He opened his eyes slowly, blinking several times to adjust his vision to the dim light filtering through the cracks in the wooden walls.
He was lying on a pile of dry and rough straw that smelled strongly of damp earth, fermented grass, and a faint animal touch, as if he were on an improvised bed in the middle of a forgotten stable.
His body felt strange, light and unfamiliar, as if it did not fully belong to him, with a vitality that contrasted with the mental exhaustion that still overwhelmed him.
In front of him, floating in the air like a holographic projection, a translucent bluish window appeared with bright white runes, almost luminous, that seemed like ancient runes engraved in the void.
[Awareness Spell]
[Status Window]
Name: Darius Maximoud
Rank: G-
Strength: G-
Agility: G-
Endurance: G-
Intelligence: G-
Aura Control: G-
Aura Potential: G-
Talent Grade: G-
Profession: [Tactical Mage – Level 1]
He was completely bewildered, his mind turned into an absolute chaos of unanswered questions. What was this thing? A hallucination caused by the pain? A vivid dream that refused to dissipate?
He blinked several more times, expecting the window to disappear like a mirage, but there it remained, motionless and immutable, defying his understanding of reality.
"Darius Maximoud? Who is that?" he murmured, confused, with a hoarse voice.
He sat up slowly, sitting on the straw that crunched under his weight like dry leaves being stepped on. The sound echoed in the silence of the place, amplifying his confusion.
He looked around with growing perplexity, absorbing every strange detail that surrounded him. Everything seemed... different, as if he had been transported to a world taken from a medieval painting with inexplicable fantasy touches.
"What is this place? How did I get here?" he asked the air, with a voice trembling from uncertainty.
Around him, as his sight cleared progressively, a wide and rustic farm barn was revealed, full of yellowish straw piles scattered like an irregular sea, configured as a cow stable.
He observed the place with meticulous attention: the walls and structures were built with sturdy wood in good condition, thick beams supporting a high and sloped roof, designed to withstand storms and the passage of time.
There were no conventional electric lights; instead, floating bulbs emitted a soft magnetic light, dancing slightly in the air with functions that were technologically advanced.
Beyond, in sections divided by simple but functional wooden gates, several cows rested placidly, ruminating indifferently, their large dark eyes reflecting the ethereal glow of the lights.
Buckets of water, some half-full with crystal-clear water, rested on the compacted dirt floor, speckled here and there with spots of dried mud.
Upon seeing all this, he stood up completely, brushing off the straw stuck to his clothes with clumsy movements.
"This is a farm. Why am I on a farm? What is this?!" he exclaimed, raising his voice in frustration.
He stood up from the straw with a fluid movement that surprised himself, stretching his body as if he had woken up after a long restorative nap.
However, he felt different in every way: his muscles responded with an unfamiliar elasticity, his breathing was deeper, and his perception of the surroundings seemed sharpened, as if every sense was amplified.
Upon touching himself, examining himself with trembling hands, he noticed that he was not wearing his gray office suit, the one he remembered wearing that fateful morning.
Just a moment ago—or at least it seemed so—he had been hit by the subway in a crowded station, a brutal impact that should have killed him instantly. It was impossible for him to still be alive, right? The memory of the train's screech, the unexpected push, the void under his feet... all that should have ended him.
"How is this possible? I'm still alive," he whispered, incredulous.
Quickly, ignoring the holographic window that still floated before his eyes like a persistent reminder, he decided to check something more tangible.
He headed to a nearby water bucket, one of those resting in front of the cows' sections, with hesitant but determined steps.
Once close, he leaned over the still water, which acted as an improvised mirror. The reflection cleared little by little in the following seconds, revealing not his familiar face, but a completely unfamiliar one: a young boy with jet-black hair falling in messy strands over a smooth forehead, a small and youthful face with defined but soft features, like those of a teenager in full transition to adulthood, and silvery eyes shining, resembling the moon on a clear night, that looked back at him with a supernatural and unsettling intensity.
"WHO THE HELL IS THAT?!" he shouted, terrified.
Terrified by the sight, he knocked over the bucket with an impulsive swat. The water spilled over the straw and the dirt in an irregular puddle, splashing his boots and soaking the ground.
"Wait... that's not me. I have the appearance of a teenager," he stammered, taking a step back.
Rising from the ground and snapping out of his initial trance at the same moment, he calmed down a little, though he still felt strange and disoriented.
Calm in appearance, he stood up again and examined his body in more detail. He noticed that he was wearing farm attire: fine and smooth fabric, simply soft to the touch, with loose pants and a simple shirt that smelled of fresh lavender and earth. Large boots covered his feet, protecting them from the mud, semi-dirty with dried mud stains that told stories of daily labors.
However, his attire mattered little to him at that moment; it was clear that what interested him most was why that strange window identified him as Darius and why he had this youthful and unrecognizable appearance.
...
"This is too confusing. If I died after being hit by a train, why do I look like a teenager?" he said in a low voice, trying to process it.
He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the barn's heavy air, and exhaled slowly, trying to maintain absolute calm. With the next thought, refreshing his fragmented memory a bit, he decided to think logically and methodically.
"My name isn't Darius Maximoud. It's clear that name belongs to this body," he told himself firmly.
"Let's see... my real name is..." he tried, but the words got stuck.
For some inexplicable reason, he couldn't say it. The words got stuck in his throat, as if an invisible barrier was blocking his voice. He tried to force the first letter, but nothing came out.
"How? My name is... my name..." he repeated, frustrated.
Seconds later, processing what had happened, he realized that not only could he not say it, but he didn't remember it at all. It was as if his past identity had been erased from his mind.
"Damn it! I can't remember my damn name!" he shouted, losing his composure.
"Damn it, damn it, damn it! What the hell is going on?" he repeated, becoming more and more upset.
Of course, the simple fact that someone knew their name was because they had an identity; that's why names existed. Now, not only was he in someone else's body, but he also couldn't remember anything about himself: his name, his past identity, not even what he originally looked like. It was a terrifying void.
But the real question tormented him: what was his identity if he had no name? Who exactly was he, if he wasn't Darius?
"If I have no name... then who am I?" he murmured, with his voice breaking from fear.
His heart was pounding hard in that unfamiliar chest, an accelerated pulse that amplified his confusion and the residual headache that still stabbed at his temples.
Snapping out of the panic a little, he forced himself to rationalize.
"I have to calm down. If I keep getting worked up, I won't get anywhere," he told himself, breathing deeply.
"Alright, let's take it step by step. Right now, I'm in this body: Darius Maximoud," he added, trying to organize himself.
Trying to remember a little more of what happened, he continued.
"The last thing I remember... I was at the subway station. I was about to leave," he recalled out loud.
Managing to evoke fragmented memories, he saw flashes: he hadn't fully turned around. A guy dressed in black pushed him hard, sending him into the void.
"However, I didn't even get to fully turn around. A guy in black pushed me and I..." he murmured, reliving the moment.
Remembering everything in fragments: the deafening sound of the subway approaching as he fell through the air, the metallic and rusty smell of blood on the tracks, and in the end, only a momentary pain that enveloped him like a cold wave.
The last thing he saw was the blurry figure of the individual in black, and in that instant, everything turned black, an infinite abyss until waking up here.
Returning to his current reality, angry, he murmured.
"That damn bastard... because of him, I'm here. He pushed me onto the subway tracks, now I..." he growled through his teeth.
Pausing as needed, he felt a realization that he recognized from his previous life, not because it was scientifically proven, but because it was what he had read so many times in fiction.
"Could it be that I... I... just transmigrated into this body?" he whispered, with his eyes wide open.
Yes, it was the only way to explain it. After recapping a bit through everything, it was obvious: he had just transmigrated, which meant he had indeed died after all.
But for this to happen to him was the most unreal thing he had ever experienced. In his current situation, he no longer knew what was real and what wasn't, since transmigration was only seen in fiction. In his case, the web novels and webtoons he devoured in his previous life often dealt with transmigration to fantasy worlds.
But he never imagined it would happen to him, especially so suddenly. This went beyond his understanding; honestly, he never expected it to happen to him, but it no longer mattered.
Anyway, almost no one knows what comes after death, depending on religion, philosophy, or science. That didn't matter, because his case now was completely different from those human assumptions.
While he was calm, looking around and feeling a growing discomfort from the smell of straw and animals.
"I better get out of this place. I don't feel very comfortable in this environment," he said, decided.
Quickly, he headed to the open door of the barn exit, walking hurriedly as he saw the outside light reflecting closer and closer, the warmth of the sun illuminating his silvery eyes.
"Finally, I'll see the light," he sighed in relief.
As he was about to step out, walking with anticipation.
"Let's see what's out there..." he murmured, excited.
Suddenly, a soft and gelatinous collision interrupted his advance. His face impacted against something soft and large, like a pair of elastic balls. The impact sent him backward, falling seated on the straw and dirt, dazed.
"What the hell...!" he exclaimed, rubbing his face.
A feminine voice, soft but loaded with irritation, sounded in front of him.
"Damn lazy failure. Can't you even see where you're walking, or did you do it on purpose?" she snapped with disdain.
"Did you finish your work?" she continued asking.
His eyes, clearing, focused on the source: a beautiful girl, taller than him, with long silvery hair falling in straight strands to her shoulders, framing a delicate face. She wore farm attire with bits of leaves and mud, her huge breasts, like watermelons, stood out, explaining the gelatinous feeling he had felt before. Her blue eyes looked at him with disdain.
"And who are you?" he asked, still dazed.
He looked at her captivated by her beauty and those prominent breasts.
"How beautiful..." he murmured, entranced, without thinking.
The girl, impulsive and angry, snapped her fingers in front of his face.
"Hey! I'm talking to you, idiot. Are you feeling attraction toward your sister too?" she shouted, furious.
"Besides being the biggest slacker in the family, are you a pervert who stares obscenely at his own sister? What's next after that?" she added with contempt.
Snapping out of his trance, he stood up quickly, aware of the misunderstanding.
"No... it's not that. It's just that..." he stammered, nervous.
She sighed heavily.
"It doesn't matter anymore. At least, did you finish the work Mom assigned you?" she asked, resigned.
"What do you mean by work?" he replied, confused.
She looked around, seeing the messy straw.
"Darius, why is the straw still just as messy?" she inquired in an accusing tone.
"I don't know what you're referring to. I just woke up," he explained.
"You woke up? Damn idiot! Are you telling me you didn't do anything but sleep this whole time?" she shouted, perplexed and angry.
'So the original Darius was sleeping on the job when I transmigrated.'
Since he was poorly informed about the situation, he said.
"I'm really sorry," he apologized sincerely.
She sighed again.
"Whatever. It's always the same with you. I never expected you to finish your work," she said wearily.
"Anyway, I came to get you. Mom wants to see you about your academy matters," she added.
Standing up, he asked.
"Academy? Which academy?" he inquired, disoriented.
"For real. You don't even remember the academy you took the admission exam for?" she asked, incredulous.
"You're so negligent you don't even know your academic duties. You're a total disaster," she declared in frustration.
Darius smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to react. She had claimed to be his sister, confirming a peculiar family relationship.
With narrowed eyes, he asked.
"By the way, dear sister... could you tell me which academy I applied to?" he asked carefully.
Holding back her anger.
"The academy you'll be entering is Zenith Block Academy. That's it. Happy now?" she replied dryly.
Shock overwhelmed him. Zenith Block Academy... the one he had added to the script of the novel: [The Rise of Humanity's Heroine]
"Zenith Block Academy? Does that exist...?" he repeated in a low voice, pale.
'That means... I transmigrated into my own novel? But how did this happen?'
The girl looked at him strangely.
"Are you feeling okay, Darius? You're sweating too much," she asked, puzzled.
"Don't tell me you're nervous about the admission exam results. Have you forgotten you're a Maximoud? We Maximouds don't bow or get nervous over anything insignificant," she added firmly.
Looking at her, he murmured.
"Janet Maximoud?" he whispered to himself.
"Hmm, tell me? What do you need now that you're calling me?" she responded, raising an eyebrow.
His heart pounded wildly.
*THUMP* ...*THUMP*... *THUMP*...*THUMP*...
He had just transmigrated into the canceled novel he had worked on... but right into the territory of the Maximoud Family, the most dangerous criminal family on the human continent, owners of the deadliest mafia: The Golden Hand.
"Why am I with that family?" he murmured, terrified.