The steady beep… beep… beep of a heart monitor echoed through a room too spotless to be ordinary.White walls gleamed under soft fluorescent light. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and money—the kind of "clean" you only find in expensive hospitals.
On the bed lay a boy—seventeen, maybe eighteen—his chest rising and falling unevenly. For a few moments, he stayed still. Then his eyes shot open.
"Oww… it hurts like hell! Who the hell throws a banana on the stairs?!"
He bolted upright, clutching his head. A sharp pulse of pain hammered behind his temples, like he'd been drop-kicked by gravity itself.
"If I find that guy, I'm gonna personally shove that banana back where the sun doesn't shine!"
His voice cracked through the silence, bouncing off the white walls. The monitor beeped faster, as if cheering on his anger.
The boy groaned and pressed a palm to his forehead. His thoughts spun like a bad buffering video.
He remembered—sort of.
Last delivery of the day.
The elevator was broken.
He'd taken the stairs instead.
He was tired, hungry, thinking about instant noodles…And then—banana peel. One step, one slip, one dramatic collapse worthy of a slow-motion replay.
And now—this.
Wait. This?
He blinked, his rant fading mid-word as the room finally registered.White walls. Beeping machines. A bed softer than anything he'd ever slept on.
"Hold up…" he muttered slowly, eyes narrowing. "This isn't my house."
He turned his head, scanning the space. No posters, no dusty fan, no laundry mountain in the corner.Instead—sleek monitors, an oxygen mask, a glossy cabinet filled with vases. Fresh flowers, designer drapes, and polished marble flooring that looked expensive enough to pay his semester's fees.
His brows knitted. "Did someone actually have the conscience to send me to a hospital? Wow. Humanity still exists!"
He chuckled weakly, but unease crept under his humour. This wasn't any hospital he'd seen before. Government hospitals didn't look like five-star hotels. Even the "Get Well Soon" cards on the side table had gold-embossed lettering.
"Okay, wait—this looks way too high-end." His gaze flicked from the vase to the intricate curtains. "Did I get… kidnapped by rich people?"
He was about to test that theory when the door clicked open with a soft hiss.
A young woman stepped in—petite, neatly dressed in a uniform that screamed "expensive staff." Her skin was fair, her features delicate, maybe Nepali or East Asian.
She froze the instant their eyes met, her lips parting in shock—then gasped.
"Young master! You're awake!"
The voice startled him before the words even sank in. Young master? That was a first. Nobody had ever called him that — not his landlord, not his boss, not even the pizza guy.
Still clutching his throbbing head, he blinked at the girl standing by the door. Her crisp uniform, tidy hair, and nervous energy screamed professional house staff — the kind he'd only ever seen in dramas.
He squinted at her, his mind foggy and spinning. "Uh… miss, are you sure you're talking to me?"
The girl hesitated, clearly puzzled by the question. Then, with almost military politeness, she nodded."Yes, young master!" she said brightly, her tone brimming with relief. "How are you feeling? You look a little pale — I'll call the doctor right away!"
Before he could get another word out, she spun on her heel and sprinted out of the room, her shoes clicking sharply against the marble floor.
He stared after her, dumbfounded. The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
"...What the hell just happened?" he muttered.
Still reeling, he slowly raised his hand to his face — and froze.
"Wait… since when were my hands this white?"
He turned his palm over, staring at the pale skin under the bright room light. His brows furrowed deeper as he yanked off the blanket and looked down. Both legs — fair, spotless, and absolutely not his.
"Hold up. Did I just get a full-body skin transplant?!"
He ran his hands down his arms in disbelief, his voice rising with panic. "Bro, I look like I've been washed with bleach!"
Heart pounding, he swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand — immediately regretting it.
The moment his feet touched the floor, his legs surrendered like wet noodles.
Thud!
"OW! Great start in life — five minutes awake and already face-first on the floor."
Groaning, he pushed himself up on shaky arms. That's when something in the glass wall beside the bed caught his eye.
He froze.
Staring back at him was… someone else.
The reflection showed a boy with fair skin, dark silky hair, and sharp features — not the tired face of an Indian college student who'd just survived a banana-related accident.
His breath hitched.
"Wait… who the hell is that?"
He leaned closer, touching his cheek, his jawline, his hair — everything felt real. Too real.
"Why do I look like… a Nepali? No, wait… maybe Japanese? Korean? Ah, whatever! Why do I look like this?!"
He stared at the stranger in the reflection — the stranger who was somehow him — as the realisation started clawing its way up his spine.
He frowned, opening his mouth to yell—then paused.
He opened his mouth again, ready to scream from the top of his lungs… then stopped.
Something felt off.
The words forming in his head didn't match the ones leaving his mouth.
"Wait a second… why am I not speaking Hindi?"
His eyes widened. He tried again—anything, a simple curse, a sentence that would normally be in Hindi—But the sounds that came out were smooth, unfamiliar, foreign.
It wasn't Hindi at all.
"...This is… Chinese?"
He stared at the reflection in the glass, horrified.New face. New voice. New language.
Everything suddenly clicked.
"Confirmed," he muttered weakly. "I'm officially looking—and talking—like a Chinese guy."
He grabbed his head dramatically, pacing in tiny half-steps because his legs still felt like wet cardboard.
"Don't tell me… my soul got switched?! Did I just wake up in someone else's body?!"
Panic doubled.
He looked around the room like clues would suddenly materialise out of thin air.
"Okay, okay, calm down," he whispered to himself, inhaling shakily."You didn't die because of a banana. You just… swapped countries. And species. Probably fine."
He squeezed his temples.
"Don't panic… everything will be fine. All is well…"
He inhaled deeply.
Exhaled slowly.
And then—
"LIKE HELL IT IS!"
He clutched his head and started pacing again—more like wobbling, really.
"What is happening to me?! This does not look fine!"
Screeeech!
The door slid open sharply.
The maid from before stepped inside—this time accompanied by a well-dressed woman, a doctor, and a nurse.
All of them froze when they saw him—half on the floor, hair sticking up, staring at them like a raccoon caught stealing.
Before he could react, the woman rushed forward and threw her arms around him.
"My son! You're really awake! I thought… I thought I lost you!"
The woman's voice trembled, thick with relief. She pulled him into a tight embrace, her perfume washing over him before her words fully registered.
He froze.
He didn't know this woman.He didn't know this body.He didn't know anything.
"Uh… ma'am?" he said stiffly, trying not to suffocate in her hug. "I— I don't think I know you."
The woman stopped mid-hug.Her arms dropped.Her smile vanished.
"S-son? What… what did you just say?" Her voice trembled. "You're scaring me…"
He swallowed hard. This was already awkward, but lying would only make it worse later.
"Actually…" he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't remember much. Sorry."
The woman paled instantly, panic flickering in her eyes.
The doctor stepped forward, raising a hand gently. "Miss Willson, please — let me examine him."
The maid helped the woman step aside, while the nurse and doctor lifted him back onto the bed. The doctor began checking his pulse, flashlight flicking across his eyes.
Meanwhile, the boy kept glancing at the woman — her hands trembling, her expression a mix of hope and heartbreak.
He muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for the nurse to hear:
"Great. First I lose my identity, now I gain a random family. Next thing I know, I'll be the long-lost prince of Banana Kingdom."
The nurse choked on a laugh. The doctor pretended not to hear.
After a few minutes, the doctor finally straightened, relief easing into his expression.
"All vitals are stable. Physically, he's fine. He just needs rest — no strenuous activity for a few days."
The boy let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Finally," he exhaled, flopping back onto the pillow, "someone saying something normal."
The doctor clicked his pen and shifted closer.
"However," he said gently, "you seem to have some memory loss. Let's do a quick check, shall we? I'll ask questions — you answer whatever you can."
Slade nodded slowly.
"First question," the doctor began, pen poised, "what's your name?"
Slade stared at him.
That was… the final exam question being asked as the warm-up.
He blinked once. "Uh… don't remember."
The room went dead silent.Everyone stared at him as if he'd just confessed to being an alien.
The doctor cleared his throat, visibly trying to salvage his professionalism."…Alright. Let's try something simpler. Do you know where you are?"
Slade hesitated. "A… hospital? I think?"
"Good." The doctor jotted something down, relieved to finally write something. "And your age?"
"Pass."
The pen stopped mid-stroke. The doctor closed his eyes for half a second, reconsidering his career choices.
"…Favorite food?" he asked cautiously.
"Anything not cooked by my school canteen."
For the first time, the doctor smiled. "Well, at least your humor's intact."
After a few more questions — most of which Slade dodged like a ninja in a laser maze — the doctor finally closed his notebook. This was clearly his first time dealing with a memory-loss patient who answered like an anti-cheat system.
"Well," he said, turning to Mrs. Willson, "it seems our young master remembers basic knowledge and functions, but personal memories are gone. In cases like this, there are two possibilities — either his memory returns naturally with time, or…"
He glanced at Slade.
"…he'll need gentle reminders and exposure to familiar things."
Mrs. Willson nodded, relief and worry mixing on her face.
Slade just lay back, staring at the ceiling.
So this is really happening, huh?Transmigration. Memory loss. Fancy room. A maid calling him 'young master'…
He glanced toward the doctor, who was now discussing something about "superpower awakening."
Wait. Superpowers?That means this world isn't just another country — it's another world entirely.
His eyes widened.
So I transmigrated into a rich young master's body… Great. I'm probably dead in my old world. Is this reincarnation? Or just a cosmic prank by the banana peel gods?
Before he spiraled any further, Mrs. Willson gently placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Son, don't worry," she said softly. "You'll remember everything soon. We're here for you."
He forced a smile. "Right… thanks. But, uh… could you tell me some basics? Like… my name? And who's in our family?"
Her eyes brightened instantly. She practically lit up.
"Of course! Your name is Slade Willson. You're eighteen — your birthday was last month! You have a little sister, Britney, she's seven and in school. Your father, Richard, is at the company. And your grandfather, grandmother, uncles — we all care about you very much."
Slade nodded slowly.
Slade Willson.Cool name. Rich family. Mansion. And apparently… superpowers.
His curiosity sparked. "I remember the doctor mentioning something about a superpower. Do I have one?"
Mrs. Willson's smile faded. She hesitated.
"Sorry, son… during your Awakening, no power was detected."
Slade blinked.
"…Ah. A trash start. Classic protagonist luck."
"Well, I guess I can't complain," he muttered.
Then a worse thought hit him.
"Wait… don't tell me I also have an engagement that's about to be broken off?"
He could already imagine it — the legendary kick-him-while-he's-down arc from every webnovel.
Mrs. Willson suddenly brightened."Oh! So you do remember something! Yes, you're engaged to the daughter of the William family — she awakened an S-class healing ability."
Slade froze.
Slowly… painfully… he turned toward her with a look that screamed:
How could you betray me like this?
Mrs. Willson quickly patted his hand."Don't worry, dear. They wouldn't dare break it off. The William family is one of our subsidiaries. We've invested heavily in them."
Slade stared at her.
Oh. Perfect.
Rich family.No superpower.Fiancée with S-class ability.Forced engagement.
He wasn't the protagonist.
He wasn't even the side character.
Yup… I'm either the villain or the cannon fodder. Actually, scratch that — I'm the cannon they use for target practice.
He leaned back with dead fish eyes, already imagining the biography of his new life:
"The Tragic Life of Slade: Beaten Before Chapter Two."
Just as despair swallowed him whole, the door slammed open — BANG!
A tall man with a sharp jaw and a commanding presence entered. The air shifted. Even the doctor stood straighter.
Mrs. Willson beamed. "Richard! He just woke up!"
The man's stern expression softened by one millimeter."Good. At least something is going right today."
Slade stared at him.
Yup… this guy definitely yells for sport.