The room was silent…
so silent that Kel could hear the faint crackling of the ancient fireplace despite the flames having died long ago.
A cold draft moved through the gaps in the tall windows, brushing against the old curtains and making them sway like ghosts stretching in their sleep.
Dust motes drifted through the air, illuminated by the pale morning light cutting across the chamber.
Kel lay sprawled across the heavy, antique bed—its carved wooden posts rising like skeletal pillars around him.
The crimson canopy above his head shimmered faintly in the half-light, giving the room a strange, almost sacred aura.
His breathing had finally calmed, but his mind…
His mind was a storm.
*"I transmigrated. I'm Kel von Rosenfeld. I'm cursed. I'm twelve. And apparently… I'm screwed."*
He dragged a hand across his face, exhaling shakily.
The unfamiliar weight of the new body felt wrong—weak, fragile, as if even breathing too sharply would tear something inside.
He could feel the curse lurking beneath his skin like a dying ember, draining his strength, gnawing at his vitality.
"Four years until the academy arc. Four years until the original Kel dies. Four years to fix everything."
Kel sat up slowly, hugging his knees to his chest.
The room—his room—felt ancient, oppressive.
Every piece of furniture seemed older than him, and the walls carried the pressure of centuries.
And yet…
His thoughts suddenly froze.
A spark lit behind his eyes.
"Wait…"
If he had transmigrated into a game world…
Shouldn't some cheat, some interface, some system have come with him?
He swallowed.
"…System."
Silence.
The only response was the cold breeze pressing against the windowpanes.
Kel tried again.
"Game system."
Nothing.
"Destiny game system."
The room didn't even acknowledge him.
Kel clicked his tongue.
"Tsk. If I don't have a system, I swear I'll—"
He stopped.
There was one more thing he hadn't tried yet.
The oldest trick in every transmigration novel.
Kel inhaled deeply, his voice almost trembling.
"…Status window."
DING.
A sound like a bell struck underwater reverberated through the chamber.
And then—
With a ripple, a blue translucent screen materialized before him.
Kel's heart jumped to his throat.
"YES! I knew it!"
But his excitement died in seconds.
The screen displayed:
---
[STATUS WINDOW]
Name: Kel von Rosenfeld
Age: 12
Race: Human
Titles:
— Cursed Heir —
— Walking Death Flag —
— The Doomed One —
House: Rosenfeld (One of the Seven Pillar houses)
Condition:
— DEATH CURSE (ACTIVE)
— MANA SYSTEM SEALED
— PHYSICAL GROWTH SEALED
Vitality: 4
Strength: 2
Agility: 3
Endurance: 1
Mana: SEALED
Aura: SEALED
Resistance: 4
Luck: ??? (Unreadable)
Skills:
— None —
Blessings:
— None —
TRAITS:
— None -
---
Kel stared.
He blinked.
He stared again.
"…Are you kidding me?"
His stats were lower than a farmer.
Lower than a child NPC.
Lower than animals.
His aura and mana were sealed due to the curse.
His skills section was EMPTY.
And worst of all—
"Walking Death Flag? Could you be more disrespectful?"
Kel grabbed his head.
"This isn't a system! This is an insult generator!"
But the more he looked, the more his stomach sank.
This wasn't a cheat system.
This wasn't a gold finger.
This was… simply the game's character window.
A diagnostic screen.
Nothing more.
He slumped back against the pillows.
"…Damn it. I really don't have any special system…"
He buried his face in his hands.
"I want a cheat system—not THIS!!"
The status window faded slowly, ignoring his despair.
---
A soft knock echoed.
Knock. Knock.
"Young master Kel," Marine's gentle voice drifted in.
"Your breakfast is ready."
Kel cleared his throat, forcing himself to calm down.
"Come in."
Marine entered quietly, the tray in her hands emitting the faint aroma of warm bread, broth, and herbal tea.
Her steps were light, careful—not to disturb the fragile boy she had served since childhood.
Kel moved to the chair beside the small oak table, his weak body trembling after just a dozen steps.
Marine's eyes followed him with worry.
"What did you bring for me, Marine?" Kel asked, trying to sound normal.
She began to describe the dishes softly:
"A light broth made by the kitchen staff, roasted sweet potatoes, some soft bread, and a mild herbal tea prepared by the physician. Everything is chosen considering your weak digestion."
Kel nodded and picked up the spoon.
Marine stood quietly at his side, hands folded.
He took a sip—
and unexpectedly—
"Thank you so much, Marine," he said softly.
"For taking such good care of me."
Marine froze.
Her eyes widened as if she had heard something impossible.
Kel had never thanked her this warmly.
The original Kel had been bitter, defeated, and often withdrawn.
But now—
"Young master…" she whispered, voice shaking with surprise.
Then she smiled.
A bright, genuine smile that warmed the cold room for a moment.
"It is my duty to take care of you."
Kel smiled back faintly.
Maybe… this life wasn't all bad.
---
After finishing his meal, Kel slowly rose from the chair.
Marine collected the dishes carefully and headed for the door.
Just before she stepped out—
"Marine," Kel called.
She paused and turned, tilting her head.
"Yes, young master? Do you need anything?"
Kel inhaled.
"Bring me sword art manuals from our library."
Marine blinked.
She blinked again.
Her breath caught.
The frail child who couldn't even train five minutes without fainting…
The boy who lived in constant pain…
The heir everyone mocked…
Was asking for sword manuals?
Her heart trembled.
"Y-Young master… are you truly…?"
Her lips slowly curled upward in disbelief, happiness, and hope.
"…Of course. I will bring them immediately."
She bowed deeply before leaving.
When the door closed, the room sank into silence once more.
Kel turned toward the mirror again.
He touched the mirror gently.
His reflection stared back—
pale skin, weak limbs, dark hair falling over tired eyes.
A cursed boy.
A doomed heir.
A life fated to end early.
But in those brown eyes…
something flickered.
Resolve.
"Kel von Rosenfeld…" he whispered.
"This is my identity now."
He tightened his fists—slowly, painfully, but firmly.
"I will not die the way you did."
He stepped closer to the mirror.
"I will break this curse."
The air around him felt colder—
yet clearer, sharper, as if the ancient house was listening.
"I will reshape this body."
A tremble of determination moved through him.
"It will be hell."
His reflection trembled with him.
"But I don't care."
He pressed his palm against the mirror, staring into those unfamiliar eyes that were slowly becoming his.
"I will survive first," he said.
"And then…"
His voice grew stronger.
"I will soar."
The cursed chamber seemed to echo his vow, ancient wooden beams creaking like whispers of old spirits acknowledging his words.
Kel clenched his fists once more, nails digging into pale skin.
"From this moment on," Kel declared softly, dangerously—
"I am done being a tragedy."
The wind outside howled faintly, as if answering his call.
A new path had begun.
A path drenched in blood, sweat, destiny, curses, and ancient power.
A path only he could walk.
And the first step...
was survival.
---