The taxi ride passed in a blur—forty-five minutes of silence broken only by neon lights streaking across the glass and the driver humming along to some old tune on the radio. Henry barely noticed the city rolling past. His mind was a whirlpool of disbelief and half-formed plans.
When the meter beeped, the driver cleared his throat. "That'll be twenty dollars, boss."
Henry blinked, then forced a laugh. Twenty dollars. That was practically all that was left in the thin wallet he'd found in his new pocketand that's how far the twenty dollars could get him close to his hom. He handed the bills over with a sigh. Of course. Not only do I transmigrate into another guy's body, but I get his bank account, too. And of course he's broke. Why couldn't I have landed in some rich second-gen kid?
The driver tipped his cap, unfazed. Henry stepped out into the crisp bite of night air. The city loomed above him, all steel and neon.
His destination was Ivory Spire, the borderland where two worlds met but never mixed. The name sounded elegant, like something out of a travel brochure—white towers, marble fountains, chandeliers. Reality, however, was a jagged line where wealth and poverty shook hands awkwardly.
Behind Henry stretched a ribbon of luxury. Avenues lined with spotless sidewalks, high-end boutiques glittering under soft golden light, cafés where jazz spilled into the street. Couples in sleek designer clothes laughed as though life owed them nothing but happiness. Even the air carried a faint perfume of roasted coffee beans and something expensive he couldn't name.
"This place reminds me of Beverly Hills," Henry muttered, tucking his hands deeper into his jacket pockets against the chill. His voice sounded too small in such a polished world.
He walked. Thirty minutes later, his sneakers carried him across the invisible border. The shift was almost instant.
Streetlights flickered weakly overhead, throwing cracked pavement into jagged pools of pale yellow. Rusted shutters sealed shops that had long since surrendered to time. The sharp tang of cheap liquor mixed with the sour bite of unwashed clothes.
In the alleys, men slumped against brick walls, bottles clinking as they shifted in restless sleep. A drunk lifted his head as Henry passed, muttering to no one,
"Bloody hell… being a man in this century's hell. Gotta be a millionaire just to date a hoe… aaah, Melinda you bastard."
Henry didn't slow down. The deeper he walked, the darker it grew. Graffiti sprawled like desperate signatures across cracked walls. Garbage spilled from bins, dogs sniffing through the chaos. In the corners lurked shoddy-looking men, exchanging tiny packets under flickering lights. Henry was sure they weren't trading baseball cards.
A stray barked once and fell silent, as if realizing it was safer to stay unnoticed.
Henry's stomach tightened. He found himself praying silently, Just let me reach home safely. Damn it, this place is scary. Someone could jump me any moment.
He shook his head. How did the previous Henry even manage to live here? It's not like he couldn't find something better. Oh, right. Jessica. He spent everything on her. Of course.
It also puzzled him how broke men always seemed to be in relationships—sometimes multiple ones. Do they have some kind of sorcery? Or are women just that bad at picking guys?
He quickened his pace. His sneakers slapped against broken pavement until, finally, the building came into view.
If you could call it a building.
Three stories of crumbling brick loomed ahead, its stained walls, and barred windows giving off the charm of a haunted asylum. With its Gothic arches and sagging eaves, it looked like it had been lifted from a horror movie.
Henry rubbed his forehead, exhaling through his nose. "What kind of evil landlord lets people live here? I mean, really. At least have some conscience. Bet the landlord wouldn't live here for free." He scratched his head, muttering, "I hope my room isn't haunted. Even if it is… what can I do? Guess I'll have to share the room with the ghost."
The flickering entrance light buzzed overhead as he climbed the uneven steps to the third floor. His key turned reluctantly, and he pushed inside.
If the building was bad, the apartment was a crime scene.
The kitchenette's sink sagged under a mountain of dishes that looked old enough to qualify as an archaeological dig site. The living room was worse—piles of takeout boxes, sticky counters, and stains on the floor whose origin he didn't want to guess.
Henry stared, mouth twisting. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me.First I get hit by a truck, then I transmigrate, and now am in the body of a poor guy who can't even maintain a clean house.'"
He stepped closer to the sink, grimacing. "Damn it… How did he even live like this?wasn't he afraid of getting sick or something."
If he was going to survive here, step one was reclaiming the room. At least, he thought grimly. It wasn't haunted—yet.
He rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, let's go to war."
Two hours later, the counters were disinfected, the floor swept free of whatever ecosystem had been thriving there, and the dishes gleamed under the dim kitchen light. Henry cursed under his breath the entire time, but a small sense of victory pulsed in his chest.
After a long scalding shower, he wiped the foggy mirror slowly. He had avoided it until now, keeping himself busy with cleaning just so he wouldn't have to see his new face. Lazy or not, he'd found a way to procrastinate reality.
The droplets slid down his skin. The fogged glass cleared, framing a stranger's reflection that was now his own.
White hair fell to his neck, striking and almost luminous in the dim bathroom light. Green eyes, sharp jawline, smooth skin, a body lean, and cut with abs instead of the soft belly he remembered from before. In his previous life, he'd been about 80 kg at 179 cm. Now he was standing 184 cm, a considerable difference.
Weirdly, the hair didn't look out of place. Earlier on the street he'd noticed people with all sorts of natural hair colors—even Peter, the dumpling CEO, had blue hair he'd assumed were dye.
Henry touched his face and ran his fingers over his arms, his new body. "Wow… this feels weird and unreal. Thinking that every time I poop I'll be wiping someone else's ass… although it's me now. Ugh, what am I even thinking?" He shook his head at the strange thought.
For a moment, the weight of transmigrating pressed on him—the impossibility of dying in one world only to breathe in another. After a few minutes, his mind settled.
He remembered the countless nights back in his old life, buried in philosophy books his friends would have mocked. Marcus Aurelius had once written, "You have power over your mind—not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength." That line had burned itself into him years ago, and now it echoed clearer than ever.
Maybe that was why he wasn't collapsing under the madness of it all. He had trained his mind for this without even knowing.
He inhaled, exhaled, eyes fixed on his reflection. "This is my new life," he whispered. "I'll have to adjust quickly if I'm to survive in this world."
...
His stomach growled. He finished dressing in a pair of worn pajamas from the closet and padded into the kitchenette. The fridge wheezed like it was breathing its last. Inside: half a loaf of bread, one lonely egg, and a milk carton already planning its funeral.
Henry stared into the dim fridge light. "Seriously? This guy was dead broke. Twenty bucks in cash and an almost empty fridge?"
He couldn't count on how many times he had complained today.
Still, life was life. He toasted the bread and warmed the milk, which looked almost expired.Anyway, he had died once this almost spoiled milk wouldn't scare him.
He ate quickly, then shuffled toward the battered desk. He needed to check this world and learn its rules.
The old computer creaked as it came alive after two minutes of groaning. "A relic," he muttered. "Any brand that takes six years just to boot deserves to be extinct."
The screen flickered to life. He began browsing, absorbing everything he could.
Aurelia—that was the planet's name. Four times the size of Earth. The continents lay familiar, but the names were wrong. He lived in the United States of Soren, a stand-in for North America. History was twisted. Here, the mustached tyrant from Earth was a beloved painter hanging in museums.
Wars had still come, but differently. The First World War erupted not from assassinations but from rival empires clashing over etherium, a crystalline mineral that powered machines far beyond coal and oil. Nations tore each other apart with floating dreadnoughts and armored walkers.
The second came two decades later, fueled by the hunger for etherium-rich territories, but the lines were scrambled—old enemies became allies, and neutral countries turned aggressor. Tens of millions perished in firestorms and machine sieges that reshaped the map.
Henry leaned back, rubbing his face after hours of browsing. "Great. Earth's history playbook is useless here. I can't predict politics, can't bet on outcomes."
He stared at the glowing screen. "I guess my only option is to pray I may find similar stocks or crypto. Maybe one or two familiar ones. Maybe I could at least invest…"
Memories of Bitcoin being undervalued stabbed him. He remembered old sites giving away free coins and even some dude bought pizza with tens of thousands of it, coins that would be worth fortunes later. But there were no what-ifs.
He clicked through digital exchanges, frustration growing. Instead of familiar names, he found entire crypto markets boasting strange alternatives: ECoin, Auralite, NovaCredit—all alien to him.
And yet, technology matched Earth's beat for beat. Phones, streaming platforms, social media—just renamed. YouTube was NewTube, Instagram now LifeGram, Twitter noe Chirp.
Henry gave a hollow laugh cursing his luck,he even wondered if his ancestors once ofended a god. "Hard mode unlocked. No cheat codes. All the companies that mirror Earth already hit the stock market. It's like trying to buy Bitcoin in 2025—it's already appreciated, no one's selling." He dragged a hand down his face.
"wasn't I supposed to have some transmigration cheat or something? dont tell me I'm just another schmuck, starting at zero, in a world that's basically Earth wearing a cheap disguise."
Still, he refused to lose hope. He searched deeper.
Michael Jackson? Gone. Adele? Not even a shadow. Beyoncé, Ed Sheeran, Drake—nonexistent. In their place, a flood of unfamiliar names—megastars of this world, filling the charts.
Henry leaned back in his chair, lips curving. "Sure enough. Something positive finally showed up."
He could sell songs. Hundreds from Earth. Classics. Pop. Rock. Ballads. All his now. Back on Earth, he'd been what his friends called a music omnivore—someone who devoured every genre. He'd hated restricting himself.
But a thorn stuck in his thoughts. Lyrics? Yes. Melodies? Clear. Arrangements? Mixing? Production? Those had always been in the hands of professionals.
"Hard mode again," Henry murmured. "But I can start small. Upload simple stuff on NewTube. If that fails, maybe be the MrBeast of this world. But then again… that also requires money."
He slumped onto the sofa, eyes heavy, thinking about solutions. Then something nagged at him.
"…Feels like I'm forgetting something."
Then it struck.
His whole body jolted upright, eyes wide. "Wait. The Almighty System! The cheat every transmigrator gets! How could I forget something like this?"
He jumped up, rubbing his hands together, blowing into them for luck. "I hope this works. This is my last saving grace."
"Come on, come on. Just this once. Don't let me down." He waved his hands dramatically. "System, come out!"
…Nothing.
"Abra cadabra!" …Silence.
"Open sesame!" Still nothing.
He tried the Spider-Man web-shooter gesture. Nothing.
Standing in his worn-out apartment, posing like a lunatic, Henry thanked the heavens no one was around to witness it. It was too embarrassing.
"Aaah, damn it!" he groaned, collapsing onto the sofa. "I knew it. I'm really cursed with bad luck. Expecting a system to show up is like spotting a unicorn. Hell, it would've been better if I'd just regressed to Earth and played the stock market."
He rubbed his temples. The empty room gave him no answer.
Then it happened.
As if the universe had heard his complaints, it answered.
A sound. Soft but sharp. Like the click of an old cassette tape.
DING!
The chime echoed in his skull.
> NEW USER DETECTED…
ANALYZING BODY DATA…
BINDING TO NEW USER…
Henry froze, breath caught in his throat.