The first sensation was a jarring, inexplicable shift. One moment, Cian was slumped on his couch, the glowing screen of his tablet illuminating his face as he scrolled through the latest chapter of his favorite comics. The next, a sudden, violent jolt, like falling through an invisible trapdoor, swallowed him whole. His consciousness, usually a mundane stream of thoughts about work and the next webtoon update, was violently ripped from its moorings.
He drifted in the void for what felt like an eternity and a split second, before new sensations trickled in: a faint, sterile scent, like disinfectant mixed with something vaguely metallic; the muffled hum of distant machinery.
Slowly, painfully, his eyes fluttered open. The ceiling above was stark white, illuminated by an unforgiving fluorescent light. He lay on a narrow, uncomfortable bed, covered by a thin, blanket. This wasn't his apartment, nor any place he'd ever seen before.
Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at the edges of his awareness. He tried to sit up, and a strange, unfamiliar lightness surprised him. There was no usual heaviness, no effort required. It was unnaturally easy. As an otaku, his past life had been sedentary, his body far from athletic. This effortless movement was distinctly different. His hands, resting on the blanket, were larger, more defined, the knuckles thicker. He flexed his fingers, watching the tendons shift beneath firm skin. These weren't his hands.
He pushed himself up, then carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet meeting a cold, tiled floor. Every movement felt… too efficient. His balance was perfect, his muscles responded with an unnatural precision. He felt lighter, yet more substantial, than he ever had in his old life.
A small, reflective panel on the wall, perhaps part of a medical cabinet, caught his eye. He stumbled towards it, his heart hammering against his ribs, a growing dread mixing with a bizarre, almost unsettling curiosity.
An unfamiliar face stared back.
The shock was like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. The sharp jawline, the dark, black hair. When he stared into his own eyes, he was met with demonic black eyes that made him almost faint. A chilling familiarity washed over him; he had seen eyes like these before, eyes that spoke of the Yamazaki clan's infamous Reverse eyes. Then, the full, undeniable recognition slammed into him. This was Gun Park, the "White Ghost," the combat genius from Lookism. He looked younger, perhaps in his teens, and the missing scar on his glabella, a detail he almost overlooked in his shock, suggested this was a younger Gun Park.
His gaze snapped to the eyes in the reflection. They were not normal. The sclera, the whites of his eyes, were a stark, unsettling white, almost luminous, with perfectly black, unblinking pupils. There was no warmth, no discernible iris, no human depth. They were disturbingly blank, devoid of any human expression. A shiver ran down his spine. This was why Gun almost always wore sunglasses. This was the infamous UI he'd read about, a constant, instinctual readiness that manifested in that unnerving gaze, a gaze that even he found unsettling.
"No way," he whispered, his voice a strange, deeper resonance than his own. "This… this can't be real."
He pinched himself, hard. The pain was sharp, undeniable, confirming this was no dream.
He stumbled back, his mind racing, trying to process the impossible. He was in Gun Park's body. Did he transmigrate in Lookism as this monster?
He looked around the room, his new, hyper-aware senses picking up subtle details. Near his bed, a crumpled newspaper lay on a small table. His eyes, drawn by instinct, scanned the headline. It blared: "SW Corporation Becomes Top 10 MNC! Chairman Shin's Vision Realized!" Below the bold text was a photo of an old man that looked all too familiar, his face beaming with success.
The truth of his new reality slammed into him, a stark clarity hitting him with undeniable force.
He wasn't in the Lookism . He was in Mercenary Enrollment.
This world, a precarious landscape teeming with unpredictable dangers and formidable individuals, was now his reality. And he was inhabiting the body of one of the most terrifying, powerful individuals from a different manhwa.
A normal person, thrust into a peak combat body, in a world he only knew as fiction.
Terror, cold and absolute, washed over him. This world was dangerous. People died here. But beneath the terror, a strange, almost manic exhilaration began to bubble. He, a regular guy, now possessed the power of Shiro Oni. And he knew the future.
A slow, unsettling smile stretched across his face, his unnerving eyes reflecting the harsh fluorescent light. This wasn't just a new life; it was a whole new game he could manipulate to his liking.
As he mused, a sudden knock interrupted him.
.....
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