I stare at the message pop-up, trying to take in all the information.
Something occurs to me. This is the same message style I was getting that last day—the day before everything changed. The day I... my brain still stumbles over the words... the day I died.
I don't know if I'll ever get used to that.
And of all the ways to go, too. The universe was basically hitting me over the head with the obvious. The near-miss with the truck, the glowing messages, the strange light—everything screaming hey, your life is about to fundamentally change while I was too exhausted to notice.
My death wasn't an accident. I was brought here. Which would mean the system chose me.
Me—Cassie.
That alone should mean there's been some sort of mistake. I'm not anyone special. Definitely not protagonist material.
Was it just coincidence then? Was the system just waiting for the first person sad enough, tired enough, done enough to just... let go? That would explain the timing, but not the messages that started hours before I even made it home.
Thinking about it is giving me a migraine. I don't have enough information—that's the crux of the issue. And the first thing I do when I lack key information is compile what's available.
Sitting up in the darkness, my eyes already adjusted, I scan the room for what I have a sneaking suspicion will already be here.
The room is almost too quiet without the city sounds I'm used to. All the windows are massive—because of course they are—showing nothing but the dark early morning sky. No streetlights. No car horns. No ambulance sirens at 2 a.m. Just... stillness.
Then I spot it.
I slip out of bed and pad across the cold floor toward an ornate, meticulously organized desk sitting under one of those massive windows.
I check a few drawers until I find what I'm looking for: thick sheets of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of ink. Thank God I went through a calligraphy phase as a kid—even if my letters still look like drunk spiders having a nervous breakdown.
At the top of the page, I write in careful strokes: "Known Information" This body's muscle memory takes over and the writing turns out better than I anticipated.
Here's what I know:
Known Information
1. I died. Regardless of how or why, that's a fact I can't ignore. My body gave up on a couch in a shitty apartment, and I woke up here.
2.The system was watching me before I died. Those messages at work, the quest notifications. It was priming me. Which means this wasn't random.
3.I still have the same name. Cassia here, Cassie there. That's important. It means I wasn't reborn as someone completely new, just... relocated. Copypasta with minimal edits.
4.I'm not a character from any story I've read before. I'd remember a Cassia. That rules out cheating via plot knowledge. Damn.
5.I look like me. Same face, same scars, just... less exhausted and vitamin-deficient. Marginally better skincare, apparently.
6.My body feels natural. No puppet limbs, no uncanny valley. That means either this body was always mine, or it's been perfectly adapted to me. Jury's still out.
7.I don't have Cassia's full memories, just vague feelings. Probably the emotional equivalent of cache data. Muscle memory without context.
8.I have a family. A brother (Gabriel) and a father I apparently dance with in public. That's... that's a lot to process.
9.My father, or someone who looks exactly like him, is alive here. Healthy. But he doesn't know me. Doesn't have memories of our life before, I don't think. That... I don't know what to do with that yet.
10.My family is rich. Like, Versailles-ceiling-art rich. Like, servants-and-ballgowns rich. I also don't know what to do with that yet.
11.Everyone speaks perfect English, but their accents are off. Either they're speaking another language and I'm auto-translating, or the system is doing live dubs in my brain. Both options are deeply unsettling.
12.No electricity. We're running on candles, quills, and probably a concerning lack of antibiotics. Definitely pre-industrial. Maybe Regency-adjacent?
13.Pain, exhaustion, and hunger are all intact. That means full sensory realism. Not a dream, not a simulation. Or at least, a very committed one.
14.No one questioned who I was, despite fainting in front of a crowd. Either I seem exactly like Cassia, or they're used to her acting weird. Both are plausible.
15.I have physical injuries from my old life. The scrapes on my palms carried over. Which means someone—something—wanted me to know this was real. Comforting. Truly.
16.There was music when I woke up. A ball, guests, fancy clothes... which implies high society and social rules I'm guaranteed to violate within a week.
17.I have access to a system— TBD
I pause, tapping the quill against the page. Ink splatters slightly. I don't care.
Then I draw a line under it and write a new heading:
Unknown Variables
• Who, or what, brought me here?
• Is there magic in this world, or is the System the magic?
• Who is "Father"? King? Duke? Wealthy eccentric with a castle obsession?
• Does that imply a "Mother" as well? Where is she?
• What year or era is this? Do I need to worry about plagues? Witch trials? Arranged marriages?
• Am I supposed to be Cassia, or just play her convincingly until the universe gets bored?
• Why me? What made me qualified for inter-dimensional kidnapping?
• What happens if I die again? Respawn? Perma-death? New Game Plus?
• And finally. What the hell does "Romance Access" mean?
I pause, ink still dripping from the quill. In all my existential angst, I'd ignored the most obvious next step.
"Menu."
As soon as I say the word, a glowing screen fills my vision.
The air vibrates, quiet, like electricity trying to remember how to exist. Thin blue light ripples outward, bending reality just enough to make me queasy. It's translucent, edged with delicate scrolling patterns like digital damask filigree. The kind of ornate nonsense you'd see on the cover of a fantasy visual novel.
At the top, elegant serif letters shimmer into focus:
❖ SYSTEM: PERSONAL MATRIX ❖
USER: Cassia Leclair
LEVEL: 1
STATUS: Newly Transferred
SYNC RATE: 9%
HEALTH: Moderate (Minor fatigue detected)
MENTAL STABILITY: Variable
AFFINITY: Undefined
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: Establish Reality Axiom (Complete)
"Okay," I mutter, squinting at the glowing text. "At least it's honest about the mental stability thing."
A new line flickers in at the bottom like it's been eavesdropping.
SYSTEM NOTICE
Observation logged: Self-awareness detected. +1 Cognitive Clarity.
"Oh my god," I whisper. "It's sassy."
Another notification chimes immediately, crisp and smug.
SYSTEM NOTICE
Language pattern: sarcasm. Calibrating tone module.
"Oh no. No, no, no. Don't you dare calibrate my sarcasm."
The glowing letters shimmer for a moment—then rearrange.
SYSTEM NOTICE
Sarcasm level: set to default human threshold.
Would you like to enable tutorial?
[Yes] [No] [Maybe Later]
"'Maybe Later'—you know what, that's actually considerate." I lift a hand toward the button, and it pulses before I even make contact—accepting intention as consent.
The blue interface rearranges again, ornate scrolls sliding aside to reveal multiple icons hovering in neat symmetry.
❖ MAIN MENU ❖
★ STATUS
❒ INVENTORY
ѧ SKILLS
ψ QUESTS
❤ ROMANCE
⚙ SYSTEM SETTINGS
"Romance," I repeat flatly, staring at the heart icon. "Because that's what every woman wants after dying alone—a dating simulator."
Actually…
I hover my finger near the icon but pause, torn between curiosity and existential dread. Self-preservation wins. I select Status instead.
The screen flickers, and new text populates across the panel.
❖ STATUS: CASSIA LECLAIR ❖
SPECIES:Human (mostly)
ALIGNMENT:Unknown
REPUTATION:Unknown
TITLE:Lady
HP:72/100
MP:40/100
STRENGTH:35/100
INTELLIGENCE:89/100
DEXTERITY:73/100
CHARISMA:65/100
LUCK:3/100
I stare at the stats for a long time.
"Three luck?!" I say aloud. "Wow... Harsh but fair."
The screen gives a single, polite chime—as if in agreement.
Then I notice it.
"Wait. 'Mostly'?" I lean closer, squinting at the text. "Species: Human (mostly). What's the 'mostly' part? Am I part elf? Part demon? Part emotional wreck?"
The system doesn't respond to that one.
"Of course not," I mutter. "Can't make it easy."
I flop back in my seat with a groan, fatigue washing over me like a wave. It's been a long... day? Week? Lifetime?
"Alright, fine. I'm in. You win, weird fantasy interface. Just... tell me what I'm supposed to do next."
The screen brightens once more, text fading in one letter at a time:
❖ SYSTEM MESSAGE ❖
QUEST AVAILABLE:Beginner's Tutorial
OBJECTIVE:Survive your first 24 hours without causing an international incident.
REWARD:
- Access to Auto
-Map
+ 50 XP
"Reasonably low bar."
A pause.
Then another line flickers beneath it.
❖ SYSTEM MESSAGE ❖
QUEST AVAILABLE:
Beginner's Tutorial
OBJECTIVE:
Survive your first 24 hours without causing an international incident.
REWARD:
- Access to Auto
-Map
+ 50 XP
TASK #1:OBJECTIVE:
Identify your current location.
REWARD:
Partial Lore Unlock (Region: Valtoria Kingdom)
Valtoria.
The word rings faintly in my chest, like it already belongs to me. The same way Gabriel's name felt when I first heard it—familiar but not quite mine.
I sit up straighter, the faintest thrill of adrenaline replacing the ache of exhaustion.
I glance down at the parchment still waiting on the desk, then back at the glowing interface.
"Let's make this official."
I dip the quill again and start a new section under Known Information.
System Data (confirmed)
Name: Cassia Leclair →Still me. Still weird. But now a Lady.
Level: 1 →Embarrassing, but we all start somewhere.
Status: Newly Transferred → So the system acknowledges I'm not the real Cassia.
Sync Rate: 9% → Which means there's a 91% gap. Ninety-one percent chance of... what? Spontaneous deletion? Soul lag? Identity bleed?
Health: Moderate → Vague but ominous.
Mental Stability: Variable → Rude. Accurate, but rude.
Affinity: Undefined → Probably important. Definitely terrifying.
I pause, staring at the list. Trying to decide which pieces are "vital intelligence" and which are just noise.
"Alright, triage time."
I underline the top three that feel critical:
Name consistency – This body is mine. The system recognizes me as Cassia.
Sync rate – Potential for malfunction or identity erosion. Must monitor.
Affinity undefined – Every story I've ever read says this determines power, magic type, or survival rate.
Those go in the Important column.
Then I make a new heading beneath them:
Urgent Questions
Status: Newly Transferred → How long ago? From whose perspective? What happened to my old self? What happened to whoever was in this… self.
Mental Stability: Variable → Is this a health warning or just passive-aggressive commentary?
Beginner's Tutorial → What happens when you finish the tutorial in a world you didn't sign up for? Does the tutorial phase come with beginner buffs?
Romance Access → Why do I even have this feature? Who designed this system, and why do they think death equals dating?
Luck: 3 → ...Can this be patched?
XP → Experience points. Like I'm in an actual game. Which means levels, skill trees, progression. The system isn't just tracking me—it's gamifying my survival. I don't even know how to game.
MP →Do I have potential to acquire magical abilities or am I innately magical because I'm from another world/ timeline/whatever this is?
I set the quill down and lean back in the chair again , rubbing my temples.
"So," I say to the empty room, "important data collected: I'm in a world that recognizes me as me, thinks I'm unstable, gave me the worst luck stat possible, and wants me to fall in love while trying to make me level up. And I might be magical."
The system chimes softly in response.
SYSTEM NOTICE
Emotional processing acknowledged.
+1 Self-Awareness Point awarded.
Sync rate updated.
"Sync Rate updated?"
I pull up the status screen again.
❖ SYSTEM: PERSONAL MATRIX ❖
USER: Cassia Leclair
LEVEL: 1
STATUS: Newly Transferred
SYNC RATE: 11%
HEALTH: Moderate (Minor fatigue detected)
MENTAL STABILITY: Variable
AFFINITY: Undefined
CURRENT OBJECTIVE: Establish Reality Axiom (Complete)
A measly two percent? What a miserly system...