Chapter 2: Hell Mode
Sunlight filtered gently through the windowpanes, casting a warm glow across the room. A boy lay beneath his duvet, peacefully asleep. Suddenly, a subtle twitch flickered across his eyelids.
Without warning, he eased himself upward from the bed, transitioning smoothly into a seated position. His eyes remained closed as he stretched languidly, still caught in the haze between sleep and wakefulness.
"A nice stretch," the boy murmured, his eyes fluttering open as the room slowly ca into focus. Yet, he remained still, seated in stunned silence, a wave of confusion washing over him.
"How did I get here?" he whispered, his voice barely steady. Then, abruptly, he faltered, uncertainty deepening in his gaze.
’What happened to my bass voice?’ he wondered, fingers instinctively brushing his throat. His eyes road the room, sharply taking in every detail, every shadowed corner, as if searching for answers.
’Is this the chamber of a king, or what?’ he wondered, eyes sweeping over the sumptuous surroundings. The bed was impossibly soft, the duvet plush and inviting. Ornate gold-frad paintings adorned the walls, and every piece of furniture spoke of exquisite luxury.
He lifted his hands, noticing how they appeared smaller than his original body, yet paradoxically stronger. His skin felt unnaturally smooth beneath his gaze.
"What on earth is happening?" he muttered, the unfamiliar voice erging from his throat, laced with disbelief.
Ethan’s mind raced, cycling through every possible scenario that could explain his current predicant. This wasn’t how his days were supposed to begin.
His routine was simple, consistent: wake up, attend lectures, laugh and gossip with his girlfriend, then fall asleep with no worries in the world.
But then, a single, jarring thought struck him like lightning.
Transmigration
’Impossible... is such a thing even real?’ he thought, disbelief thick in his mind.
Sure, he’d read his fair share of web novels and watched enough ani to recognize the trope. But he had never once wished for it, never even entertained the idea. Why would he? His life was already ideal.
He was wealthy, tall, strikingly handso, intelligent, and dating the most intelligent and charming girl in the dical departnt.
By all accounts, he was living the dream. His reality didn’t even remotely fit the cliché prerequisites for reincarnation or transmigration. His life had no tragedy, no injustice, no regrets. It was simply... perfect.
After all, reincarnation and transmigration were for the broken, the forgotten, or the painfully average, those who had lived unremarkable lives or suffered in silence. But Ethan was none of those things. His life had been, by every asure, too perfect.
Yes, he had grown up in an orphanage. But unlike many children who, upon coming of age, longed to uncover their roots or reunite with lost parents, Ethan had never shared that sentint. To him, the past was a closed door. They had given up on him, so he had simply returned the favor, with finality and without remorse.
His thoughts ca to another sudden halt.
Jennifer
mories of her flooded his mind in vivid detail, her laughter, the way she’d playfully steal glances during his lectures whenever she escorted him, the warmth of her hand in his.
He rembered when they first started dating, two years ago. Not once had they argued. Not once had they needed space. Jennifer had even given their relationship a na: Utopia.
’Damn it. Take
back... take
back to my world’ Ethan thought, the weight of his reality crashing down.
He didn’t waste ti denying what had happened. Acceptance had already settled in, no matter how surreal it felt.
But Jennifer... what would beco of her? The heartbreak, the confusion, the devastation she would feel when his body, cold, unresponsive, was eventually found, or worse, reported missing.
The thought hollowed him out.
Ethan let his back sink into the softness of the bed, eyes fixed blankly on the polished ceiling above. His thoughts churned restlessly, tangled in disbelief and reluctant acceptance.
The typical transmigration trope played through his mind, bloodshed, battles, power struggles, tragic events, and endless family drama.
It was the kind of fantasy that fueled the dreams of many novel readers and otakus.
But not his.
He had no reason to fantasize about escape or reinvention. His reality had been near perfect, so perfect that the idea of trading it for chaos seed utterly absurd.
Minutes slipped by as he lay there, motionless, his eyes unblinking. Eventually, driven by curiosity or perhaps quiet dread, he pushed himself off the bed and made his way to the full-length mirror mounted on the wall. If nothing else, he needed to see the face of the stranger he had beco.
He rose from the bed and walked toward the mirror, each step slow, deliberate. As his gaze t the reflection before him, he paused, staring at a young man who looked to be no older than seventeen, yet possessed a presence beyond his years.
The figure stood tall at 6’1
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