Pain was the very first thing Rias felt.
Not the heroic kind of pain from fantasy novels. This was a dull, miserable ache deep in his bones.
He felt like a knight's practice dummy tossed into a ditch.
"Ahh!...."
He groaned.
His throat was Severe dry. He tried to lift his right hand to rub his eyes and immediately regretted it.
A stabbing throb shot up his forearm. He let out a sharp hiss.
'What the hell…?'
His eyes fluttered open.
The ceiling above him was completely unfamiliar. It was high and carved from pale stone etched with glowing runic patterns.
The air smelled of bitter herbs, potions, and dried blood.
This was not his bedroom.
In fact, this was no modern bedroom at all.
He froze.
His heart pounded a frantic rhythm as he looked down.
White, blood-spotted bandages were wrapped tightly around his entire body. He looked like a Egyptian-mummy.
Suddenly, his head throbbed with a violent spike of agony.
Memories that absolutely did not belong to him crashed into his mind like a tidal wave.
'No. No, no, no…'
He tried to sit up and failed spectacularly. His muscles screamed in protest. He collapsed back onto the massive mahogany bed with a weak gasp.
This wasn't something a normal person owned.
Then the horrifying realization hit him.
He recognized this room.
He recognized this opulent bed.
He recognized the sickeningly fragile feeling of this body.
'I know this place.'
Ignoring his screaming muscles, he turned his head toward a tall, gilded mirror near the wall.
It reflected a young man with messy blonde hair and a sickly pale complexion.
The boy in the mirror opened his eyes to meet his gaze.
Crimson-red.
They were sharp, intense, and far too vivid for a normal human.
His breath caught in his dry throat.
'…Rias.'
Rias von Leonhart.
The absolute weakest, most pathetic character in his own novel.
The face staring back was youthful, refined, and tragically fragile. He looked like a fragile prey which was about to get killed by the predator.
Rias swallowed hard.
'You have got to be kidding me.'
This wasn't just a transmigration.
This was transmigration into his own damn story.
He wasn't the genius swordsman who would climbs to the heavens.
He wasn't the prodigious mage who could summon meteors.
He wasn't even the cool, powerful antagonist.
No.
He had transmigrated into the ultimate side-character.
The punching bag.
The illegitimate, unwanted son of the ruthless Duke of Leonhart.
He squeezed his eyes shut, praying this was a hallucination caused by cheap instant noodles he ate last night.
He opened his eyes. Nothing changed.
Memories surfaced in full force, bringing cold, hard facts.
Rias was the Duke's greatest mistake. Born from a meaningless affair, he was allowed to live in the estate, but that was where the generosity ended.
The Duke already had four legitimate, monstrously talented children.
Every single one of them was an insurmountable wall.
The eldest son was a sword prodigy who cleaved boulders at fifteen.
The second son was a cold tactical genius with monstrous mana reserves.
The third son showed ruthless potential in elemental magic and combat.
The sole daughter was a blessed existence, elegant and adored by high society.
Compared to those four shining suns, Rias was… dirt.
He had a congenitally weak body. His mana veins were thin and clogged. He had zero talent in swordsmanship and no aptitude for magic.
The original Rias had trained harder than anyone. He pushed beyond his limits, desperate for his cold father's validation.
The result? A permanently shattered body that collapsed after a few sword swings.
And because of that exact flaw—
"Ah. So you have finally regained consciousness."
A calm, crisp voice broke through his panic.
Rias flinched.
A tall man stepped into the room. He wore a finely tailored black uniform and assessed the battered boy like a disappointing ledger entry.
The Head Butler, Sebastian.
'I wrote Sebastian to be annoying, but experiencing his smug face in person makes me want to punch him.'
"You were unconscious for three full days, Young Master Rias," the butler said, his tone devoid of warmth.
"The estate physicians were… concerned."
'Concerned' was a very polite word for 'annoyed they had to waste potions on the family's trash.'
"Did I… die?" Rias asked weakly.
The butler blinked in mild surprise.
"…No, sir. You did not."
"Shame," Rias muttered.
The butler raised an eyebrow.
Rias cleared his throat, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
"I mean—ah—good. That is… very good news."
'Smooth,' Rias thought. 'i have to be careful right now.'
The butler stepped closer, adjusting the heavy blanket with unfeeling efficiency.
"You collapsed during morning sword training. Again. His Grace, the Duke, was highly displeased by the disruption."
Again.
Right. Of course.
Rias knew exactly where he was in the timeline. This was the early stage before the main plot started where the original Rias overtrained to keep pace with the third son and destroyed his muscles.
When he wrote this scene behind a monitor, it was just great world-building.
Now, trapped in this bandaged body, it felt like a personal attack.
"And my… siblings?" Rias asked carefully.
The butler's lips thinned.
"The young masters and the young miss are continuing their training. They sent no messages regarding your recovery."
'As expected.'
To the family, Rias was just a sparring partner. A convenient extra to make the main characters shine brighter.
Rias exhaled a long breath and let his head loll back.
So. Let's recap.
He had zero combat experience and no magic. Yet, he just transmigrated into the weakest, most bullied body in a dangerous household.
He had gain a body that fainted from swinging a wooden sword.
A character destined to be quietly assassinated during the mid-story arcs.
'…This is really bad.'
The butler tilted his head.
"Is something troubling you, Young Master? Shall I call for a pain draught?"
'Everything is troubling me,' Rias wanted to scream.
Instead, he forced a weak, harmless smile.
"No, thank you, Sebastian. I am simply… reflecting on my life choices."
The butler gave a look of clear disdain.
"You are strictly ordered to rest. Pushing yourself will only waste more of the Duke's resources."
With a soft click, the door shut.
Silence rushed back into the room.
Rias lay still, his mind racing.
He knew this world. He knew the hidden dungeons, the ancient wars, and the brutal betrayals. He knew the tragic endings of characters far stronger than him.
That omniscient knowledge was his only advantage.
In his original draft, Rias died horribly during the Royal Capital attack. His death was written to a single, passing paragraph.
'At the time, I thought it added gritty realism,' Rias thought, a bitter laugh bubbling in his chest.
'Now, I want to invent time travel just to punch my past self in the face.'
Fighting the painful stiffness, Rias clenched his bandaged hand into a fist.
"…Alright," he whispered.
"If I am permanently stuck as the trash side-character…"
A slow, sharp smile formed on his pale lips. His crimson eyes flashed dangerously.
"…then I'll just have to play the side-character smarter than anyone else."
No reckless heroics. No competing with his monstrous siblings. No suicidal training montages.
If the board was set, he would simply play a different game entirely.
He closed his eyes, accepting the heavy weight of this fragile existence of
Rias, a Weak, overlooked, and illegitimate son.
[Ding!]
Rias's eyes snapped open.
Before he could process the sound,
A holographic window materialized directly above his lap.
Messages began to pop on the screen.
[System Synchronization Initiated...]
[Connecting to the Universal Leylines...]
[Connection Successful.]
Rias stopped breathing.
'A… A System? I didn't write a System into this novel!'
[Scanning Host Vessel...]
[Warning: Severe physical trauma detected. Muscle fibers torn. Mana veins at 4% capacity. Vitality critically low.]
[Evaluating Host Potential...]
[Error! Unknown Soul Detected. Soul signature does not match the predetermined fate of this vessel.]
[Adjusting Parameters... Adapting to the Anomaly.]
[Ding!]
[The 'Path of the Overlord' System has successfully bound to Host: Rias von Leonhart!]
Rias clutched his chest, a breathless, exciting laugh escaping him. His eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated awe. This changed everything.
[STATUS WINDOW]
[Name: Rias von Leonhart]
[Age: 15]
[Title: The Duke's Disappointment (Effect: -10% Charisma when interacting with Nobles)]
[Rank : Bronze-tier Lv. 8
(Note: The mortal realms are divided into Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, and Diamond... Each tier contains 9 sub-ranks. Reach Level 9 to attempt a major Tier Breakthrough.)]
[Attributes]
[Strength: 4 (Extremely Weak)]
[Agility: 6 (Below Average)]
[Vitality: 3 (Critically Fragile)]
[Mana: 2 (Crippled)]
[Rank Progression]
[EXP required for Bronze-tier Lv. 9: 0 / 1,000 EXP](Host must gather EXP through combat, training, or completing System Quests to increase Sub-Ranks.)
Rias stared at the numbers.
'Bronze 8? I'm almost at the peak of the lowest possible tier, but my stats are in the single digits? This body really is worse than garbage.'
But the despair didn't last. The text written on the system interface, igniting a spark of burning ambition inside him.
With a System, the limits of this crippled body no longer mattered. EXP was an absolute rule.
If he ground his way up, he could bypass the genetic bottlenecks his father despised him for.
He noticed two secluded icons at the top right of his vision.
[Inventory: Unlocked. (1/50 Slots Used)]
[System Shop: Locked.]
'An inventory… and a shop. This is a literal cheat code,' Rias thought.
There was already one item in his inventory when he opens the inventory section, a golden Chest materialize in the interface.
[Ding!]
[Congratulations! You have received a: First-Time Login Gift!]
[This gift is uniquely tailored to help the Host survive their current, pathetic circumstances.]
[Would you like to open the First-Time Login Gift?]
[ YES / NO ]
Rias didn't even hesitate.
His hand shot forward. His trembling finger pressed against the glowing blue 'YES'.
The golden chest burst open, flooding the silent bedroom with a blinding, magnificent light.