"Take a deep breath, Mr. Axel."
The voice was soft, worn by years of compassion and repetition.
A needle slid into his arm, almost painless at this point.
Axel didn't flinch. He'd grown numb to the sting.
The room smelled like bleach, plastic tubing, and that metallic tang that only hospitals carried.
It clung to the back of his throat like regret.
The nurse — Mrs. Bradley — patted his arm after the injection, her smile tired but sincere.
She was old enough to be his mother, and in many ways, she had been more of one than his real parents.
They had stopped visiting long ago.
Work, they said. They couldn't bear to watch him waste away.
But Mrs. Bradley stayed.
Every single day.
She stroked his hair gently, fingers brushing through strands that had grown too thin.
He couldn't feel much anymore, not with how his nerves had dulled, but her hand was warm.
"You're like a son to me," she whispered, as she always did. "I'll be back soon, okay?"
Axel managed a faint nod.
She stood, adjusted the covers around his frail body, and exited the room quietly, leaving only the distant beeping of machines to keep him company.
He was twenty-one years old.
And dying.
He'd been bedridden for most of his teenage life, his body failing him piece by piece. The doctors said it was a rare form of cancer.
Every clinical trial had failed.
Every hopeful glance turned to pity.
He knew the truth now — he wouldn't be getting out of this bed. Not in this life.
His gaze drifted to the ceiling, watching the fan spin with lethargic indifference.
It would keep turning long after he stopped breathing.
He let his mind wander.
It always did when the pain dulled just enough to let him think. And lately, his thoughts always circled back to one thing.
A game.
Age of Origin.
An obscure RPG he'd played in high school. It had been a weird mix of eroge dating sim and open-world progression.
Magic, guilds, hidden routes, secret bosses — combined with romance systems and stat grinding.
The mechanics were clunky, and the fanbase was small, but the world had been immersive.
He remembered the heroines — each of them with their own paths, personalities, and tragic backstories.
And he remembered the man he hated most.
Orion Brenhart.
The fat bastard.
The heir to one of the wealthiest conglomerates in the game world. He was spoiled, privileged, and painfully pathetic.
Orion was what the forums called "the Simp Route."
He'd throw mountains of gold, gifts, and tears at one of the main heroines — Calista, the cold sword maiden — only to be brushed aside like garbage.
And the worst part? He didn't even grow from it.
No redemption arc. No turning point. Just a minor antagonist in someone else's story.
He'd get kicked aside when the real protagonist arrived, used and discarded like the joke he was.
Axel had hated that character.
And yet… as the heart monitor near him began to beep erratically, as pressure built inside his chest like a balloon swelling past its limit, he realized something terrifying.
Orion Brenhart…
He understood him now.
Not the simping. Not the stupidity. But the desperation.
The fear of being meaningless. Of clinging to something, even if it was hopeless, just to feel alive.
His body spasmed.
Pain flooded every nerve. His lungs refused to pull in air.
His vision darkened around the edges.
Somewhere, far away, he heard Mrs. Bradley's voice shouting for the doctor. Hands gripped his, his name called again and again.
He tried to say thank you, he tried to whisper a goodbye. But no words came.
Only a smile.
His last one.
And then everything dulled out revealing one thing he expected...
Darkness.
Total and absolute.
He thought it might be the end and for a moment, he accepted it.
It was better than the pain. Better than fading away in that sterile hospital room.
But then… something suddenly changed.
He was falling. Weightless. No body. No breath. Just motion.
And then — impact.
Light burst behind his closed eyes, and sound assaulted him like a storm.
It was loud music.
He opened his eyes.
Then wished he hadn't.
The ceiling was black, glittering with magical lights and a spinning disco ball that bathed the room in shimmering pink and gold.
Laser lights danced across a marble floor that glowed faintly with arcane runes. Bodies moved everywhere — dancing, drinking, laughing.
And he was right in the center of it.
His body felt… so damn wrong. He was no longer skinny but neither was he average like how he had been before getting diagnosed.
He was fat.
His limbs sluggish.
A bottle of champagne was clutched in one hand.
His other arm was wrapped around a girl in a red dress who was whispering something he couldn't process over the music.
Another girl was leaning against his other side, giggling.
He looked down.
His stomach — round and bloated — protruded like a cursed balloon. Rolls of fat pressed against the edge of a crushed designer suit.
His fingers were stubby. His breathing ragged.
"No…" he whispered.
The girl in red turned to him, blinking. "You okay, Orion?"
Orion.
That name hit like a hammer.
He staggered to his feet, nearly tripping over the couch.
He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror across the room — double chins, beady eyes, greasy hair slicked back with magic gel.
It was him.
Orion Brenhart.
The Simp.
The useless son of a billionaire NPC. The punching bag. The fool.
Axel's mind reeled.
This wasn't a dream.
This was Age of Origin.
He was somehow reincarnated inside the game.
Inside the body of the character he had hated most.
"No. No no no — this doesn't make sense," he muttered. His voice was deeper, slurred slightly by alcohol and bloated cheeks. "This can't be happening."
But it was.
The world around him felt real.
The air, the warmth, the thump of music — none of it had the fog of a dream.
He touched his face, his neck, his chest.
All real.
"Sir?" a butler appeared beside him, eyes sharp and clinical. "Are you okay?"
Was he okay?
He damn wasn't!
Who would be when they were just reincarnated into the body of their most hated character?