“Young Master!”

Another, different voice came from the door as a stranger appeared before him. He watched with wide eyes as the man approached before grabbing him and pulling him along, pushing him onto the bed once they reached it.

“You need to rest! Your body is still recovering!” The stranger near screamed at him, making him blink in confusion. Confusion and pain.

“Recovering…?” He asked, in the voice that wasn’t his, and watched as it was the stranger’s turn to widen his eyes.

“Do you… Happen to not recall what transpired before you woke up?”

He paused, looking into the other’s eyes, trying to get even a hint of a hint, trying to see what’s going on, what happened at all to make him like this.

“No.” Was his simple answer. He did not know. How could he know?

“I see. Well,” the man grumbled, just loud enough to be heard by Azel, “do you happen to remember anything about yourself at all?”

He didn’t.

“Of course I do.”

The lie fell out of his lips as if it were waiting for the day it would be released into the world.

“Ah, yes, yes! Of course!” The other scrambled, before clearing his throat and looking away. “Well, to summarize, you were—”

“Pardon me, I’m here to serve the food you requested?” Another voice came from outside, and as the man perked up, Azel raised an eyebrow.

“... Right, right…” He nodded, rushing over to open the door. Should he be questioning this? But if he did, that’d just make people suspicious of him, right? He didn’t know the right answer.

For now, he decided as he tapped and brushed his pants, it was probably a good idea to at least pretend. He couldn’t go back on his word, after all.

“I’ll leave you to eat. It’ll help you gather your strength. I shall be back once I inform His Grace of your recovery.” The bear-like man said, although he still didn’t know what it was, he was supposed to be recovering from, and someone in what looked to be a maid costume took his place.

With little fanfare, the lid to the tray was lifted. With less fanfare than that, he couldn’t help but look over it all in both disgust and curiosity.

He was hungry, sure, but not… Desperate.

The only thing that looked edible was the apple.

“You must be hungry. It has been days since you’ve eaten, after all.” Came the maid’s voice, light and innocent, as if this was common.

“Please enjoy.”

Light, innocent, and yet laced with superiority. It made him sick. He glanced at the maid, who simply stared back with an all too casual smile. Perhaps this was normal for… Whoever this was. It wasn’t at all for him. Was this how they treated patients?

He felt like a nuisance, rather than a patient.

But this body was starving, regardless of who it belonged to. He needed to eat something. Clearing his throat and taking the apple from the other thing he hesitates to call food, he bit into it.

It was sour.

So sour it almost hurt to eat.

It was still food regardless. Choking it down and not feeling full at all, he placed the core back onto the tray and glanced back at the maid.

She looked amused.

That made his tongue curl more than the apple’s bite did.

“You can take the rest back. I’m not that hungry after all.”

Without so much as a word, the maid picked the tray back up, mumbling something about not throwing stuff again, before wheeling the cart away and out of his room.

“What the Hell was that about?” He asked the air. As expected, he got no reply. Instead, he let out a sigh before leaning back into his bed, staring back up at the unfamiliar ceiling and pulling his hair in front of his eye. White, completely different from his previous brown. Long, unlike his choppy bangs. His frown grew deeper before he shook his head.

“They called me Azel. Is that… Who this body belongs to, then?” He whispered, letting his hair fall from his fingertips before his eyes moved over to the desk, catching the book that was moved to the side.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

With great effort, he stood up once again. He grabbed it once more, flipping it open. Unrecognizable text flooded his view, and he was almost tempted to close the book and drop it, but something made him pause.

Although the characters were foreign, he could still understand them.

To Azel Adair,

Today, I witnessed one of the butlers break a vase. It was an accident, so I

wasn’t going to reprimand him for it. It’s not like my word had any sway, anyways.

He’s also been kind to me. Or, as kind as someone like me deserves.

Regardless, it looks like I was blamed for it all. I wonder what happened this time.

House arrest for a month. This month will be a relaxing one indeed.

Perhaps the next letter will have better news.

Regards, Azel Adair.

His lips turned into a frown as he walked the book back to the bed, sitting down and taking in all the information it was giving. Much like the first page, it seems to be a journal of sorts, where Azel Adair would write down letters for himself. Much the same, it seems as though mistreatment and abuse was a common thread in the letters.

Azel Adair lived a pathetic life, taken in by nobility and tossed aside by people who didn’t deserve his grace. It all felt so familiar. It all sickened him to the bone.

And here he was. In his body. Going to live his life.

Still, at least he could glean some details about the world from it. Like he thought, he was now in a bit of a fantastical world. Kingdoms, nobility, it was all unknown to him.

Soon to be known, he supposed, if he didn’t find a way back to his original body.

Still, at least he saw something that caught his interest. Magic. He’d read Azel’s mentions of magic lessons; although, it seemed like the teacher never shows up.

That didn’t matter, though. Magic existed. That was enough for him to latch onto.

About midway through the journal of letters, Azel heard the distinct footsteps of someone approaching the door. Closing the book and shoving it under his pillow, Azel quickly lied down, taking deep breaths in and out as the pain of the movement coursed through him.

This body was weak. Malnutrition, starvation, and abuse. He wondered how Azel survived until now.

The door opened, revealing the strange older man from before.

“I see you’ve finished eating, Young Master.” He spoke. Azel wondered if he could even call that having eaten anything.

He nodded, sitting back up as his breath hitched. He needed to fix this, and soon.

“I’ll ask again, what… Happened to me to make me like this?” He asked, pausing for a moment before tacking on, “and who are you?”

“Right, right! I’m the doctor employed by Duke Adair to take care of you after you were found collapsed due to overuse of magic. You must feel sore, correct?” The doctor asked, and Azel nodded in affirmation. “That’s what happens when you try to use magic your body isn’t prepared for.” He explained, looking over him with curious eyes.

“And quite the magic it must have been to take you out of commission for a whole week. Do you not have any recollection of what kind of magic you may have casted?” He was asked, bringing a hand up to grab at his face and turn him left and right. Irritated, Azel’s own hand moved up to slap away the doctor’s, almost on instinct.

“Don’t touch me.” He spat out as if it were poison before his eyes widened, and he put a hand over his mouth. Did… He really say that? He looked over the doctor, worried about his reaction.

And yet, it looked like he was expecting it. Azel remembered the letters, detailing his own terrible personality because of the abuse.

He cleared his throat.

“I told you; I don’t remember anything about the incident. Shouldn’t it be your job to figure that out?” He asked, putting a little more bite into his words as he got a sigh in response.

“All I can do is tell you not to cast any intense magic anymore. It’s impossible to go back in time and figure out what you’ve casted, after all, and without you remembering, it’s impossible to tell.” The doctor explained, making Azel’s frown deepen.

“… Right. Well.” Azel sighed, crossing his legs and looking over to the side. “I’ll be careful, I guess.”

“It’s not a matter of guessing. Intense magic at your age is never a good idea. I understand your birthday was just a few days ago and you’re eager to catch up to your brothers in magic proficiency, but it’s no reason to overexert yourself.” The doctor advised, making Azel bite his lip. So, he had brothers. He didn’t remember anything being written about them in the book of letters. Azel wondered if that was on purpose.

“Tell me, how old am I?” Azel asked, a bit of a bite to his words. The doctor blinked, clearing his throat.

“You’re fourteen, young master.” Was the doctor’s response. So, Azel was fourteen. Putting that thought in the back of his mind, he continued, needing to keep up the façade.

“And you’re telling me that I can’t even cast a simple spell without having to worry about exerting myself while my brothers surpass me? Are you telling me to limit myself just because I collapsed once?” He asked. The words felt foreign on his tongue—almost as foreign as the tongue itself did—and he was worried that he wasn’t putting enough force into his words. But upon seeing the doctor’s reaction, Azel froze.

It wasn’t fear. Or anger at being provoked. It was confusion.

“Of course not. But I am suggesting that you take your time to recover, and slowly learn how to control your magic. You are, after all…” He trailed off, causing Azel to cross his arms.

“I am…?” Azel repeated, making the doctor clear his throat once more.

“Well… Anyways, you shouldn’t be skipping your meals. Although you may have fallen out of favor with the Duke, that’s no reason to go on a hunger strike.” The doctor said, changing the subject. Azel bit his lip harder, taking a deep breath in.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, remembering that any time Azel in the past tried to bring up the poor quality of food, he was never believed.

“Good. Now, I’ll let the Duke know you’re recovering. If you ever need me, simply ask one of the servants for Doctor Gerard.”

With that, the bear-like man turned and left, leaving Azel in his room alone once more. He fell back, staring at the dilapidated ceiling once more. Taking a breath, Azel decided to recount everything.

“I’m the adopted son of the Duke of House Adair, yet I’m stuck in what looks more like a broom closet than a bedroom. I’m bad-mannered, but docile if unprovoked. I collapsed a week ago after overexerting myself with magic, and just woke up. I have brothers. I get served terrible food. I’ve fallen out of favor with the Duke, and shouldn’t expect any sort of good treatment.”

Bringing a hand up to his face and breathing out a sigh, Azel grabbed a clump of hair and began pulling out of frustration. The pain was refreshing, different than the soreness around his body, but it wasn’t pleasant.

“Isn’t this crazy?! What the Hell?! Am I going to get caught up in succession wars, too, or something?! God, I’m going to die here!”

And he began to complain.