Charles dragged himself to university that morning, feeling like his body was made of lead.
He'd spent the entire night glued to his laptop, grinding through an RPG, raiding dungeons, and leveling up until exhaustion finally won.
Collapsing onto his bed, still fully clothed, he shut his eyes.
'Goddamn it, I'd rather drop dead than take that exam tomorrow…' was the last thing Charles thought before sleep claimed him.
And when he opened his eyes again, everything was… different.
The air smelled of dust and old wood. The floor beneath his feet was smooth stone, worn by time.
Charles was crouched, holding a damp rag, as if he'd been scrubbing the floor.
'Huh…? How the heck did I end up here…?'
He stared at the rag, baffled, then glanced around.
He was in a vast hall with towering columns and a vaulted ceiling that let dusty beams of light filter through.
In the distance, he heard noises—shouts, the clash of metal, and the roar of a crowd. They came from what looked like an arena, barely visible from where he stood, probably some kind of fighting pit.
"What? Are people brawling out there? Where the hell am I?" Charles mumbled, slowly standing up.
Inspecting his hands, he noticed they weren't quite his own. They were rougher, calloused in ways he didn't recognize. His clothes weren't his either—a plain white tunic, stained with dirt.
Even though this place was unfamiliar, he had a gut feeling this was a servant's outfit.
The commotion from the arena pulled his attention again.
"Come on!"
"Hit 'em with everything you got!"
"Block that strike, for crying out loud!"
The excited voices and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground echoed in the distance.
'Seriously… why are they yelling like it's a wrestling match?'
Charles took a step toward the noise, trying to piece together where he was, when a sharp voice cut through.
"Hey, Rian! What are you doing just standing there?"
An older man, maybe in his forties, approached. His short, graying hair and sun-weathered skin gave him a rugged look. His eyes were stern, and he wore a tunic like Charles's, but with a badge shaped like a tree stump that screamed "I'm in charge."
Charles blinked at him, thrown off by the name. He didn't react, just kept glancing around like he hadn't heard a thing.
The man's brow furrowed, clearly annoyed.
"Hey, Rian Cole, stop wandering around like a clueless moron and get to work!" he barked, jabbing a finger at him.
'Wait… that's my name?' Charles thought, a chill running down his spine.
Rian Cole.
He didn't recall any character by that name in the games he'd played recently.
So… who the heck was he supposed to be controlling?
As Charles rummaged through his memories, he realized something unsettling—his memories of friends and family from the real world were getting fuzzy.
This spooked him, but then a wild thought hit.
'Am I reincarnated in a novel's world? Or maybe trapped in a game?'
But… he didn't remember dying.
He'd just gone to bed!
'Maybe… I had a heart attack in my sleep?' Charles mused, almost chuckling at how ridiculous it sounded.
Sure, he'd griped about skipping that exam, but he didn't expect to end up here.
Shaking his head, he looked at the man.
"Sorry, what do you need me to do…?" Charles asked, trying to sound chill.
The man huffed.
"Keep cleaning, Rian. Do your job."
"And what exactly am I cleaning?" Charles pressed, still totally lost.
The man pointed at the floor with an impatient wave.
"That, you dimwit. It's filthy! Scrub it!"
And, well, the guy wasn't wrong.
The floor they were standing on was a mess, caked with dirt.
Charles bit his tongue, not wanting to argue. He had no clue what was going on, and the last thing he needed was trouble in this weird place.
Crouching down, he started scrubbing the floor with the rag, but a thought sparked in his mind.
'Hold up, if I'm in another world… shouldn't I have a status window or something?'
In every game and novel he knew, protagonists got systems—cool interfaces that gave them skills or world info.
Charles closed his eyes, picturing a glowing screen, but…
Nothing.
Maybe he had to say it out loud?
Frowning, he muttered under his breath, "Status window…"
For a split second, the air in front of him shimmered. A faint blue light flickered, forming a wobbly, floating panel that looked like it might vanish any moment.
In glowing letters, a message appeared:
[Error]
Charles blinked, stunned.
"Error? What do you mean, error?" he whispered.
'Wasn't the system supposed to help me? What kind of world gives me a broken system?'
"Hey, Rian, hurry it up! Stop scrubbing the same spot like a zombie!" the man yelled from down the hall.
Charles shot him a mental death glare.
'Stupid grumpy old man,' he thought, gripping the rag tighter.