The small, shabby room was full of silence.
It wasn't the pleasant, familiar quiet that one might enjoy, but a suffocating, unnerving stillness that made one shiver. The kind that made a person pause and reflect on all the questionable choices that they had ever made in life.
A young man–no, a young boy–lay on a bed in the room, staring blankly at the ceiling, his mind full of confusion.
Just moments ago, he had returned to his rented apartment after finishing a shift at the convenience store. He remembered dropping onto his bed, exhausted, intending to rest for a while.
Yeah. The convenience store.
He worked there as a cashier–it was about the best job a guy could get after more or less flunking his college exams.
But now… well–
This wasn't his ceiling.
Hell, it wasn't even his apartment.
Instead of his own apartment, he found himself in an old, weathered room, its furniture worn. The room had a presence like it was something pulled straight out of another time.
Once, the young boy finally acknowledged that this wasn't a dream–that he was truly somewhere else–he pushed himself up from the hard bed, using his hands for support, and stood on his legs.
His eyes swept across the room as he began to think.
"Am i really dreaming?" he muttered, "or did I just get kidnapped?"
He then tried to calm his nerves, shook his head and took a deep breath.
He started to observe the room more carefully.
It wasn't a very large room–barely spacious enough–but it was clearly meant for more than just one person.
Two single beds were present in the room, their frames made of rough, dark wood and arranged in an L-shape, likely to save what little room there was. Alongside them were two small tables with matching chairs. A few books rested atop the tables, their worn covers hinted that either they were really old or frequently read by the owners.
He moved closer to one of them, reaching out to pick up a book.
Midway through the motion, he froze.
His hand was… wrong.
He hadn't noticed it before–probably because he had only just woken up–but now the difference was unmistakable. His fingers were thinner, his palm smaller. These weren't the hands he remembered.
A strange thought suddenly crossed his mind.
He turned and rushed toward the mirror fitted onto the back of the room's only door.
The moment he faced it, his heart started beating crazily.
The reflection staring back wasn't his.
"What the fuck?"
He himself was twenty-three years old–a failure by most reasonable measures.
But the boy staring back at him from the mirror…
He was far younger.
Fifteen, maybe sixteen at most. Too young to carry the weight of missed chances and quiet regrets that follow for years.
Yet those very thoughts were reflected in the boy's eyes all the same.
The boy had brown messy hair along with sunken blue eyes.
As he moved his hand to touch his cheek, the boy in the mirror did the same.
There was no denying it anymore–somehow, his body had changed.
His thoughts began to rewind, piecing everything together from the moment he'd woken up.
'A strange room. A different body.'
"Yeah." he muttered dryly, "There's no doubt about it. I've been transmigrated into a new world."
The realization didn't even shock him as much as it probably should have.
After all, this twenty-three-year-old failure had spent far too much of his life buried in web novels. He'd wasted countless hours reading stories just like this–transported to another world, new body, new rules, usually followed by absurdly overpowered abilities.
"So…" he muttered, rubbing his face, "What's my golden finger?"
He straightened slightly, clearing his throat as if that might help.
"Hey, System?"
Nothing.
He started walking away from the door to the other side, checking if there were signal problems.
"Hello?" He tried again. "Status window? Quest log? Overpowered cheat ability generously provided by a bored god?"
No reply.
The room remained still remained silent as if not caring about his words.
He waited a few seconds longer, just in case it was a few seconds late.
"Yeah," He sighed at last, shoulders slumping. "Of course, God doesn't love me."
Just at that very moment, the door opened and a voice came from behind him.
"Oh! Brother Alren, you are finally awake?"
As he turned towards the voice, he noticed a young boy similar to the body's age.
Brother.
The word echoed in his mind as the realization settled in.
So this body already had a name.
Alren.
And apparently… a family.
'Should I act as if I know him?'
"I–uh… who are you?"
The words ended up leaving his mouth before he could stop them.
For a brief moment, he'd considered pretending–acting familiar, nodding along and hoping instinct or luck would carry him through. But the thought died just as quickly.
If this boy was this body's brother, then one wrong sentence could raise questions he wouldn't be able to answer. And right now, this stranger was the only person who might help him understand where he was.
Losing that support so early…
That would be far worse than admitting he didn't know a thing.
So he stayed honest.
Or as close to honest as he could afford to be.
"I–I...Who am I? And where is this?"
The boy froze, concern flashing across his face.
For a moment, he said nothing, studying him carefully–as if trying to decide whether this was some poorly timed joke.
Then his expression shifted.
Concern. Unease.
He leaned back slightly and whispered, so faintly it was almost lost to the air,
"Is this because of the ritual…?"
His brows knit together.
"But it never had any side effects."
Hearing the word 'ritual' mentioned so casually didn't exactly help the new Alren calm down.
If anything, it made things worse.
His mind immediately went into overdrive, spinning one conspiracy after another. Dark ones. Very dark ones.
'Ahem…
It's not like this body's parents performed some shady ritual on him… right?'
He swallowed, forcing his expression to remain neutral as a hundred uncomfortable possibilities paraded through his head.
He turned to the boy in front of him and, forcing the most innocent tone he could manage, asked,
"Who are you? Are you… my brother?"
The question hit the boy in question harder than he expected.
The boy froze, his expression flickering through surprise, confusion, and a bit of sadness. He stared blankly for a few seconds, as if lost in thoughts and memories, before shaking his head.
"No...uh, no. We're not blood-related," he said quietly. "But I swear, we're as close as any brothers could be."
He hesitated, then continued.
"M–my name is Cael."
Alren studied Cael for a moment. The boy's expression suggested that he was feeling sad.
'Maybe I should ask about where we are and also about this body's family? That's what a guy with no memories would do right?'
"Uh… I see, then. Cael," Alren began, his voice hesitant, "can you… tell me where we are? And… where my family is?"
He forced himself to meet Cael's gaze, trying to sound as calm as possible.
Cael hesitated, his eyes flicking away for a moment as if he didn't quite know how to say it.
"Don't… you remember?" he asked softly. "We're in the church. And… we don't have families. We're both orphans."
The words hung in the air, heavy and quiet, leaving Alren to stare at him in stunned silence.