Chapter 1

It was like any other day. I woke up, went to classes, went home, played some Baldur's Gate 3 on my PC until about 3:00 pm, and then went to bed.

But for some peculiar reason, I woke up in the middle of the night feeling unusually nauseous and groggy, like I'd been hit by a sledgehammer.

"Oh, Jesus Mary Joseph, mother of Christ!" I groaned, clutching my aching stomach.

Sick and in pain, I squirmed around on my bed, writhing in agony until I felt something wet begin to creep up my throat. 

I quickly slapped my mouth shut with my right hand, got up, and then ran over to where my bathroom should have been. But for some reason, I ran head first into a wall, bounced off it, and hit my head again. This time I hit it against a small aluminum trash can next to my bed, creating a sizeable indent on its side.

Normally I would have questioned where my bathroom suddenly went, but because I was on the verge of vomiting, and maybe because I also hit my head several times. 

I ignored everything else and grabbed the trash can, throwing up what I assumed was everything I had eaten this past week, considering how painful it was.

'Ugh! Son of a bitch, what made me so sick?' I thought as I unstuck the sweat-drenched T-shirt from my back. But then it dawned on me after I got back to my feet.

"Wait, a T-shirt that doesn't make any sense. I always put on my white tank top before going to bed. Now that I'm thinking about it, I don't wear grey sweat pants either; I wear my blue-striped pajama bottoms; these aren't my clothes." I said, gradually growing more and more panicked as I looked around the room that I realized wasn't my own.

'Where the hell am I?' The room I was in was around two times smaller than the one I knew. Only having a small single-person bed, a cheap wooden dresser, and a tiny metal desk stuffed in the right-hand corner.

'This can't be my house. Did I get kidnapped or something? No, that can't be. Who would want to kidnap me?' I thought nervously as my paranoia began to grow out of control.

The seriousness of the situation finally hit me, and of course, since I was twenty, I acted rashly.

"I gotta get out of here!" I screamed, my voice cracking like a teenage boy, while rushing over to the bedroom door.

Upon throwing the door open, I hurriedly looked around, and immediately I understood I was in a tiny, underfurnished one-bedroom apartment. 

Which confused me. 

Why was I in an apartment in someone else's clothes? Wait, better question: why did my voice crack? It hasn't done that in years.

At this point, I began to have a full-on panic attack, so I looked around for the bathroom. I felt like I was going to throw up again.

But as I surveyed my surroundings, I couldn't help but notice how dull and bland this apartment was. 

The walls were painted gray, there were no windows anywhere, the floors had no carpet, just plain hard wood, and it was somehow smaller than I first thought it was. 

After exiting the bedroom, the first thing I saw was the front door. Which was no more than twelve feet away from the bedroom door. On the right-hand side was a gray painted wall, and on the left was the living room. 

The living room was just as pitiful as the bedroom. Nothing but an old couch, a stained coffee table, and a wall-mounted TV with no stand underneath.

'But still no bathroom; come on, where is it?' I started to feel really nauseous again.

Over to the right was the kitchen. It had a granite countertop, four cabinets up top, four on the bottom, an electric oven, a sink, and an empty fridge, in that order.

But thankfully, I noticed the door two feet next to the fridge, which I hoped was the bathroom. 

"Praise the Lord!" I cried after I opened the door and gazed upon one of the smallest bathrooms I've ever seen.

A toilet to the left, a shower to the right, and a porcelain sink smack dab in the center. All crammed together in a little less than 10-cubic-meter room.

"Whatever size doesn't matter, time to use the toi...WHAT THE FUCK!" I shouted after getting a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror.

'This... this isn't me! Who the hell is this?!' I was too shocked to even speak; I just stood there, staring at the mirror, completely dumbfounded. 

The person I was looking at wasn't me. Instead, it was a kind of ugly, short, scrawny teenage boy with a greasy face and long, stringy, oily dark brown hair. 

At this moment, everything suddenly made sense to me. After all, there could only be one explanation. Metempsychosis, otherwise known as transmigration, as a man of culture, of course I know of this cliche trope.

'But why, though? I didn't die; at least I don't think I died, did I?' Thinking back to before I woke up here, I couldn't recall anything eventful happening—just the same old routine, so what could have triggered this? 

"Hmm, maybe it wasn't something I did, but this guy did? I mean, that's probably not the case, but lets have a look around anyway." I said, my eyes absently scanning the small room. 

But of course, there wouldn't be anything of note in this practically empty bathroom. There wasn't even an medicine cabinet behind the mirror. In fact, it looks like this kid took a regular mirror and glued it to the wall. How poor could a young boy get?

'Sigh, this is frustrating. Where could... huh? Wait a second, what's in this waste basket?' Next to the toilet was a wicker waste basket, and inside it was an empty pill bottle.

I turned it over and read the label, and from what I could tell, this was just some over-the-counter sleeping pills that didn't explain why he was transmigrated. 

That was until I also noticed a receipt for the pills. It said he purchased these pills yesterday, but that didn't make sense. This was a big bottle that could hold over a hundred sleeping tablets. How could you use all of them in a day? And that's when it hit me. 

"Oh shit, this kid killed himself by guzzling sleeping pills, and that's why my fucking stomach hurts!" I shouted, my anger slowly building up.

He was now transmigrated because some loser teen decided to take the cowards way out. Why? Not just why he'd do it, but also how did that transport me into his body? 

"Fuck!" I threw the pill bottle into the waste basket in a fit of rage, then stomped over to the bedroom to look for a cellphone or a wallet, something he could use to identify himself. 

But after searching the dresser, the desk, the bed, and even the trash can, I found nothing. Which didn't make sense to me. This guy was a teenage boy, and no matter how poor he was, he had to have a cellphone or some kind of mobile device. In this day and age, how couldn't he?

"Sigh, you selfish son of a bitch." I swore in a tired voice as I leaned against the wall, holding my head in my hands.

I was officially stuck in an alternate world with no idea who he was or what to do, so in short, I was screwed.