He knew firsthand what being ugly felt like.
Back on Earth, he'd had acne from hell.
Not the small dots you could hide with some concealer — no, he had volcanic eruptions on his face.
Every time he took off his hoodie, he felt like a raid boss entering a PvP zone. People looked away. Girls ghosted him after a single selfie.
He wore masks and hoodies way before it was cool.
COVID had ended five years ago, but his hoodie was eternal.
His self-esteem? Not so much.
That's why he buried himself in dating sims.
They didn't judge. They didn't ghost. They didn't care if his face looked like a rejected Minecraft texture pack.
All they needed was choices, affection points, and maybe a DLC route if he was desperate.
They gave him a taste of love — fake as it was.
But this? This body?
It was a cheat code.
He leaned closer to the mirror, checking out his new jawline again. It looked airbrushed.
Not a single flaw. Not even a damn pore.
"If I had this face back home, I'd never touch another dating sim in my life."
Except the problem remained. Reinhardt LeFay — this living breathing thirst trap — was still a walking L.
The ultimate simp.
Every girl he chased in the game ditched him.
Most got stolen by his childhood best friend, a gigachad knight named Cedric who somehow managed to be humble, hot, and built like a Greek statue.
Cedric didn't simp. Cedric rescued.
And Reinhardt? Reinhardt bought gifts, cried in silence, and got rejected with a pat on the head.
Nick grit his teeth. "Nah. Nah, not me. Not anymore."
If the game devs wanted to trap him in simp-hell, they picked the wrong reincarnator or transmigrator, or whatever.
He might've been ugly and down-bad on Earth, but he had pride.
And now? Now he had a face sculpted by gods, infinite noble resources, and plot knowledge that ran three arcs deep.
There was a knock on the door again.
"Master Reinhardt," the maid's voice came through, hesitant this time. "Lady Elaina has requested tea in the greenhouse."
Nick's eyes narrowed.
He remembered this scene. It was the first chapter in the game.
{Chapter One, Flag One.}
The moment where Reinhardt goes full golden retriever — running to Elaina just to watch her ignore him while fawning over Cedric and praising his 'strong hands.'
The simp jumpstart scene.
"Tell her she should stop freaking disturbing me. I'm busy."
The words left his mouth like a slap to polite society. The maid gasped softly, hands clutching her apron like she'd just heard the pope curse.
"Y-Yes, my lord," she said quickly, bowing before practically sprinting out the door.
Nick leaned back against the bedframe, watching the retreating maid with mild amusement.
Yeah, she was surprised.
Hell, she should be.
Because Reinhardt LeFay — the supposed simp king, the desperate boy toy of the noble class — never talked like that.
He was soft. Like, wet-tissue-soft. The kind of guy who apologized for existing if someone looked at him the wrong way.
But not today.
Today, Reinhardt had a backbone, and it was made of sarcasm, spite, and several gigabytes of plot knowledge.
He smirked. "Bet she's gonna snitch. Perfect."
Because what came next was inevitable. Just like in the game.
Right on cue, the door slammed open like it owed someone money.
BANG!
In came the disaster herself.
Elaine Von Heston.
Childhood friend. Noble lady. Crush-turned-nightmare.
She looked exactly like her 2D model — maybe better.
Long blonde hair, done in perfect curls like she just stepped out of a noble shampoo ad.
Sharp green eyes that sparkled when she smiled... which, ironically, was almost never around Reinhardt.
She was wearing a pastel dress that screamed rich, overconfident, and 'daddy bought me a pony I never ride.'
But now? She wasn't smiling. She was pissed.
And confused.
Because Reinhardt didn't come running.
"You ignoring me now?" she snapped, storming toward him with all the grace of a tax auditor. "What the hell?! I've been calling you — "
Nick blinked.
There it was again.
That tone.
Not concern. Not affection. But sheer entitlement. Like she was scolding her butler for bringing tea two minutes late.
The disgust in her eyes? Subtle — but there.
He could practically hear the game dialogue: "Reinhardt, don't be so clingy." "You're embarrassing me in front of Cedric." "You're like a little brother to me."
Nah. Not today.
Elaine stomped up and grabbed his wrist. "I'm talking to you!"
The old Reinhardt would've frozen.
He would've bowed his head, maybe even apologized, offered tea, and asked if she needed a foot massage.
The new Reinhardt?
He stood up calmly, grabbed her wrist, and flipped the whole script.
With a fluid movement that shocked even himself, he pushed her backward — quick but controlled.
Her back hit the wall with a soft thud, and before she could shout, his hand shot up and pinned her wrists above her head, palms to plaster.
Elaine's eyes went wide. "Wh—?!"
Nick leaned in.
Not threatening. Just close.
Close enough to see the subtle flush spreading across her cheeks. Close enough to smell whatever flowery perfume she'd bathed in that morning.
"You don't barge into my room without permission," he said, his voice low.
"You don't raise your voice at me. And you sure as hell don't grab me like I'm your property."
Elaine's mouth opened. No words came out.
Her eyes were darting, confused, caught between anger and... something he didn't know.
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just enough to be menacing. "You thought you could talk to me like I'm your pet. You thought I'd bark when you called."
"Y-You—Rein—" she stammered, cheeks now red.
"Guess what?" he whispered. "That Reinhardt's dead."
Boom.
He stepped back before she could respond, letting her wrists fall.
She didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, eyes wide like someone had just poured ice water down her dress.
"Don't ever talk to me like that again," he said, turning his back to her like she was a random side character.
That's when it clicked for her.
He meant it.
There wasn't a single ounce of the old puppy-eyed desperation in his voice.
No pleading. No clinging. Just... indifference. Disdain, even.
Elaine's lips trembled. "W-What happened to you?"
Nick looked over his shoulder and smirked.
"Woke up," he said simply, walking back toward his bed. "Tried it. Didn't like it. You can show yourself out."