Han lying on the cold floor, his body trembling, half-conscious. The mechanical voice in his head hadn't stopped.
System initializing…
Progress: 10%
Han's bloodshot eyes widened slightly. What the heck is this…?
He coughed, each spasm sending knives of pain through his chest. His vision blurred.
"Is this… how death is supposed to feel?" he muttered between gasps.
Progress: 20%
He laughed bitterly, though it came out as a strangled cough. I'm not even thinking about anyone. No friends, no family. Just… no. That fuckass senior… Rage spiked between waves of pain. I hope he gets run over by a train. I hope-
His vision swam.
Progress: 50%
Han slammed his fist weakly against the floor. "Dammit… this thing won't shut up… It's louder than my thoughts…" He gagged again, chest rattling. "Now that I think about it… I'm gonna die a virgin. Hah. What a pathetic… ending."
His breaths came shorter.
Progress: 70%
Han squeezed his eyes shut, fury boiling even as his body failed. I need to ask God what he was thinking. Giving me such shit luck… nothing but work, books, loneliness… and now this.
His body convulsed. He could barely move anymore.
Progress: 90%
"What the hell is it loading…?" His cracked lips curled into a half-mad grin. "Initializing what…? My funeral?"
And then—
Initialization complete.
Everything went dark.
⸻
Awakening
Han groaned. His body felt heavy, his head throbbing as though someone had driven nails into his skull.
"Urgh… fuck… my head…" He clutched his temples, forcing his eyes open.
Light filtered in—natural sunlight, warm and golden, streaming through curtains. Not the sterile fluorescence of a chemical plant. Not the dull gray ceiling of his apartment.
He was lying in a bed. A real bed. Thick blankets, wooden frames, carved details that looked… old. Too old.
Han blinked hard. "The hell…?"
Something else hovered in his vision. A translucent panel, glowing faintly, words etched into the air as though mocking him.
Transfer complete, Host.
Han groaned. "Not you again…" He squinted at the glowing letters. "Fuck, I have a headache… How the hell do I remove this thing?"
He raised a hand toward it. The panel didn't move. He swiped—nothing.
"Power off," he said experimentally.
For a second, silence.
Then—
Host, would you like to remove the interface?
"Yes, yes, remove it please!" he urged, voice cracking with desperation.
Confirmed. Please input a keyword to deactivate and reactivate the system interface.
Han froze. "Keyword? What am I, setting up a Wi-Fi password? Ugh…" He groaned, massaging his forehead. "Fine… fuck… uh… Close and Open."
Keyword registered.
The panel winked out of existence.
Han slumped back against the bed. "Finally… silence…"
His chest still ached faintly, but the searing pain was gone. Only the throbbing headache remained.
⸻
The Mirror
Han sat up slowly. His throat was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. "Damn it… I need water." He pushed himself off the bed, legs wobbling but functional.
The room around him was unfamiliar. Wooden walls, a sturdy wardrobe, a small table with a candle stub. Everything was… too clean to be modern, but too primitive to be recent.
He staggered forward, spotting a small mirror propped on a stand. Relief surged—maybe he could check how bad he looked after collapsing.
But when he leaned forward—
"What the fuck…" His voice cracked.
The reflection staring back wasn't his.
Gone were the sharp black eyes behind glasses. Gone was the plain, tired face he'd seen every morning. Instead, a boy with finer features, smooth skin, and hair that looked softer than his had ever been stared back.
"Who the fuck is this… is it… me?" His hands trembled as he touched his face. The reflection copied him exactly.
Panic flared. "What's going on… What the hell's happening to me?"
⸻
The System Again
A familiar chime rang in his head.
System interface available. Say 'Open' to access.
Han clenched his teeth. "No… Not again…"
what is this thing anyways
But curiosity gnawed at him. "Open."
The panel returned, glowing faintly.
"Where am I?" Han demanded.
I do not know, Host.
His eyebrows shot up. "What do you mean you don't know? Didn't you take me here?"
I am not authorized to answer.
Han snarled. "Fuck! What's going on?!" He dragged his hands through his hair, pacing the room. "I need water, I need answers… I need—"
His throat burned with thirst.
⸻
A Voice
"Is anyone there?!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "I need water!"
The door creaked open.
A young man entered, no older than sixteen or seventeen, with chestnut-brown hair and hazel eyes. He carried a small pitcher and cup.
"My lord, you're awake!" the boy exclaimed, relief washing over his features.
Han froze. My lord?
The boy hurried forward, pouring water into the cup and offering it with both hands. "Please, drink."
Han snatched it, downing the liquid greedily. Cold, clean water slid down his throat, sending blissful relief through his body.
"Ahhh…" He wiped his mouth, staring at the boy. "Wait… did you just call me my lord?"
"Yes, my lord," the boy said, bowing his head.
Han's mind spun. Judging from his clothes… simple tunic, laced sleeves… and the way he speaks… This isn't modern. This is old. Way too old.
⸻
Internal Monologue
Han's heart pounded. Is this another world… or did I travel through time?
He studied the boy again. What if I'm in some barbarian land? How do I ask him questions without raising suspicion?
The words "my lord" echoed in his head. If he calls me that… I'm either a prince, a king, or some noble. I don't look old enough to be a king, so probably a prince or a noble's son.
His gaze darted around the room again—the wooden beams, the carved furniture, the lack of anything remotely modern. And this house… no, this chamber… definitely European in style. The architecture, the clothing—it screams Europe. The question is… what time period?
⸻
Testing the Waters
Han forced a smile at the boy. "Can you… remind me again how old I am this year?"
The boy blinked. "I don't understand, my lord."
Han cursed inwardly. Shit! Wrong question. He doesn't get it. Okay, okay… think. If this is between the 1100s and 1700s, they measure age differently sometimes…
He leaned back casually, feigning forgetfulness. "Heh. When was I born again?" he asked, half-jokingly.
The boy looked puzzled but answered earnestly. "You were born twelve winters ago, my lord."
Han's chest tightened. His mind immediately raced. Winters. They count years by winters. That's medieval phrasing. Twelve winters ago… meaning twelve years old. Shit…
His eyes widened. I've traveled through time.
⸻
Realization
The system chimed again in his head.
Message for the Host…
Han's heart skipped. He clenched his fists. nervously "Tch… What now?"
The glowing panel flickered faintly.