Damn. Too bright.
Feels like I just closed my eyes for a second—And now the sun's stabbing into them.
Morning already?I was sure I put my bed far from the window.Guess sunlight doesn't give a damn about my interior layout.
Honestly, I hate this.Lately, sleep is the only time I get to be free.No emails. No meetings. No directors breathing down my neck.
People think being a corporate secretary is glamorous.They don't realize it's just a glorified janitor job for white-collar mess.Tax, HR, CSR—they all report to me.But I still end up cleaning after their screw-ups.
Worse, my CEO and directors treat me like a Swiss army knife.Supposed to just take Minutes of Meeting.But I end up negotiating on their behalf—because they can't.
And now? It's AGM season.Public Exposé. Annual Reports. Sustainability Reports.Audited Financials.I wrote most of them with barely any sleep.
But the worst part?Organizing the damn meeting itself.
I just wanted five more minutes.But this damned sun is too smug to let me have it.
I reached out for my glasses—But the bedside table wasn't there.
Weird.
I cracked one eye open to find them.Only to realize...I could see clearly.No blur. No fog.Nothing.
Wait—My vision is fine?
No. No, no, no.This isn't right.
I sat up quickly, heart pounding.This isn't my room.I've never seen this place before.
Wooden walls.A stone fireplace crackling softly.And this bed?It's not my bed.It's straw—clean, surprisingly comfy, with a well-made pillow.
No glass.No outlets.No hum of a fan.No clock blinking 6:45 AM in red LED.Just... medieval silence.
But none of that matters.Because this isn't my apartment.
Am I dreaming? A lucid dream maybe?Then I saw it.A mirror.
I stumbled toward it.And—
What the hell!?
That's not me.That's not the tired 42-year-old Japanese guy I've seen in the mirror for the past two decades.
This guy looked like the product of an Instagram filter and a Renaissance portrait.Thick brunette hair, bright hazel eyes, a sharp nose, a defined jawline.A full set of blindingly white teeth.Hazel eyes that didn't need coffee.Jawline sharp enough to sign contracts with.He looks... European?And young.Like 24, tops.
What is this?
No...No way...
Did I just—Did I just get isekai'd!?
I pinched my cheek—Ouch!
Okay. This is real.This. Is. Real.
I stared at the mirror in disbelief.Lean body.Slightly skinny, but with visible abs.
Holy hell...Did I just win the reincarnation lottery?
I tugged my waistband and peeked inside.
Hmm...Average.But hey, I'll take it.
This is still a huge upgrade!
Alright—next step.
"Status window, open!"...
Nothing.
No glowing blue screen.No chimes.No divine UI.
I frowned. Maybe it needs the local language?
I closed my eyes.Waiting for a soothing goddess voice.
...
Nothing.I waited longer.Still nothing.
"What are you doing?"
A deep, gravelly voice interrupted my ritual.Wait... That wasn't a female voice.
"Leo? Are you sick or something? Why are you standing there with your eyes shut?"
Someone grabbed my shoulders and shook me.Hard.
I opened my eyes—And stared into the face of what I can only describe as...
An alpha male.
Towering. At least two meters tall. Golden hair that somehow looked both wild and regal. A perfect square jaw. Muscles stacked like Greek statues had been lifting weights.
What the hell kind of gene pool is this guy from?
"Leo, don't tell me you're still lazing around. You're gonna miss my investiture!"
I blinked. "Your what now?"
"My appointment, you halfwit! I'm being named Count of Tharros Vale today! You wrote the damn oath scrolls! Big parade. Fancy people. Remember?"
I blinked.Of course.Thrown into another world, and I still have to deal with ceremonial bureaucracy.
Corporate hell has followed me to a fantasy universe.
He gave me a scroll with a rather strange font, but I can understand it somehow.
My mouth opened and closed like a goldfish.
Gerhart Ironwill. The champion of the realm. Demon-slayer. Chaos-crusher. The living legend himself. And apparently, my boss.
He crossed the room in three long strides and yanked my blanket off. "Get dressed. Now. You're not gonna embarrass me in front of the Duke wearing your knickers."
"Wait—what's my name again?"
He squinted at me. "You serious?"
I nodded slowly.
"Leonhart Aldric. My scribe. You've been working for me three years." Then, narrowing his eyes, "Don't tell me you hit your head again."
Again?
I gave him a sheepish smile. "Might've been a hard night."
He rolled his eyes and gestured to the clothes neatly folded in a chest by the fireplace. " You better be downstairs with scrolls and quills, or so help me, I'll have you reassigned to stable duty."
He marched out before I could say anything.
Leonhart Aldric. Scribe of a living war hero. Not a warrior. Not a mage. Not even a rogue accountant. Just…a secretary. Again.
I sighed, dragged my half-reborn body out of bed, and muttered, "At least the pillow's nice."