cool, clean, alive.
The vast Solheim estate stretched before him, its gardens shimmering under the rising sun.
Every inch of his body still screamed from exhaustion, but he couldn't stop the smile creeping across his face.
Two systems.
Double growth.
And still two years before the entrance to Eternal Academy the point where the story, the game, was supposed to begin.
He had time.
He had a chance.
"I won't waste it this time," he whispered to the empty air. "Not again."
A faint breeze stirred, carrying his words into the distance.
For the first time since his reincarnation, Leon felt something strange and warm inside his chest.
Not just hope — resolve.
That night, when the estate fell quiet, two faint lights flickered above his bed.
Two systems.
Two selves.
Both waiting.
He looked at them one last time before sleep claimed him.
"Han Jaeho," he murmured. "Let's not fail again."
The windows pulsed softly — as if in agreement — before fading into darkness.
And in that darkness, for the first time, Leon slept not as a broken man reborn,
but as someone who had finally taken his first step toward becoming strong.