"Oh. So no one's around, huh?" Jack said aloud as his dorm room door creaked on its hinges, admitting him inside.
He flicked on the light switch as he dumped his backpack on the ground next to his bunk. Stretching his arms as his back popped, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone to check the time.
7:07
"And Dennar's still not back too." Jack yawned, exhaustion from a long day sinking into his bones.
Jack remembered seeing him talking with that brunette girl with glasses in the hallways. If he recalled right, Dennar had been bragging to their other roommate about going on a date with her sometime soon. Since he wasn't here—which usually wasn't the case—he was probably with her. Maybe at the movies, or dinner, or getting head from her. Uni kids were freaky these days.
He hauled himself up on the top bunk and entered his phone password. His brain felt fried after hours of classes and library cramming—cost accounting, financial statement analysis, and corporate taxation had melted his neurons. He needed to boost his GPA if he wanted to survive another semester.
But even bone-tired, he wasn't ready to sleep yet.
Which meant there was only one other thing left to do.
He opened Instagram to begin his nightly routine when his stomach growled, reminding him that he'd only had a donut and coffee for lunch after sleeping through breakfast and his morning lecture.
"Yo, Raf—" Jack started, then remembered he was alone. His other roommate, Raful—who everyone called 'Chef' because of his cooking skills—was visiting his parents for the week. He wouldn't return until three days before exams.
That was a problem, since Raful usually cooked their meals. Apart from simple sandwiches, Jack couldn't cook to save his life.
And he was too lazy to trudge to the cafeteria.
"Ah, I won't die from not eating for one night," Jack muttered, stretching his arm toward the broom beside his bed. He extended it until it hit the light switch—too lazy to actually get up—plunging the room into darkness except for the dim hallway light seeping under the door.
The phone's glare burned his retinas in the sudden darkness, so he dimmed it as his eyes adjusted.
"Oh, school wifi's on. Nice." Jack felt a hint of relief as he turned off his mobile data.
From reel to reel his thumb slid across the screen until his arm grew tired from holding it up, then he flipped onto his stomach to give his arm a break.
His stomach's grumbling faded to a dull ache that he ignored. Soon it was 9 PM, his battery dangerously low as he struggled to stay awake.
The drowsiness lifted slightly when another reel appeared—nothing special, just one of those OF thirst trap girls on his feed again. But he could feel himself getting hard against the mattress.
"Maybe I can just rub one out," he thought, rolling back over and holding his phone above his face. Raful and Dennar wouldn't be back anytime soon, no one ever visited him, and the door was locked. No need to be quiet.
Unlimited internet with no one around. This was supposed to be the life, right?
As his hand drifted toward his crotch, he realized he wasn't really in the mood. He felt hollow, heavy and tired rather than aroused.
School wasn't just weighing him down academically—he was failing questions he used to ace. His grades dropped every semester, putting him dangerously close to flunking out. Even if he graduated, job prospects looked grim. LinkedIn applications went nowhere, and AI was making everyone in his field nervous.
Beyond the academic and financial stress, he felt emotionally numb. Days passed where he barely spoke to another human besides his roommates, who weren't even here now.
Speaking of roommates—Dennar was out with a girl, something Jack was sure wouldn't happen to him anytime soon since he wasn't particularly attractive or socially. . . anything. Raful was spending time with family, something Jack couldn't afford to do right now.
Everything pressed down on him, and now, unable to even jerk off to a hot girl on his screen, Jack had no choice but to sigh and swipe to another reel.
At nineteen, he was already a failure.
Fat raindrops began pattering against the window, perfect ambience for sleep after the long day.
He must have dozed off at some point, phone still in hand, thunder rumbling in the distance.
The first thing he noticed when consciousness returned was warmth—sunlight on his face. But something was wrong. The light came from the wrong direction. His room faced west; there shouldn't be morning sun…
He opened his eyes and froze. This wasn't his room. The ceiling above was too high, adorned with intricate wooden beams carved with patterns he'd never seen before. Golden canopy curtains flowed down to pearly-white tiles like drapes of honey.
The bed beneath him felt wrong too—too soft, too luxurious.
He bolted upright, and everything went sideways. His body felt lighter, different. Long, silky blonde hair fell past his shoulders. He looked down at his hands—smaller, more delicate, with porcelain-smooth skin.
His new dainty fingers traced along his body's edges. Instead of his awkward posture, growing belly hidden under oversized shirts, and flabby arms, his new form had perfect proportions. Through the mirror across from him, he could see wider hips, clear skin without a trace of acne, plump red lips, a perfectly symmetrical face, and golden irises.
His hand ran from the flat stomach to the mounds on his chest as a nervous chuckle escaped his lips. This was the kind of girl guys would go crazy for back at uni.
"This has to be a dream," he whispered, then nearly jumped at the sound of his own voice—feminine, with an unfamiliar accent.
Looking out the gold-rimmed windows, he saw the magnificent sight of golden morning sun rising above jagged mountain peaks. Below, smaller but equally grand houses were arranged symmetrically.
The mirror before him looked cleaner than anything he'd ever seen. Like everything else here, its frame was carved from expensive-looking wood with swirling mysterious patterns and gold coating.
Below the mirror, a vanity made of the same wood held perfume bottles that filled the room with fragrance without being opened. Makeup instruments and old-looking books were scattered across the surface.
Everything spoke of wealth, of royalty, but not any kind he'd seen in history books.
He couldn't believe it, but it was obvious.
He had transmigrated!
That was the only answer—waking up in another world in a girl's body no less. Was he some kind of princess?
He stood, his feet landing in soft cotton slippers. He stretched his new arms and jumped, then stumbled, misjudging his height and tumbling to the floor. Even this girl's body was taller than his old one!
His legs felt lighter and longer, more slender. He stretched them, admiring the delicate skin as his mind raced with possibilities.
He could start fresh as a spoiled princess!
He could live without a care in the world!
He could buy, eat, and enjoy whatever he wanted as royalty!
Looming exams no longer threatened him. His self-esteem issues didn't matter in such an incredible body.
In the transmigration novels he read, protagonists usually became powerful warriors or mages, which would have been cooler, but this was probably better.
Princesses never had to struggle, right? No threat of defeating grand villains or grinding skill levels. Honestly, he was happier with this.
He would have been elated! If not for the shock of spotting a body on the floor behind the bed in his mirror's reflection—long brown hair spread unkempt.
He would have been delighted! If not for the body's open, glassy eyes without a shred of life in them.
He would have been gleeful! If not for the pool of blood forming a circle around the motionless figure, a long knife impaled in the woman's temple.