From the fragments of memory he had seen—most of which he forced himself to seal away before they overwhelmed him—
Aren understood that he had entered the body of a seventeen-year-old boy, a boy who had only recently become an idol.
The boy's life had not been extraordinary. He was simply an orphan, his parents having died when he was ten.
At the very least, he hadn't suffered at the hands of wicked relatives who seized his inheritance or tormented him…
Instead, with both parents being the only children in their families, he had been taken in by his maternal grandmother. Several years later, he chose to live alone.
He was not wealthy, yet he was far from poor. His parents had left him two houses—one he lived in, and the other he rented out, a luxury residence located in the heart of the city.
With that, he could have lived comfortably until the end of his life.
However, the owner of the body had loved singing, and he had worked himself to the bone to gain acceptance into a specialized university.
Naturally, the tuition fees of such artistic institutions were painfully high, and on top of that, talent and connections were everything for anyone hoping to succeed in that field.
Unfortunately for the original Aren, he possessed neither of these.
After several failed attempts, the poor boy had been forced to withdraw the insurance funds his parents had left behind, using them to buy his way into an idol group.
Because he lacked experience and knowledge, the child—who had barely stepped into the world—had been deceived.
Well… the other party did indeed give him a position in an idol group.
And yes, the group had once been famous—but it was moments away from disbanding.
This reality show was the group's final lifeline, perhaps their last chance to appear on camera.
According to the boy's memories, he had learned this only yesterday. In a burst of despair, he turned to alcohol for the first time and drank himself unconscious.
With no food or rest, he had then flown here and walked across this icy mountain where the temperature changed as if to mock him.
It would have been a miracle if the boy hadn't suffered a heart attack and collapsed under the pressure.
No one knew the boy had died, nor that the one standing before them now was someone entirely different.
A wandering soul had slipped into this warm body and taken residence within it.
'What a painful fate… this poor boy was toyed with and deceived. Even though he did everything to chase his dreams, he ended up dying in a foreign land with no one beside him.'
'But this works in my favor. At least no one here has interacted with the original Aren before, so no one will suspect my behavior.'
There was still the matter of the original's grandmother, but Aren didn't care. Every problem had its time.
There was no point worrying about something that hadn't happened yet.
"Are you walking on eggshells? Hurry up."
Aren ignored Harry's sharp tone and quickened his steps despite the throbbing pain in his leg.
It had to be said: the investors behind this variety program were either unbelievably foolish, or so wealthy they didn't know what to do with their money anymore.
Aren leaned toward the second option.
No one in their right mind would build a villa atop a massive, snow-covered mountain…
Then hire a handful of idols and celebrities to wander around in it while paying them absurd amounts of money.
He came from a powerful family and had learned a thing or two about investment from the heir in his youth…
In any case, the profit from this program wouldn't even cover the production cost of a single episode.
"Ladies and gentlemen, how about speaking to the camera and the audience for a bit? For example, give your opinion about this place,"
said the man who resembled a tour guide—David, the host for this season.
David wasn't an actual celebrity.
He had won the boxing championship three times, and the reason he was chosen was simple: this show required someone strong enough, someone physically capable of surviving an entire month here.
Calling this place hellish was no exaggeration.
Snow buried the summit, and the mountain's base was an icy wasteland of storms.
But midway up, the weather shifted into suffocating summer—you could even see plants and soil.
And yet the villa had been built on top, meaning everyone had to pass through these abrupt, nearly deadly temperature shifts.
This was why participants had to sign a liability waiver before climbing.
It could be said that the risks matched the rewards. This show was the best and most demanding in the country—and it had gained international fame over the past few seasons.
"Finally, some time to catch our breath. I'm about to faint from exhaustion," said a man with blond hair and green eyes, his smile charming and almost dangerously seductive.
Aren stared at him for a long moment.
It wasn't because the man was handsome—but because Aren was evaluating his strengths and weaknesses.
Well, his profession demanded nothing less.
He did it subconsciously, the way one breathed without thinking.
Deep, swift analysis… precise action…
They were skills any strong assassin needed to possess.
In addition to the man smiling at the camera, there were about fifteen people present.
Aren counted the guests—seven in total, including himself—whose every move was being recorded by the cameras.
The rest were photographers, medical staff, and a few weapon-carrying individuals who moved with the ease of professionals.
They must have been trained mountain climbers. And the weapons… this mountain was a natural reserve, a vast stretch of wild habitat. Who could guarantee they wouldn't encounter deadly animals? Mountain wolves? Forget wolves— even a mountain goat could kill you if provoked. Without proper experience, these famous guests—who knew nothing about nature—would die at the foot of the mountain.