Damp blades of grass clung to his skin as Nick lay sprawled in the mud, coughing violently.
Just half an hour earlier, he'd been sneaking into his family's orchard with his troublemaker friends—unripe apples dangling from branches, the thrill of theft more intoxicating than any sweetness the fruit could offer.
Then the storm struck without warning.
He'd been straddling the stone wall when thunder cracked overhead.
A blinding fork of lightning struck the fence, and his feet slipped, sending him tumbling into the muddy ditch.
***
Memories tore through his mind.
The feel of genuine leather from the car seat still lingered against his skin.
Police sirens wailed in his ears.
The National Academy of Sciences' convoy had been crossing the sea bridge when that modified off-road vehicle—a bloodthirsty metal beast—smashed through the guardrail.
The searing heat of the explosion still burned his fingertips.
The last thing he'd recognized was the distinctive blue arc of the photomagnetic energy core—his own invention.
***
Nick pushed himself up, the acrid scent of something burnt mixing with the earthy smell of wet grass.
Three meters away stood a lightning-charred oak, its crown still smoldering.
Through the curtain of rain, he could make out the familiar apple orchard beside a distant red-roofed barn.
"Hell..."
He pressed his throbbing temples as countless unfamiliar images clashed inside his skull.
Memories belonging to sixteen-year-old Nick Adams were devouring his consciousness—ink stains on school uniforms, love letters hidden under beds, stained glass shattered last week.
These should have been strangers' memories, yet they felt as vivid as his own experiences.
***
Splashing footsteps approached through the downpour.
Mud-caked leather boots sloshed through puddles.
A woman in a linen dress came running, holding her skirts high, followed by an old steward carrying an oil lamp.
Her hair had come undone, her face streaked with what might have been rain or tears.
"Nick!
Oh heavens..."
When her cold fingers touched his cheek, Nick instinctively held his breath.
The scientist in him was crumbling—the law of energy conservation couldn't explain the gardenia fragrance filling his nostrils, quantum entanglement theory couldn't decipher the tremors running deep in this body's bloodline.
Staring at the fine wrinkles around her eyes, he suddenly remembered his much-criticized "Energy Consciousness Hypothesis." When a soul truly traverses dimensions, the first thing to collapse is always arrogant scientific certainty.
***
Consciousness stirred in the chaos.
Nick found himself curled on the muddy grass.
That lightning bolt that had torn the sky seemed to have injected some mysterious energy into his body.
Had the lab accident somehow shattered dimensional barriers, attaching his soul to this teenager frightened unconscious by thunder?
More hurried footsteps approached.
A middle-aged couple in luxurious clothing rushed over with their servants.
The noblewoman immediately pulled the drenched boy into her embrace, her voice choked with sobs.
"By the Goddess Ovelia!
Why is my little Nick standing alone in this thunderstorm?
What if lightning had struck you?" She kept gently patting his back, the violet scent from her hair mixing with the freshness of rain.
This was a warmth Nick had never known.
In his previous life as a genetically engineered prodigy, he'd solved calculus problems at three, published quantum mechanics papers at five, and become a leading expert in five fields by twelve.
Those cold laboratories and endless exams had never given him a single genuine hug.
The sensation of being held tightly in someone's embrace made the soul that once stood at the pinnacle of science tremble faintly.
Tears mingled with the rain as they traced paths down his cheeks.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt choked, as though something were lodged within.
"Why are you crying?
Are you hurt somewhere?"
The noblewoman anxiously checked his limbs, her voice laced with worry.
A middle-aged man with a thick beard stepped closer, his broad hand gently patting Nick's shoulder.
"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid.
Your father is here."
Finally, Nick forced out a broken whisper, "Mother… I'm fine…"
His voice still trembled with emotion.
"Fine?
You call this fine?"
The woman immediately gestured to the servants.
"Quickly, take the young master back to the castle!
Prepare a moonlit herb bath and calming incense!"
She personally draped a cloak embroidered with the family emblem over Nick's shoulders.
As her fingers brushed against his forehead, they carried a warmth that felt deeply reassuring.
Carried on the sturdy back of a servant, Nick gazed up at the gradually clearing sky.
Between the parting clouds, rays of twilight broke through like golden threads spun by the gods themselves.
Silently, he made a vow in his heart: *Thank you, fate, for granting me this rebirth.
And thank you, even more, for this precious, newfound warmth of family.
*
Nestled in the soft bedding, Nick allowed his mother to gently stroke his forehead while his mind rapidly sorted through the memories belonging to this body.
The Adams family—one of the oldest noble bloodlines on the continent.
Though his father Stevenson's baronetcy ranked at the bottom of the aristocratic hierarchy, in the remote town of Maltz, it was the most dazzling status imaginable.
It was precisely this revered position and his parents' unconditional doting that had molded the original owner of this body into the notorious troublemaker known throughout the region.
"What an enviable life..." Nick sighed inwardly.
That reckless, spoiled noble had lived in a way he could only have dreamed of in his previous existence.
As a former genius who had once stood at the pinnacle of scientific research, he knew all too well the suffocating weight of others' expectations.
Since fate had granted him a second chance at life, why not go with the flow?
To hell with scientific missions and social responsibilities—this time, he would indulge in being a pampered young noble, savoring the familial love and freedom he had never experienced before.
"Sweetie, does your head still hurt?" The noblewoman's warm palm pressed against his forehead.
Instinctively, Nick softened his voice.
"Just a little sleepy..." The moment the words left his mouth, he inwardly cursed.
According to the memories, that little brat should have been hurling pillows at his concerned parents by now.
Sure enough, Mr.
and Mrs.
Adams exchanged a look of surprise.
"Could the fever from getting caught in the rain have addled his mind?" the woman fretted, turning to her husband.
Stevenson rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"He was right under that oak tree when lightning split it in half."
Alarm bells rang in Nick's mind.
He threw off the covers and shouted hoarsely, "Shut up!
I'm trying to sleep!
Get out!"
Watching their son revert to his usual insolence, the couple actually smiled at each other—his tantrum was a reassuring sign.
They quietly closed the door behind them, instructing the servants to keep some milk warm on their way out.
Once their footsteps faded, Nick rolled out of bed and landed squarely on his feet.
Fragmented memories left behind by the original owner flooded his mind—images of mages chanting spells to summon fireballs, knights cleaving the air with sword energy.
Most absurd of all, this good-for-nothing playboy was actually a registered apprentice at the Royal Magic Academy.
"Magic?" Nick sneered, standing before the gilded bookshelf.
As a scientist who had once deconstructed the world with formulas, he was determined to uncover the truth behind these supernatural phenomena.
He desperately wanted to unravel the secrets of this world's "magic," but that fool Adams' mind was filled with nothing but debauchery and far-fetched tales—hardly reliable sources of information.
His eyes scanned the shelves, only to be met with disappointment.
The shelves were crammed with garishly colored adventure comics, and stuffed in one corner were a few risqué magazines with revealing covers.
According to Adams' twisted logic, hiding such forbidden items in plain sight was the safest approach—after all, his military-minded father never set foot in the study, and his mother kept a respectful distance from books.
After much digging through the comic piles, he managed to unearth a few books with actual text, only to find they were all textbooks from the Magic Academy.
Their spines were pristine, their covers thick with dust—clearly, they had never been seriously read.
Well, something was better than nothing.
Nick pulled out the thickest volumes and spread them across the desk.
As a former genius who had made breakthroughs across multiple scientific fields, his reading speed far surpassed that of ordinary people.
In less than half a day, he had devoured the entire row of textbooks.
According to the texts, this world was saturated with an unknown energy similar to radiation waves.
Through special cultivation methods, people stored this energy within their bodies and released it using magical artifacts—this was the essence of magic.
"Incredible..." Nick murmured to himself.
As an expert in energy research, this discovery set his heart racing.
He couldn't wait to experience this mysterious energy firsthand, but unfortunately, the original owner of this body was a complete failure—unable to even gather the most basic magical power.
"Should I... try the cultivation methods described in the textbooks?"
The thought surfaced briefly before he suppressed it.
If anyone discovered that this failure suddenly knew how to use magic...
Just as he resolved to study in secret, the door to his room burst open with a loud bang.
Baron Stevenson Adams strode in, his eyes widening in disbelief at the sight of his son hunched over a book.
"Has the sun risen from the west?" the Baron exclaimed, snatching the book Nick was trying to hide.
A knowing grin spread across his face as he read the cover.
"You little rascal, hiding this kind of book?"
Before Nick could react, the Baron leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "The artwork in these is terrible.
Want me to fetch you some collector's editions?"
Nick slapped his forehead in sudden realization—the old man had mistaken these for illicit adult picture books!
Good heavens!
This father's thought process was absolutely unbelievable!
No wonder he'd raised a troublemaker like Adams—it was a family tradition of twisted thinking!
"My sweet boy, Mama specially stewed your favorite beef tendons.
Have a taste!"
Completely oblivious to the mountain of food already piled in her son's bowl, Mrs.
Adams cheerfully added another wobbling piece of tendon to the precarious heap.
Nick stared at the teetering meat mountain, his stomach clenching.
In his previous life as a researcher, every meal had been meticulously balanced by nutritionists.
He'd never experienced such... affectionate suffocation.
This overwhelming familial love he'd once yearned for now left him utterly flustered.
"Son, these crispy bones are perfectly fried..." Stevenson joined the feeding frenzy, not to be outdone.
"Enough!" Nick slammed the table as he stood, startling even himself with the outburst.
Damn, the original owner's hot temper was already influencing him.
He softened his tone, "From now on, prepare more vegetables.
I'm tired of eating nothing but meat."
No wonder Adams had been so frail - the body's previous owner had been a carnivorous fiend, particularly obsessed with beef tendons and crispy bones, leading to severe nutritional imbalance.
While the ample calcium intake had built a broad frame, the rest was just skin and bones.
Nick frowned inwardly.
How could such a weak vessel possibly withstand his intricate magic experiments?
Wait, hadn't he decided to play the wastrel this time around?
But those magical energies flowing through the air were so tantalizing... Surely a little research wouldn't hurt?
Regardless, building up this body came first.
Surprisingly, his parents showed no offense at his sudden outburst.
Instead, they exchanged puzzled looks at his request for vegetables.
Mrs.
Adams tentatively asked, "Nick, didn't you used to throw bowls at the sight of greens?"
"Can't a man change his tastes?" Nick deliberately drawled, mimicking the original owner's defiant tone.
"Of course, of course!
Whatever my baby wants!" Overjoyed, Mrs.
Adams brought over the entire plate of stir-fried vegetables and shoveled half onto his plate.
"Are you feeding our son or fattening a goose?" Stevenson complained, yet simultaneously pushed a warm bowl of bone broth toward Nick.
"Drink this to warm your stomach.
Just eating vegetables will make you cold."
Nick stared at the newly heightened food mountain, rendered speechless.
"You have to return to that dreadful school tomorrow..." Mrs.
Adams suddenly wiped her eyes.
"Five whole days without seeing my little Nick..."