Ethan's life was a joke and a half.
The only problem was that he wasn't laughing. Not even a little bit.
If anything, his life was just a miserable slog that seemed highly dedicated to getting worse with each passing year. Growing up, the adults had sold him a very specific, highly fraudulent dream: Just wait until college, Ethan. College is the answer. You'll be partying every night, finding yourself, and drowning in girls.
That was a bloody, spectacular lie.
College wasn't a party. College was work, suffering, sleep deprivation, and then an extra side of suffering just in case you got too comfortable.
He didn't have time to party. He certainly didn't get any girls. In fact, he was fairly certain his dating life was a barren wasteland because he possessed the most painfully average face legally allowed by the universe.
He wasn't ugly, but if "background character #4" was a look, Ethan nailed it.
Now, halfway through his second year at Uni, he possessed nothing but a resounding, passionate hatred for his own existence.
Sitting on a bus that smelled vaguely of wet dog and despair, Ethan pulled out his phone and clicked the screen to continue the webtoon he had been bingeing for the last three days.
It was the same familiar premise: The main character was a total nobody, a complete loser. Then, by some stroke of magical fate, he got powers, became a ridiculously strong hero, gathered a harem of beautiful women who adored him, and lived a life of thrilling, self-fulfilling adventure.
Ethan stared at the vibrant panels.
It pissed him off.
He wanted to be the hero.
He wanted to be loved.
He wanted to go on grand adventures in fantasy worlds where his biggest problem was a dragon, not a thesis paper.
But no. He was here. On a damp bus. Four assignments behind. He hadn't slept in three days, and his dinner was going to be a lukewarm packet of ramen.
How fucking pathetic, he thought, letting his head thump against the cool glass of the bus window. Is this really it? Is this my whole life?
Those were the bitter thoughts he was wrestling with when he heard the blare of the horn.
It was deafening.
Ethan barely had time to turn his head and look out the window. He only saw the massive grill of the barreling, out-of-control semi-truck for a fraction of a second.
CRASH.
Glass shattered. Metal screamed. And then...
Black.
An endless, suffocating darkness swallowed him whole. Ethan felt himself floating in a mindless void, completely detached from a body he could no longer feel. He drifted for what felt like seconds or centuries, until a tiny prick of light appeared in the distance.
He pushed toward it. He didn't know how, but he willed his consciousness forward, clawing through the void, reaching for the light—
GASP!
Ethan shot up like a bullet, violently inhaling air as if he had been drowning.
He gripped the edges of a solid oak desk in front of him, his chest heaving, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. His hands were shaking violently.
"W-what..." he rasped, his voice sounding entirely too deep.
He looked down. Spilled across the dark wood of the desk was an ornate silver goblet, a puddle of foul-smelling purple liquid slowly dripping off the edge and staining the rug below.
Ethan scrambled backward, his chair tipping over with a loud clatter as he took in the room around him.
It didn't look like his cramped dorm room.
It didn't look like any room he had ever seen in his life.
It was massive, adorned with velvet drapes, towering bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes, and walls lined with crossed swords and glowing crystalline lamps. It looked like something straight out of a...
"No," Ethan whispered, his eyes wide. "It can't be. Surely not."
He moved quickly, his legs feeling strangely long and powerful. He spotted a full-length, gold-rimmed mirror in the corner of the room and threw himself in front of it.
He froze.
The man staring back at him was not Ethan. Well, not the average Ethan.
The man in the mirror was taller, broader, and possessed a head of perfectly styled, midnight-black hair. His jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and his striking, piercing crimson eyes practically radiated superiority.
He was handsome, but in a way that was inherently arrogant. He had the kind of face that looked like it insulted poor people for fun.
Resting Villain Face.
"Who the hell is this Abercrombie & Fitch looking bastard?" Ethan thought. "Because it sure as hell isn't me!"
Then, suddenly, a chime echoed right next to his ear.
[DING!]
[WELCOME, Host!]
Ethan's head swiveled instantly. Hovering right beside his shoulder was a tiny, glowing, chibi-style woman with translucent wings and a smile that held way, way too much enthusiasm.
[The Transmigration was a resounding success! You are now in the glorious body of Ethan No—]
SMACK.
Before his brain could even process what was happening, Ethan's hand moved purely on survival instinct. He swatted the floating woman with the open palm of his hand, moving with a speed and physical power he could usually never muster.
The tiny fairy let out a squeak as she was launched across the room like a baseball, spinning wildly through the air before she slammed face-first into the stone wall.
Splat.
Slowly, dramatically, she slid down the wall, a cartoonish circle of stars spinning above her tiny head.
"What the fuck are you?!" Ethan shouted, scrambling backward and raising his fists like a boxer, putting distance between himself and the tiny creature.
He watched as the dazed chibi shook her head, puffed out her cheeks, and then suddenly poofed into a cloud of sparkles.
A split second later, she reappeared directly beside his right ear.
Before Ethan could react, he felt the tiny woman rear back and absolutely hammer her minuscule fist into the back of his skull.
"OW! MOTHERFUC—" Ethan grabbed the back of his head, dropping to one knee and wincing in genuine agony. He blinked away tears, wondering how something the size of an apple could hit with the concussive force of a flying brick. "What the hell was that for?!"
[I'm your Soul Guide, you absolute idiot!] the chibi yelled, floating down to glare him right in the eyes, her hands resting on her tiny hips. [Why the hell are you hitting me?!]
"Because I don't know what a Soul Guide is! And I don't know where I am! You spawned in my blind spot!"
[That is exactly what I was about to tell you before you violently assaulted me and launched me into the masonry!]
The tiny guide huffed, smoothing down her glowing dress to regain her composure. She crossed her arms and cleared her throat.
[Allow me to restart. You died on Earth. Squashed by a truck. Very tragic, very messy. However, your soul was selected for transmigration. You have been placed into the body of the noble scion, Ethan Nox, who coincidentally just died ten minutes ago from drinking that poisoned wine on your desk.]
Ethan slowly lowered his hands from his head. He looked at the chibi. He looked at the spilled purple poison. He looked back at his incredible, god-tier reflection in the mirror.
His breath caught in his throat.
'Oh my God.'
The shock melted away, instantly replaced by a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated euphoria.
"I got Isekai'd."
Truck-kun had actually delivered. It wasn't just a webtoon trope. It was real! He got the one thing he had been dreaming of on that miserable, depressing bus!
A massive grin stretched across his arrogant, handsome face. He was in a fantasy world. He had a System Guide. He had a new, insanely good-looking body.
"I get to be the hero."
"I get to be the chosen one! The guy that everyone loves, the one that is celebrated across the lands, the one who builds an unstoppable harem of beautiful—"
[Yeah, um, about that...] the guide interrupted, her enthusiastic demeanor suddenly shifting into something highly uncomfortable. She nervously twiddled her thumbs. [You should probably know that this body—]
Knock. Knock.
The heavy oak doors to the bedroom suddenly pushed open. A maid dressed in a crisp, black-and-white uniform stepped in, her expression completely devoid of emotion.
Ethan quickly stood up straight, brushing off his expensive clothes, ready to play the part of the noble, charming lord.
"My Lord," the maid said, her tone as dry as a desert. "Please get ready. Your attendance is required in exactly one hour."
Ethan flashed her his most devastating, newly-acquired handsome smile. "Yeah, yeah, of course. No problem."
He puffed his chest out. A meeting? An assembly? A grand quest being handed to him by the King himself?
"But just so we're on the same page," Ethan said, leaning casually against the desk. "Attendance for what, exactly?"
The maid blinked. She looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Are you serious, sir?"
"Yes," Ethan said, his smile faltering slightly. "What am I attending?"
The maid let out a heavy, tired sigh.
"Your trial and execution, My Lord."
Ethan froze. The handsome smile slowly, agonizingly slid off his face. The room was dead silent save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.
He stared at the maid. He stared at his tiny Soul Guide, who was currently whistling and looking at the ceiling, refusing to make eye contact.
He stayed completely silent for a very, very long time.
Then:
"WHAT THE FUCK."