In a dark, decrepit room cloaked in silence, a young man lay motionless, breathless. From the paleness of his skin, it was clear he had been unconscious for a long time.

If nothing extraordinary happened, he would surely die here—alone and unnoticed in this forgotten place.

But then, something unexpected occurred. His eyelids trembled. Moments later, he gasped for air and coughed violently.

The young man kept wheezing in pain, as if he'd just been pulled from drowning.

It was only natural—his body had grown cold, deprived of the oxygen it so desperately needed.

No one knew how much time had passed until, finally, the skinny young man stopped gasping and opened his eyes.

But instead of relief or joy at having escaped death, he looked around with dazed confusion, like someone seeing a foreign world for the first time.

He looked shocked, struggling to speak. Yet whether from exhaustion or sheer disbelief, his mouth merely quivered without a sound.

At last, after a long pause, he managed to utter a weak, bewildered question:

"Where... am I?"

Looking around the tattered room, styled like something out of medieval Europe, Clayton began to doubt: was this some kind of cruel joke or an incredibly vivid dream?

He remembered playing a game briefly to unwind from his overwhelming workload.

But who would've guessed that by simply closing his eyes for a moment, he'd wake up in this strange place?

Just as Clayton tried to think more deeply, a sudden stabbing pain pierced his head.

"Arghhh!"

Along with the pain, foreign memories flooded his mind, leaving him even more disoriented.

These memories felt disturbingly real, as if they were truly his own. In them, he was the son of a warm and responsible single father.

Life had been simple but happy—until a strange illness struck him. His father did everything he could to find a cure. Though he eventually succeeded and saved his son, the father died from injuries sustained during the search—and from catching the same disease.

There was nothing particularly strange about the story, except for one thing:

In those memories, the father possessed unnatural powers—summoning rain, shooting water bullets from his fingers, and other fantastical feats.

The more he thought about it, the more Clayton feared he might be suffering from some kind of rare mental disorder.

Trying to calm himself, he looked down at his own hands—thin, dry, and pale. When he felt the cold weakness of his frail body, a chill crept up his spine.

One word crossed his mind: transmigration.

Yes, being transported to another world was the only explanation that made sense. Still, Clayton couldn't bring himself to fully accept it.

As he tried to sort through those foreign memories, loud noises erupted from outside.

"Clay!"

"Clay, get out here!"

"I know you're in there! Don't play dead on me!"

Harsh voices and pounding fists echoed from beyond the door.

Clayton froze, unsure whether to open the door. He was in no condition to deal with strangers. One wrong move, and he could lose his life.

Before he could decide, the door was kicked open.

Several burly men stormed into the dilapidated house, their appearances rough and disheveled.

Clayton recognized them—they were city officers from the outer district, usually tasked with petty matters like rent and security taxes.

"Heh, kid! Are you planning to fight back? When your father was alive, even he didn't dare ignore me!"

Clayton didn't like what he heard, but he knew he had to tread carefully.

Cough… "I'm sorry, Brother Tiger… cough… it's not that I didn't want to greet you, but as you can see, I'm still in terrible shape. Even though I've recovered from that cursed illness, my body is still weak. And… my father's death has left me completely shattered…" he said with a pained tone.

Tiger looked at Clayton's pale, frail figure. His anger lessened slightly, though he still spoke with a threatening tone.

"Fine. I'll let it slide this time. But don't blame me if you pull this stunt again."

Clayton quickly nodded in agreement. He just wanted this encounter to end as soon as possible.

Tiger then got to the point.

"Hey, kid. You still got money?"

Clayton hesitated.

"No, Brother Tiger. After everything that happened, my family is practically bankrupt," he answered honestly.

Tiger didn't seem surprised.

"Here's the deal: your father's housing tax is only covered until the end of the year. Judging by your situation, I'd suggest selling this house. That way, you can pay off the tax and avoid getting kicked out of the city."

Clayton understood immediately: Tiger was after his father's house.

"Brother Tiger… it's not that I don't want to sell… but this house is all I have left of him. So… I'm reluctant," he replied softly.

Tiger didn't push it. He was confident Clayton would eventually give in.

After a short conversation, Tiger and his men left.

Clayton exhaled deeply and moved to close the door, hoping to calm his racing mind. But just before the door shut, a pudgy hand stopped it.

"Hey, Clayton! I heard you were sick. Feeling better now?"

Clayton turned to see a round-faced, greasy man grinning with a disgusting smile.

A sudden flash of foreign memories hit him.

"Manager Belly… what brings a distinguished man like you to my humble shack?" Clayton asked sarcastically.

Belly smirked.

"Well, well. Didn't expect you to be speaking this fluently after just a few days."

Clayton regretted sounding so sharp—unlike Tiger, Belly knew him far too well and would notice any changes.

"Little Clay, are you still managing those few hectares of your family's farmland? Don't forget about the wheat rent due at the end of the year."

Clayton's thoughts jumped to his father's farm. His father had been an excellent farmer. But he… he clearly wasn't. Not with this weak body.

"Ah… I…"

Seeing Clayton's confusion, Belly seemed pleased.

"Come on, just sell your dad's house. Start fresh. I'll even give you a two-percent discount on the rent."

Then it hit him—Belly wanted the house too. Clayton gave the same excuse he'd told Tiger.

Belly just smiled, clearly convinced Clayton would cave in eventually.

"Alright, I won't push. But think about it. Your father's gone. Managing that land won't be easy. And… unexpected things can happen…"

Clayton didn't fully grasp what that meant, but he politely saw Belly out.

After Belly left, Clayton stepped back inside, overwhelmed with anxiety.

From the neighboring house, a young woman seemed about to greet him, but quickly held back when her father shot her a stern glare. She could only watch Clayton walk away in silence, her expression full of concern.