Roy stepped into the corridor, his 'new' boots echoing softly against the polished marble floors. He walked calmly, forcing a measured pace despite the turmoil churning inside him.
The passages looked like something ripped from one of those web novels he'd read back on Earth: vaulted ceilings etched with faded gold paint, walls lined with tapestries depicting mythical beasts like dragons, qilins, and phoenixes.
Crystal chandeliers hung above the ceilings, unlit and gathering dust, while narrow windows let in slivers of morning light that shone across ornate rugs worn thin at the edges. The walls were grand in design, but hollow in upkeep, surely a skeleton of its former glory.
The old Roy's memories had flooded his mind earlier, crashing in like a tidal wave as he dressed. Coincidentally, they shared the same name: Roy Taur, heir to the crumbling Taur Clan.
Unfortunately, the bitter memories were just about all he got; this world was playing on a completely different set of rules than what he had assumed from his degenerate reading preferences.
He had not received a system yet, no magical perks, and no overpowered abilities—just embarrassing memory fragments of a life squandered by 'him'.
"Whoever brought me to this world is a stingy bastard who deserves to be fucked from behind by a horse!" Roy swung a fist up in frustration while brushing off invisible tears from his eyes with his other hand.
The most important details had hit him hardest, beyond confirming this was a full-blown fantasy world with magic, mana, elves, nobility, and so on, he had also guaranteed his own inevitable demise.
Ironically, the person responsible for this demise was no one but himself. Well, not him, but the dead Roy.
'No, the bastard who sent me here is to blame! Couldn't he transport me into the body of a hero!? Or a Prince!?'
The joy he had felt when he saw himself in the mirror, hell, when he saw how big his goods were, was all but gone.
Even while walking now, all he could think about was the damning fact, and the more he looked around as he walked, the more it seemed to sink in what kind of situation he was in.
It was simple, really. The halls were so empty because his family's clan teetered on poverty's edge, so many servants were dismissed to cut costs, and non-essential wings were closed off, which included his wing, since he spent most of his days away.
All thanks to the pathetic original host's endless screw-ups: squandering the family fortune on gambling, brothels, lavish spending, and a bunch of stupid investments.
Worse still, the academy incident—the one that sealed his fate as complete trash. Roy's jaw tightened as the bitter memory replayed for the tenth time.
The original Roy had lusted after a senior's fiancée, some untouchable beauty from a wealthy family.
In a fit of delusion, he'd cornered her in the courtyard, whispering crude compliments with his hands groping air as if imagining pinning her down.
The beauty's fiancée, an upperclassman from the Kami Clan with a silver stage mana core, descended on him like a wolf, and of course, accompanied by his buddies.
It wasn't even necessary, with how weak Roy was; only one of them was enough. But they were really eager to humiliate him.
At the time, if 'Roy' had known that she was the woman of Yaris from that Kami Clan, he might have never gotten anywhere near that woman. Unfortunately, he thought with his dick first. and his brain last.
In a rare moment, his third leg had managed to override all his cowardice and try to court her. Unfortunately for him, her fiancé had not been too far off.
They had stripped him bare, ripping away his academy robes, exposing his scrawny, trembling body to the laughing crowd.
After that, they paraded him around like an animal on a leash, with his goods flopping uselessly as they prodded him with sticks, forcing him to crawl and beg.
Cheers had echoed, the women's scornful gaze burning into him as they dunked his head in a fountain, marking him forever as the Taur family's trash heir.
Just the recollection made Roy tremble in anger. It hadn't been him at the time, but Roy felt like beating those bastards to a pulp, including the dead Roy. 'How can someone be so pathetic?'
He clenched his fists, his nails biting into palms. Sure, he'd had his own rock-bottom moments back home—like Megan's slap.
But none of that compares to this level of degradation. No one had ever stripped him naked and marched him like livestock.
'Maybe it's just this world's cruelty is on another level,' he thought, navigating a turn past a suit of rusted armor.
'Honor, clans, all that bullshit—cross the wrong line, and they don't just reject you; they break you publicly.' A chill ran down his spine, but it fueled a grim resolve. There would be no more cowering from now on.
This body was his now, lean, tall, handsome enough to turn heads, a thick, 9-inch package to break women. The rest, he could still work on. He'd rewrite the script.
So yeah, he had been reborn as the useless heir of a doomed Clan.
Roy sighed, the sound swallowed by the quiet. There was nothing he could do about what the old Roy Taur had done.
The damage was etched into the family's memory and reputation. Regardless, he pressed on, the scent of polished wood and faint incense guiding him toward the dining hall.
Regardless, from now on, it seemed he would have no choice but to walk on eggshells.
Roy stopped in front of the dining hall doors. No one was there to open them.
The absence struck him harder than expected. His memories insisted that there used to be attendants stationed here, doormen. Now there was only silence.
He pushed the door open himself.
Inside, three people were already seated around a perfectly round table, already eating away. They hadn't waited for him. Not that he'd expected them to.
Roy stepped inside, the doors closing softly behind him.
His gaze drifted across the table— eyeing his so-called family.
His eyes were naturally drawn to the man at the head of the table. Under normal circumstances, Roy might have been tempted to look at the women first, but the man's presence demanded his attention.
His father sat with his back straight, eating with measured motions. He didn't look up. Not even for a moment.
The man shared Roy's dark curly black hair and sharp jawline; his features looked stern and unyielding. His clothing was simple but immaculately tailored—proof that pride still survived, even if wealth did not.
Roy swallowed instinctively and looked away.
His eyes moved to the pair of silver-haired women seated beside each other. His mother and sister.
And an explosion went off in his mind.