Lying in bed, the man stared at the pristine white ceiling, but his mind had traveled back in time. He remembered the feeling of ambition that once burned in him, the hunger for power and authority that had driven him to create an empire. It had been his purpose, his very reason for being.
But now, it was gone.
"What am I going to do now?" he thought, the question a quiet echo in his mind. The greed, the ambition, the very man he had become... it had all died 150 years ago. He felt like he had been reset, returned to the person he was before he chose that path. A simple, normal engineering student. A lazy teen with the sole thought of doing nothing at all.
He smiled to himself, a genuine warmth spreading through him. How peaceful those days were. Days spent doing nothing but reading novels, binge-watching anime, and getting lost in manhwa.
Those were the good old days, he thought. The days he had truly been at peace.
A knock at the door broke through his reverie. He stood up from the bed, his mind pulled from the nostalgia of peaceful days into the demanding present. He walked to the door and opened it.
Standing there was Aarav, but he was not alone. Beside him was a beautiful woman, elegantly dressed, with a poise that suggested authority. Behind her professional composure, her figure was soft, her body full.
Aarav spoke, his voice as cold and flat as ever. "She is an official member of the organization. She has been tasked with taking care of your daily life, starting today."
"Okay," he said, his voice a simple command. "Enter."
The woman stepped inside, a large, well-stocked bag in her hand. She moved directly to the bathroom, laying out her tools with the practiced precision of a master craftsman. She started with his hair, the messy mop a final remnant of his long sleep. She worked with quiet efficiency, and the strands of hair fell away, revealing a sharper, cleaner look.
After the haircut, she helped him into the tub, the warm water a soothing embrace. She washed away the last traces of the century and a half he had been asleep. It was a silent, intimate service, and he accepted it as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
After drying himself off, he stepped out of the bathroom. He looked at the lady, who was carefully laying out clothes from her bag on the bed. There were many different outfits—tailored suits, designer casual wear, and intricate, futuristic-looking garments.
He looked at them all, but none of them appealed to him. They felt too formal, too restrictive, too much like a uniform. At last, his eyes settled on a single item. He pointed to it.
With a final, decisive movement, he selected a simple black t-shirt and a pair of comfortable pants. The clothes felt good against his skin, a simple, unadorned second skin that was more to his liking than any of the elaborate outfits.