Khan's consciousness drifted through a dark, cold and boundless void. The bone-deep pain from the fatal stab wounds in the alleyway had completely vanished.
Death was, surprisingly, very peaceful. A fucked-up life, left with nothing until the bitter end, was finally set free.
"Hey... wake... wake up... ya... punk..."
A muffled, echoing sound from far away suddenly reached his ears in the midst of that absolute silence.
'...What is that..? Is that the voice of a God? Am I going to the afterlife? Is it heaven? Or hell... I'm pretty sure it's hell, considering what I've done my whole life.' Khan thought to himself as he tries to focus his remaining slivers of consciousness to listen to the voice, awaiting the judgement.
"Wake the fuck up, damn it! Don't ya dare drop dead in my fucking shop, ya gonna stink up the whole place!!!"
Smack! Smack!
A sudden, stinging pain spread across both of his cheeks. Khan frowned, slowly opening his eyes. The radiant, divine halo he had imagined was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a face, right there, inches away from his.
Not a face. A nightmare wearing skin.
With the color of spoiled pond scum stretched over lumps and weeping warts, long, pointed ears caked in grime and a grotesque, hooked nose. Its beady yellow eye glared at him, full of irritation.
Khan's soul left his body for half a second.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!"
He left out a loud, horrific scream he never did, nor he thought he would in his entire life. It was a pure, undiluted, primal terror given voice.
The creature's beady eye went wide as dinner plate. Its entire body jerked backward so hard it nearly fell over its own oversized feet.
"EEEEEEEEEEKKKKKK—!!!"
Its own shriek was shrill, wet, and somehow even more offensive to the ears than Khan's had been — like a dying rat being stepped on by a boot made of broken glass.
The creature's scream hit Khan like a slap. His brain, still half-asleep and now fully convinced he was being murdered by the ugliest thing in existence, did the only logical thing it could.
And... He screamed louder.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—!!!"
This one cracked at the end, raw and ragged, echoing so violently that dusts rained from the ceiling. Khan scrambled backward on all fours, his heart hammered so hard he could hear it in his ears.
"Oh, my poor heart... WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YA, BRAT!?!?" The creature clutched its chest as it screamed back, voice shrill and indignant.
Khan violently gasped. His hands reached up to wipe his face. But something seems wrong.
The rough, calloused feeling of a forty-year-old man who had weathered countless ups and downs, suddenly vanished. Khan froze, slowly lowering his hands before bringing both palms right in front of his eyes.
Under the dim light of the building, what appeared were not the hands covered in small scars, fingertips calloused from stressful typing, or skin dulled by endless all-nighters. These were slender hands with smooth skin, flexible joints, and were perfectly clean. They looked soft, yet harbored an unmistakable, surging youthful energy.
In a panic, Khan lifted his shirt up to look down at his chest. His saggy belly — the result of endless days drowning in excessive alcohol and crushing work pressure — was gone. In its place was a toned physique, with flat, supple muscles brimming with vitality. A perfect pair of lungs that didn't ache. A heart hammering with raw, limitless energy. No creaking knees, no permanent hangover fog, no decades of accumulated damage.
He hastily touched his face; the wrinkles around his eyes and the deep stress lines on his forehead had somehow completely smoothed out. His jawline was sharp and angular, without a single blemish.
Khan's mind felt like it has been blown up. This muscle tone, this skin, this sensation of hot blood fiercely coursing through his veins...
He has returned to his young self. He has returned to the time when he was at his absolute physical peak, long before he was utterly ground down by numbers, crushing losses, and the sheer cruelty of life. The sheer shock rendered Khan speechless, leaving him frozen in place for a few seconds.
The feeling was overwhelming. Its as if he had just woke up from a nightmare. Its as if all of his past life were just a wild afternoon summer dream.
"Ya deaf or somethin', brat?!" The creature growled, still heaving with ragged breath.
'...What? I could understand its language..?'
"... Where is this?" Khan turns his gaze to the creature. Suddenly, a blue terminal appeared on its head.
[Name: Zik]
[Race: Lesser Goblin]
[Sex: Male]
[Level: 42]
[Status: Irritated, Shocked, About to reach his crossbow under the counter]
'...Huh? Goblin?' Khan couldn't believe in his eyes as he reads the blue terminal box hovering on the goblin's bald head.
"Where?! My fucking shop, of course! Where the hell did ya come from anyway?!" Zik squints his eyes, hands on hips with ragged breaths.
"...I'm wondering about that too." Khan muttered under his breath. To his surprise, the goblin understood his language too.
"...Then get up! This is a slum pawnshop, not some charity guild for ya to lie around and play victim!"
The goblin then returned to his counter, take a sip of cheap liquor and continue polishing a battle-axe while staring at him.
"Why did ya scream anyway? Shocked by my handsome face?"
"...For a moment, I thought you gonna give me a welcome-to-hell kiss with such... Horrendous interface of yours."
"That's rude, brat! I have a wife with three kids, just so ya know." Zik looks at himself in the mirror, his voice proudful.
Khan slowly gets up. He was wearing simple, dirty clothes that definitely not from the modern Earth he knew. He looks around the pawnshop. It was packed floor-to-ceiling with rusted swords, glowing potions in every toxic shade of poison, and artifacts that hummed with faint, hungry power.
"Anyway, what's that... blue box hovering above your head?" Khan pointed to the terminal.
"What blue box? There's nothing above my head. Ya hit yours coming through or what?" Zik raised an eyebrow as he looked above before turning back to Khan with concerning eyes.
'He couldn't see it? But it's showing his informations and statuses like an ID card. Wait, don't tell me...' Khan starts to remember some anime scenes he watched while monitoring the market. The ones where the main characters possessed something called 'The System' and tremendously benefited from it.
"...Hey greenie, wanna see some magic?" Khan smirked.
"Wh-What the— Don't ya dare shooting spells insi—!" Zik never got to finish his sentence.
"Skills!!!"
Khan dramatically raises his hand.
"..."
Nothing appeared.
'Eh..? That's weird...' He sweated.
"Item box!!!"
"..."
"Inventory! Spatial Backpack! Skill slot! ABRACADABRA!!!!!" He tried to scream every words that came to mind, but nothing happened as if the system was pulling a prank on him.
"...So? Where's your 'magic'?" Zik leaned over the counter, mocking.
"...I think I'm out of mana..?" Khan slowly puts his hand down before looking at himself in the mirror. His striking young appearance once again reminds him of the bizarre phenomenon he's experiencing.
Another blue box terminal appeared before him.
[Name: Khan V. Sokolov]
[Race: Human???]
[Level: ???]
[Age: 18]
[Status: Confused, Slightly embarrassed]
[Note: True Earthling — Unable to gather or manipulate mana.]
[Just silently think 'System', you dimwit.]
"...Oh."