There was nothing special about my life.
Not the kind of "nothing special" you hear from humble geniuses or undercover prodigies. No I mean the real kind. The kind of bland existence where even if I dropped dead on the street, no one would notice until my body started to smell.
I wasn't bullied. I wasn't admired. I wasn't even disliked.
I was... filler.
Twenty-one years on this earth. Went to school. Failed to get into college. Worked dead-end jobs. Ate noodles more times than I'd like to admit. No girlfriend, no rivals, no dreams. Just me, my second-hand phone, and a bunch of fantasy novels I drowned myself in every night.
If escapism was a skill, I'd be max level.
That night, I had just finished rereading a novel called Rise of the Inhuman King. A brutal fantasy story — magic, monsters, bloodlines, betrayal. You know the type. But there was something addictive about watching the protagonist crush everything in his path.
It was the third time I'd read it.
I closed my phone, sighed, and stepped outside to buy cheap cigarettes. I smoked when I couldn't sleep. It didn't fix anything, but the burn in my throat reminded me I was still there.
Then everything went black.
Just like that. No blaring truck. No collapsing building. No beautiful woman descending from the skies with sparkles and angel wings.
Just black.
Later, I'd find out I died in a drug bust gone wrong. A stray bullet, they said. Wrong place, wrong time. Wrong life, honestly.
But I didn't stay dead.
---
I woke up to silk sheets and a splitting headache.
A chandelier hung over my head and the air smelled of incense and something floral. My body felt weird — not wrong, just... unfamiliar. Lighter. Younger, maybe?
Then I heard the voice:
"Young master Edwin, are you awake?"
Edwin?
I sat up slowly, hands trembling. A maid stood at the edge of the bed, head bowed, wearing a uniform straight out of those fantasy novels.
What the actual hell...?
And that's when it hit me.
I knew this room. I knew this face. I knew this name.
This was the world of Rise of the Inhuman King.
And I had been transmigrated into it. Not as the hero. Not even as a villain.
I was Edwin Velloran. A minor noble. A forgettable side character. A name that only appeared in Chapter 12 — just before he died.