One month prior to the king's poisoning.

It was to be an uneventful night; the palace wore a silent, dead glamour. Far in the other wing, the fragile fourth prince, Aedan, lay on his great bed, his breathing soft and shallow. His whole life had been subject to sickness, and nobody expected great things from him.

Behind closed doors, the servants spoke about his fate; some were filled with pity for him, yet far more hailed their release from the millstone he represented. But in that night, as he lay there, his heart quit silently. The world around him remained oblivious to the life that was silently slipping away.

Miles away, across dimensions, another life was ending, though not so quietly.

Haruto's hands shook as he stared at the e-mail on his screen. 150 million yen gone. His face distended with anger, heart racing so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest, his mind felt raked by betrayal. Slamming his fist onto the desk, the force vibrating up his arm, his computer monitor flickered from the impact.

"How. how could this have happened?

The betrayal lingered, stinging his skin like a thousand needles. The fan—someone he had confided in, someone he had trusted—had scammed him, stealing everything away. In an instant, his hard-earned prize money, a reward for a decade of relentless dedication, had vanished. He had poured years into perfecting his craft in Kingdom's Fall, ascending the ranks to become number one in Japan. His name had once held weight in the gaming world, but now… it felt as though it was all for nothing.

"Why? Why did I believe her?!" he screamed aloud, his hoarse voice reverberating in the room. He reached to call her back with his phone, but it betrayed him with trembling hands. It slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a sharp crack-the screen fracturing like pieces of his pride.

It was finally sinking in, no amount of anger could change what was now fact. He was alone. Isolated. All those years, all that work, had equated to nothing.

The walls of his apartment seemed to close in on him. Sinking to the floor, he breathed raggedly. Frustration welled up as tears in his eyes, but he refused to cry. Crying was weak. He clung to his teeth; his chest heaved while anger and helplessness battled inside him. In the soft glow of his screen, he caught a quick glimpse of himself-his sunken eyes, his pale complexion. What had he sacrificed? Friends, family, everything-just so he could be good in a game.

And now, it had all been taken away.

The pain constricted his chest, sharpening to a driven point. His vision blurred; a strangled gasp rose from his throat. He clutched at his chest, his body shaking violently. No, no, no… His mind was racing as the pain engulfed him. His breath came in short, desperate gasps as the world around him faded to black.

Haruto awoke abruptly, his body soaked in sweat. Yet, something was amiss—deeply amiss. His limbs felt inexplicably lighter, and the familiar ache in his chest had vanished. The hands before him, delicate and pale, were foreign to him. He blinked, attempting to dispel the fog clouding his mind.

The ceiling above him was unfamiliar: some great canopy with rich drapery.

The room that enveloped him was opulent, unlike anything he'd ever come across in the real world. A wave of panic washed over him as he sprang upright, his head reeling with disorientation. He glanced down at his form-small and delicate, swathed in silk pajamas that seemed far too exquisite for the life he'd lived.

His reflection in the mirror showed a face that was not his-young, with a delicate feature framed by unruly silver hair. And his eyes then, bright unnerving red eyes stared at him.

This.this isn't me. Where am I?

He struggled to his feet, his legs trembling, barely able to support his weight. A thousand questions raced through his mind, but none found answers. It was as if his head were adrift in a thick fog. This place was known to him-it was weirdly familiar.

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His eyes fell upon a polished dresser, ornate and antique, embellished with symbols that tugged at the recesses of his memory. He stood frozen.

No. This cannot be.

His mind reeled in disbelief as realization washed over him. This was no mere ostentatious palace; this was the world of Kingdom's Fall, the very game he had mastered with skill these last ten years. And the body he was in… no, it couldn't be. Yet, it was.

I am Aedan, Fourth Prince.

His breath caught in his throat. Prince Aedan—considered one of the most hated and most troublesome characters in the whole of the game. The weak, fragile prince, doomed to die before he ever even had a chance to leave his mark upon the world. No matter how well a player did, Aedan was always doomed to a bad ending on every route imaginable.

Haruto-or rather, Aedan-stumbled backward, crumpling onto the edge of the bed. His mind whirled with questions: How could this be happening? Why was he here? And most crucially, how on earth was he supposed to survive?

His reverie was shattered by the soft creak of the door swinging open. A maid stepped inside, her movements precise and her face an impenetrable mask. With practiced efficiency, she placed a tray of food and medicine before him, hardly affording him a glance.

Yet Haruto—aedan, now—was aware of it. The subtle glimmer of disdain in her eyes, the way she held herself with barely disguised contempt. She thinks me weak, he comprehended his gaze sharpening. Everyone here must feel that way.

She approached him, and her keen eyes caught his peculiar demeanour. "Your Highness?" she asked with a strained politeness in her voice. "Is everything alright?

Aedan twitched at the sound of her voice, startled. This body he was in Aedan's frail form-was so alien to him. His limbs were weak and his movements slow. He tried to pull himself together, to wear the composed aspect of a prince, but failed utterly. The maid lifted an eyebrow and looked unimpressed.

She took a step closer, her face showing a mixture of minor concern and annoyance. As she did, something unexpected occurred: a glowing panel appeared above her, floating serenely in the air. It looked like the stat system from Kingdom's Fall.

Elise, it read. All her stats were available for anyone to see—Strength: F, Magic: F, Diplomacy: F, Leadership: F, Literature: E, Ambition: D.

Aedan blinked, staring at the panel in utter incredulity. "This can't be real. Am I really seeing the game's stat system… in real life?

"Your Highness?" the maid repeated, a growing impatience edging into her tone.

Aedan cleared his mind. He needed time to sort things out in his head. "I… I'm fine," he said, trying to make that sound convincing.

The maid eyed him suspiciously but, with a slight shrug, turned to leave. She clearly thought nothing of him, just as everyone in the palace must have. They all see me as weak, useless.

But then it hit him.

I wasn't Aedan; I wasn't the same Aedan who was supposed to meet his demise. I was Haruto, the best player in Kingdom's Fall. And if there was one thing Haruto did well, it was coming out on top.

No sooner was the maid gone than Aedan leaped from the bed, afire with a new surge of resolve. I have a month. He knew how the game was played. In a month, the king—his father—would be poisoned. There would be civil war not long afterward. It did not matter that nobody respected him. He knew something no one else did.

His body might have been weak, but his mind was sharp. He could outsmart them all; he had to.

With a surge of determination, Aedan clenched his fists, his crimson eyes blazing. I will not die like Aedan did in that game. I will be strong enough. I will rise.

He had scanned the room, his eyes narrowing as he weighed up what was to come. He needed to gain some allies; he needed to gain some power. Most of all-he needed to show he wasn't that breakable boy that everybody thought him to be.