Chapter 1. Rebirth
A searing, relentless pain ripped me from the void of unconsciousness.
"Ugh..."
I groaned in shallow breaths as pain consumed me, as if every single nerve was on fire.
"Ahhhh!"
It was as if my body was rebelling against my very existence.
I tried to move, but even the slightest twitch sent waves of torture through my frame.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain started to fade, leaving me gasping for air and drenched in sweat.
My chest heaved rapidly as I struggled to regain my breath, my senses slowly returning.
"What... what on earth was that?" I murmured, my voice sounding weak and foreign.
I forced myself upright while every muscle screamed in protest.
My limbs felt uncomfortably light, as if they were hollow and fragile.
When I tried to stand, my legs trembled beneath me, nearly giving way.
I leaned against the edge of a nearby table for support, my fingers gripping the polished wood as if it were the only thing anchoring me to reality.
Slowly, my eyes began to perceive my surroundings.
The room was spacious, filled with ornate furniture that reeked of wealth and nobility.
Heavy velvet curtains framed tall windows that let in streaks of pale moonlight.
Everything here was unfamiliar and steeped in a suffocating luxury.
Pushing myself off the table, I looked toward the large mirror across the room.
Gathering my remaining strength and fighting against my trembling legs, I managed to reach it.
When I fixed my eyes on the mirror, they widened in shock.
The reflection staring back at me was not my own.
"Who the hell... are you..." I whispered breathlessly.
"Is this a hallucination?"
But it was far too realistic.
The boy in the mirror was strikingly handsome, almost ethereal. He had pale, porcelain like skin, as if he had never stepped out into the sun and had spent his life indoors.
His hair cascaded down like a silvery white waterfall, shimmering faintly in the dim light.
And his eyes... vivid, crimson eyes that burned with an almost unnatural intensity.
Yet, despite this beauty, his body was pitifully fragile; as if a harsh wind could blow and shatter him.
"What is... this?" I whispered, raising a trembling hand to touch my face.
The boy in the mirror mimicked my movements perfectly.
Suddenly, a sharp, piercing pain shot through my skull.
"Ah!" I cried out involuntarily, clutching my head as the pain intensified.
"Ahhhh!"
It felt as though shards of glass were being driven into my brain.
Images, sensations, and emotions rushed into my mind like a relentless flood.
THUD.
I fell to my knees, writhing within the storm of memories, grasping my head tightly.
Scenes from a different life; scenes full of privilege, torment, and isolation flashed before my eyes.
I saw a grand mansion, the cold disdain of a father, the indifference of a mother, and the cruel laughter of siblings.
I felt the boy's humiliation, his loneliness, his despair.
When the memories flooding my mind finally settled, I lay panting on the cold floor, my body trembling.
"This... this can't be real," I murmured in a hoarse voice.
But deep down, I knew it was real.
The memories, the emotions... They were too vivid to be dismissed as a hallucination.
They belonged to this boy.
As I pieced it all together, realization settled over me like a fog, freezing my blood.
"I have been reincarnated," I said in an enlightened tone as my eyes snapped open.
This fragile boy I now inhabited was not just anyone.
He was Felix Crossfield, the youngest son of the illustrious yet ruthless Crossfield family.
A family name that commanded both respect and fear throughout the kingdom.
I knew exactly where I was.
I had read this story before.
It was the novel I had finished just a few days ago, one I had lost myself in while reading.
The story of a hero with a legendary sword, a tale of revenge, building a harem, and retribution. A typical, cliché novel story.
And now, I was living that story.
But Felix's life was not a privilege.
It was a nightmare.
A relentless cycle of pain, rejection, and suffering.
And in that moment, a single thought echoed in my mind:
Why am I in this world? And why in this body?
Or rather, Felix sat on the cold floor of his room, his delicate body shivering after yet another beating.
My arms and chest were covered in bruises, and a sharp pain shot through my ribs with every movement.
The memories settling in his mind were overwhelming, but the reality I was living was even more suffocating.
Felix Crossfield, the youngest son of the powerful House Crossfield, was nothing more than a punching bag for his family.
His three older brothers, imposing and strong, took sadistic pleasure in tormenting him whenever they were bored.
From the sharp pain of their fists to the mocking words they hurled at him, they made sure he knew he was a stain on the Crossfield name.
His two sisters, while physically less violent, were no less cruel.
Their disdain was quieter but just as cutting.
Aside from mocking his pale skin or his weakness, they simply ignored his existence.
And then there was his mother.
Lady Isolde Crossfield was a paragon of elegance and power, with sapphire blue hair and striking blue eyes deeply embedded in the Crossfield bloodline.
As part of a proud family that valued power and legacy above all else, she carried an aura of perfection.
But when her gaze fell upon Felix, it turned to ice, her expression twisting with contempt.
He was a source of shame for his mother, a constant reminder of a flaw she could never forgive.
Unlike the rest of the family, Felix's hair was a striking silvery white and his eyes were crimson; traits that belonged to neither his parents nor his ancestors.
Whispers surrounding his birth questioned his legitimacy.
Although nothing was said openly, this suspicion hung in the air, poisoning his relationship with the family.
His father, Lord Thalen Crossfield, was no different.
An imposing figure of authority, Thalen barely acknowledged Felix's existence.
To him, Felix was too weak, too worthless to even be considered part of the family.
His punishments were insidious yet devastating; he allowed the older brothers to beat him pointlessly under the guise of training, ignored his suffering, and refused to take him to public gatherings for fear that Felix's presence would tarnish the family's reputation.
Felix was kept away from banquets, celebrations, and council meetings.
While his siblings basked in the glory of the Crossfield name, he was locked away, hidden like a shameful secret.
His world was confined to his cold, dark room; here he would sit for days, nursing his wounds and his ever growing despair.
Even the servants avoided him.
They rarely spoke to him, treating him as if he were invisible.
His meals were brought in silence, and his requests for help or companionship were ignored.