When the Moon Shifted
Night Moon Town.
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the classroom windows of Night Moon Academy, warm but oddly gentle, like it was trying not to disturb the stillness inside. Students sat in neat rows, focused on the droning lecture—everyone except one boy near the window.
Victor Nyxford.
He sat perfectly still, yet everything about him looked wrong. His posture rigid. His fingers lightly trembling. His blank, unfocused gaze staring past the teacher, past the wall, past this entire reality.
It was the look of someone whose world had just split open.
"Did I… transmigrate?"
The whisper slipped from his lips before he could stop it. His hand tightened on the edge of his desk as a storm of memories—his, not his, both his—flooded into place like puzzle pieces forcing themselves together.
His name hadn't changed.
Victor Nyxford in his old life.
Victor Nyxford in this one.
Everything else?
Torn apart. Rewoven.
In his previous life, he'd been the type of guy no one noticed twice. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Thin. Average. Orphaned early, living quietly with no bright future waiting for him.
But the reflection in the window now…
That wasn't the boy he remembered.
Silver hair cascaded down in soft, cool strands, catching the light like moonlit water. Crystal-blue eyes—clear enough to unsettle someone who met them for too long. His facial features were sharp, refined, almost otherworldly, as if sculpted with impossible precision. Even his presence felt different, like a quiet gravitational pull that drew glances without trying.
Not an ordinary boy.
Not anymore.
A deep breath shuddered out of him. He dragged a hand through his silver hair, feeling its unfamiliar texture, its cold beauty.
My identity… rebuilt from the ground up.
A prestigious surname echoed in his memories: Nyxford—a clan whose influence stretched from the courts of Paris to the underground circles of Europe. They weren't just known. They were feared, respected, whispered about.
But Victor?
His place in that grand lineage was a wound, not a glory.
His silver hair and blue eyes marked him as a mutation—an aberration in a bloodline that had always been black-haired and black-eyed. Rumors said he wasn't legitimate. The clan didn't deny it loudly, but they never embraced him either.
The story in his memories was painfully clear:
He had never seen his father.
His mother died right after he was born—or so they claimed.
His father vanished on another "mission" and never returned.
Two years later, someone in the clan found an infant matching his mother's disappearance timeline.
A child with strange eyes.
A child whose blood test confirmed he carried Nyxford blood.
But answers about his mother?
About his father?
About why he existed at all?
All swallowed by silence.
The only one who shielded him from the clan's suspicion, politics, and cruelty was his father's younger brother—his Godfather, the current family head. A man strict with the world but soft on him. A man who protected him as if making up for his own brother's absence.
Even then, pressure from the family eventually won, and Victor was sent to Japan under the guise of "education," when everyone knew it was simply banishment with pretty words.
He exhaled through his nose, slow. The ache beneath his ribs tightened.
But that wasn't the part that terrified him now.
"Wait… Night Moon Town? Night Moon Academy?"
His voice was barely a breath, but his pulse slammed in his ears.
The names. The setting. The faces in his new memories.
They didn't just sound familiar—
they felt scripted.
He dug deeper into the fragments in his mind, and suddenly the pieces flared bright.
Aris Silverflame.
Akira Stormveil.
Shira.
Leon.
Kael.
Not strangers. Not random classmates.
Characters.
Characters from a supernatural anime he used to watch in his previous life.
"No way…"
His heart lurched.
"…Night Moon Academy… Aris Silverflame… Akira Stormveil… Shira… Leon… Kael… these people exist here?"
His skin prickled.
Cold, electric fear crawled up his spine.
The world around him—alive, breathing, real—matched scenes he had watched through a screen.
"This is… their world."
A place where devils, angels, spirits, dragons, vampires, ancient clans—they weren't fiction. They were real. They walked in daylight. They killed in moonlight.
Victor leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if it could give him answers.
Of all the worlds to end up in… why this one?
This wasn't some safe fantasy adventure. This was a battlefield dressed up as a high school. Strength wasn't optional. Danger wasn't subtle. Death could pick you off like a passing shadow.
"Should I be excited… or terrified?"
Probably both.
He forced his breathing steady and shifted to the cold, practical side of his mind. He needed to know what he had. What this new body offered.
His strengths—such as they were:
Magic Arts.
His knowledge was extensive. The Nyxford family archives had drilled theory into him for years. But theory wasn't talent. His practical performance was mediocre, and the clan never let him forget it.
Perceptual Distortion.
His unique ability.
Not true speed.
But a manipulation of perception—making opponents see his movements as impossibly fast, even when his body didn't move any quicker. A psychological blade, sharp with the right timing.
Magic Swordsmanship.
A hybrid discipline that channeled magical energy directly through a blade, giving every cut weight beyond steel. Unlike pure martial arts, it relied more on control and affinity—both of which he actually possessed.
"With these… I can maybe deal with low-class threats," he muttered, fingers tapping his desk. "But anything above that? I'm done."
He wasn't a devil.
He wasn't blessed by bloodlines.
He wasn't the main character here.
And he had no Sacred Gear or divine artifact to cheat his way upward.
His jaw tightened.
If I want to survive, I need power. Fast.
The thought had barely formed when—
Ding.
A metallic chime rang through his consciousness, clear as if someone struck a bell inside his skull.
Victor froze.
Then—
Host has successfully integrated into this world.
Activating the Fortune Devour System…
Percentages ticked across his mind's eye like glowing runes.
1%… 36%… 78%… 99%… 100%.
A soft, melodic voice followed—a presence smooth like running water.
"Activation complete. Greetings, Master. I am Sana, the spirit of the Fortune Devour System. It is a pleasure to serve you."
Victor blinked once.
Then once more.
Then, as the shock melted into something darker, sharper, a slow grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Well… that changes everything."
A system wasn't just an advantage.
It was a declaration.
His mind shifted gears, sharper, calmer, quietly predatory. He refused to speak out loud like some protagonist yelling to the sky.
Instead, he spoke inwardly, tone cool.
"Sana, huh? Tell me everything. What does the Fortune Devour System do?"
And just like that—
with one quiet command—
the world that had terrified him a moment ago began opening its doors.
Whether it welcomed him or feared him…
that remained to be seen.