When Ethan's consciousness finally began to form, it wasn't into the familiar comfort of his gaming chair,not in front of his left opened computer, nor is near the opened cans of energy drinks and opened bags of stale chips and other snacks.
Instead, he was assaulted by a pounding headache that felt like someone was hitting his skull with a sledgehammer, a stomach churning with nausea, and a mouth so dry that it felt like sandpaper.
"Urgh..." He groaned, the sound feeling abrasive in his throat.
What truly solidified the misery was the faint, cloying scent of dried expensive drinks clinging to him, and the unpleasant dampness of a spilled wine bottle soaking into the sheets beside him.
When he lower his foot on the floor, it brushed against something sharp, and he heard the faint crunch of broken wine glass on the floor.
"Ow! Damn it..." he muttered, wincing.
"Ugh... what in the hell...?" he mumbled, the words a hoarse whisper against the throbbing in his temples.
This wasn't just discomfort, it was a full-blown, hangover.
He tried to sit up, but the sudden movement was a catastrophic mistake. His stomach grumbled violently, and a wave of burning, sour bile rose into his throat.
Before he could react, he gagged, and then "Blech—!" he vomited, splattering the expensive, silk-lined sheets directly in front of him.
The foul odor instantly filled his nostrils, mixing with the stale alcohol and making his head spin even more. Disgust, sharp and visceral, mingled with his confusion. His body was truly a mess.
His eyelids fluttered open, revealing not his monitor, but a blurry, unfamiliar ceiling, adorned with intricate, albeit faded, but unmistakable expensive plasterwork.
The morning light filtering through a slightly opened curtain of a window felt like daggers to his eyes as he slowly scanned the modest, yet comfortable, room.
"Am.. am I dreaming?" Ethan mumbled. The thought flickered through his throbbing head.
But no. The acrid taste of vomit, the sharp sting of the broken glass against his foot, the very real, very un-dreamlike pounding in his skull. This was too vivid, too visceral to be a dream.
Everything around him, from the unfamiliar ceiling to the rough texture of the blankets, was completely foreign. This wasn't his apartment, nor his bed. The reality, however nightmarish, was undeniable.
He was in an unfamiliar place that offered comfort.
"Where... where am I?" Ethan rasped, his voice raw from the vomit and the dry throat.
A nervous cough broke the silence.
"Y-young master... you are in your room, sir."
A soft, trembling voice replied. Ethan's eyes, still blurry, snapped towards the sound.
He finally noticed her, a young woman, likely no older than the owner of his body, in a neat, simple maid's uniform.
Her long, common brown hair was tied back in a practical knot, and he could just make out a scattering of slight freckles across her nose as she knelt respectfully beside the bed, her head bowed.
He noticed her shoulders were slightly hunched, and her hands, clasped tightly in front of her, had a visible tremor, as if she were terrified of disturbing him, a fear now surely amplified by the fresh, repulsive smell.
The room itself was modest yet comfortable, with dark wooden furniture that spoke of age rather than grandeur.
"Urgh..." He grumbled while trying to sit up again, carefully this time, but his muscles protested with a weak tremble he didn't recognize, and his head swam.
He glanced down at his hands, expecting to see his own familiar, gamer-calloused palms. Instead, they were slender, unblemished, with manicured nails, clearly not his own.
All of a sudden he weakly screamed. "Ack-!"
His stomach clenched with a sudden, cold dread. He had no idea whose body this was, or how he'd ended up feeling like he'd swallowed a an entire alcohol bar.
The maid, sensing his stirring or perhaps hearing his faint groan, slowly raised her head.
Her eyes, wide and nervous, met his, then quickly darted away, fixing on a spot just past his shoulder. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper, laced with trepidation.
"My apologies, Young Master," she murmured, her voice still trembling slightly.
"I... I have brought your morning medicine and water. It should help with... with your sickness."
She reached a hesitant hand towards a small, polished wooden tray sitting on a nearby bedside table, which Ethan now noticed through his blurry vision.
On it rested a plain clay goblet filled with clear water and a small, corked vial that glowed faintly with a soft amber light.
Ethan's gaze lingered on the goblet and vial. He still didn't fully grasp the situation, his mind a throbbing fog of confusion and physical misery.
But the immediate, overwhelming urge to alleviate the agony in his head replaced all other thoughts.
With a shaky hand, he reached out, fingers trembling as he grasped the cool clay goblet.
He brought it to his lips, and with desperate efficiency, began to gulp.
"Gulp, gulp, gulp, ahhh..."
The clear, refreshing water felt like a desert had been quenched, and the dryness in his throat eased slightly.
Next, he picked up the small, glowing vial. Uncorking it, a faint, herbal scent wafted up.
Without much thought or analysis, his head simply too muddled to process it all, he swallowed the liquid.
"Gulp!"
It was intensely bitter, but the bitterness was immediately followed by a strange, tingling warmth that wasn't merely soothing but felt like a thousand tiny needles gently reknitting his aching muscles.
The jackhammer pounding in his skull began to recede to a dull ache, and the nausea, which had been a constant threat, softened its grip.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a ragged sigh of relief. "Haaah... Hwoo..."
He still felt like he'd been run over by a bus, but it was a huge improvement from just moments ago.
Despite the physical relief, the unfamiliar surroundings and this unknown body remained a jarring mystery. His mind was clearer, but no less still lost.
The dull ache in his head was a constant reminder, but it no longer chain him.
With newfound, bit shaky, resolve, Ethan pushed himself up further on the bed. His eyes, now able to focus beyond the immediate blurry mess, began to properly scan the room.
The unfamilar ceiling seemed less menacing and the dark wooden furnitures looked more distinct.
His gaze swept over the modest but well-kept room until it landed on a tall, full-body mirror standing near the corner.
"Hm..?"
An urgent need to understand, to see what kind of situation his consciousness had landed in, propelled him. He carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly as his bare foot landed near the scattered glass shards.
"Argh, dammit!"
The maid, still kneeling by the bed, flinched but remained silent as he slowly, unsteadily, made his way across the polished floorboards. Each step felt strangely light, yet weak.
As he reached the mirror, he braced himself, then looked.
Reflected back was not his own face, familiar from years of late nights and gaming marathons. Instead, he saw a young man, no older than seventeen or eighteen, with delicate features, framed by expertly styled black hair.
The skin was strikingly pale, suggesting a life lived far from the sun, and the frame was slender, almost frail, completely devoid of any significant musculature.
He recognized the body from his hazy first moments, unathletic, perhaps even fragile, a stark contrast to the robust heroes he usually embodied in games. It was the face of someone born to privilege, but one who seemed easily overlooked.
The image solidified the terrifying truth. This wasn't a dream. This was real, and this is him now.
"Oh, you've got to be shitting me," Ethan whispered, his voice laced with dawning horror and disbelief.
"This is... I'm in big trouble."
***
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