Literal Translation (English):
The rain hammered against the skyscraper's glass as Kain checked his gear one last time. Twenty-three floors below, the city lights flickered like fallen stars, oblivious to what was about to happen.
"Ready?" Sera's voice sounded in his earpiece, soft and familiar as always.
Kain tightened the suppressor on his pistol. Twelve years working together. Twelve years watching each other's backs. Twelve years trusting each other with their lives.
"Ready," he replied, sliding through the window onto the balcony of the twenty-third floor.
The objective was simple: eliminate Zhang Wei, a tech magnate who trafficked in classified information. The problem was that Zhang had thirty bodyguards standing between him and death.
Not for Kain.
He moved like a shadow through the hallway, neutralizing two guards without a sound. His body was a tool honed by years of brutal training. Every movement calculated, every breath controlled. There was no room for error in his profession.
"Three more in the adjacent room," Sera whispered. "Turn left."
Kain obeyed. He always did. Sera was his eyes, his digital guardian angel. She saw everything through the cameras, anticipated every enemy movement.
Two minutes later, he stood in front of the door to the presidential suite.
"Perfect," Sera murmured. "Zhang is alone. Thirty seconds and this is over."
Something in her voice sounded strange. Too… soft.
Kain pushed the door open. The suite was dark except for the city light filtering through the windows. Zhang Wei stood with his back to him, watching the rain.
"I knew you would come," the man said without turning around. His voice trembled.
Kain raised his weapon. There was no room for conversations. Conversations created doubt, and doubt killed.
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
His blood froze. He checked the gun. The magazine was empty. Impossible. He himself had—
"I'm sorry, Kain." Sera's voice in his ear was no longer soft. It was cold. "Nothing personal. Just business."
The door behind him burst open. It wasn't thirty guards.
It was fifty.
All aiming at him.
Kain turned toward Zhang, who was now looking at him with a smile. "Your partner makes better deals than you."
The world slowed down. He understood everything in an instant. The missions that had gone perfectly. The targets that were always where Sera said they would be. The contracts that only the two of them could take.
She had been selling information the whole time.
And he had trusted blindly.
"Sera…" His voice sounded broken even to himself. "Why?"
A pause. Then, almost tenderly:
"Because in this world, Kain, trust is the most expensive luxury. And I can't afford it."
The guns fired.
Kain felt the first impact in his chest. Then another. And another. His trained body, his sharp mind, none of it mattered against fifty barrels.
He fell to his knees, blood staining the marble floor.
"You should've…" he coughed blood, "…you should've taught me that sooner."
His vision darkened. The last thing he heard was Sera's distant laughter before she cut the connection.
How stupid I was.
If I had another chance…
I would never trust like that again.
Darkness completely enveloped him.
And then… there was light.
Kain opened his eyes abruptly, gasping as if he had been underwater. His chest—where the bullets had torn him apart—was intact. He touched himself frantically, searching for wounds.
Nothing.
"His Highness has awakened!" A shrill voice shouted near him.
His Highness?
Kain tried to sit up and almost screamed. His body felt… weak. Terribly weak. As if he hadn't exercised in years. He looked at his hands.
They weren't his hands.
They were paler, thinner, with long fingers that had never held a weapon. The hands of someone who had never worked a day in his life.
"Call the court physician! Prince Cassian has awakened!"
Prince. Cassian.
The room was enormous, with crimson velvet curtains and golden furniture. Nothing like his spartan apartment. There were… servants? Three people dressed in elaborate uniforms stared at him with expressions of shock and relief.
"Where…?" His voice sounded different. Younger, weaker.
"In your chamber, Your Highness," an older woman said, approaching cautiously. "You gave us quite a scare. You've been unconscious for three days."
Three days?
The memories came like a flood. They weren't his memories.
Cassian Valorian. Second prince of the Kingdom of Astoria. Nineteen years old. Considered a failure.
No talent for magic. No talent for aura. He spent his days sleeping, drinking, pretending nothing mattered.
Because nothing mattered when everyone expected you to fail.
Depression devoured him alive. And three days ago, in the middle of the night, he took a dagger from his own collection and—
Kain—no, now Cassian—touched his neck. There was a thin, almost invisible scar.
The prince had slit his own throat.
And somehow, he had ended up in this body.
"Prepare a bath and something to eat," Cassian said, surprised at how firm his new voice sounded despite the confusion. "And… where is my mirror?"
The maid pointed to a full-length mirror in the corner.
Cassian stood—his legs trembled, this body was pathetically weak—and looked at himself.
Platinum-blond hair falling to his shoulders. Golden eyes, the mark of the Valorian royal family. Aristocratic features, almost feminine in their delicacy. Skin pale from lack of sunlight.
A beautiful body.