Richard

The soft glow of dawn crept through the window, gradually illuminating the room with a gentle warmth. Unbeknownst to the slumbering figure sprawled across an open book, the incoming light painted a tranquil scene in the study. A desk, adorned with a haphazard stack of books, each boasting a different language, stood as a testament to the diverse knowledge housed within the room.

An abrupt jolt shattered the serene ambiance, as an alarm pierced through the quietude, disrupting the man's peaceful repose. Slowly awakening, Richard lifted his head, his eyes scanning the room in search of the intrusive sound. Dressed in disheveled clothes, Richard navigated his way through the chaos with a sense of familiarity, he found himself before a mirror.

The reflection staring back at him revealed a room in disarray, dark circles etched beneath tired eyes, hair tangled and oiled. His attire, worn and unwashed, contrasted sharply with the genuine joy radiating from his smile.

— Finally, no more translating this script. — he exhaled, cradling a single sheet of paper, the culmination of his life's work.

— I wonder how those old foxes will mock me now. I've achieved what none of them could. — He mused, the paper trembling in his grasp. A deep breath steadied his nerves as he gingerly placed the document on the cluttered desk, reaching for his phone.

A cascade of unread messages awaited him, 999+, a testament to his absorbed focus on his magnum opus. But before he could dive into the digital sea of communication, a thunderous growl emanated from his stomach, a reminder that sustenance had eluded him for over 15 hours.

— Deserving of a bit of luxury, I'd say, after a job well done. — The notion of savoring A5 Wagyu, its marbled perfection awaiting his discerning palate, lingered like a sumptuous dream. Weary from the exertions of the day, he sought solace in the soothing cascade of a shower. As the water embraced him, washing away the residue of fatigue, he emerged from the bathroom transformed.

Cloaked in a meticulously tailored black suit. The fabric draped over his frame with tailored precision, each crease and fold whispering of the meticulous craftsmanship that bespoke luxury. A crimson tie added a subtle dash of color, a deliberate choice amid the monochrome canvas of his ensemble

Descending the staircase of his residence, he stepped into the early morning air, the city still wrapped in the hush of predawn quietude. The sleek yellow Camaro, a symbol of extravagance in his homeland, awaited him. The engine roared to life at his command, a harmonious melody that heralded the commencement of his celebratory journey.

Behind the wheel, Richard navigated the labyrinthine streets of the waking city with purpose. The hum of the engine beneath him, the pulse of the metropolis awakening to a new day, formed a backdrop to his contemplation. In the dim glow preceding the sunrise, he envisioned the news of his achievement spreading like wildfire, an image he had longed for, now crystallizing into a triumphant reality.

"A young polyglot found two ancient languages and translated them, what he learned is going to shock the whole world…" As he daydreamed about the imminent revelation, Richard remained blissfully unaware of the impending danger. A high-speed truck hurtled towards him, its approach unnoticed in the realm of his thoughts.

However, the moment of triumph swiftly dissolved as a thunderous horn shattered the tranquility. The world around him twisted into chaos, a kaleidoscope of blurred images and discordant sounds. Brakes screamed in protest, futile against the inexorable force of the impending collision. Time condensed into a single, heart-stopping beat before fragmenting into a disorienting disarray.

The jarring blare of a car horn penetrated Richard's consciousness, jolting him awake. But awakening proved futile, his car careened into the path of the oncoming truck. Despite the seatbelt anchoring his body in place, the impact forced his head into the steering wheel, a violent collision that unleashed a flood of blood into his brain. A pervasive numbness enveloped his senses, the world dissolving into an indistinct haze as the echoes of his daydreams were eclipsed by the harsh reality of the collision.

The scene that unfolded next was surreal. Richard awoke not in the aftermath of a crash, but in a small, dimly lit room. His body throbbed with fever, wounds scattered across his form. Confusion etched his features as he tried to make sense of the abrupt shift from the chaos of the accident to the hushed confines of the unfamiliar space.

— How? Where am I? Didn't I die? — He murmured, grappling with the disorienting reality before him. A sudden, excruciating pain seared through his mind, as if a floodgate had opened, inundating him with memories not his own. Agony contorted his face as the foreign emotions swept over him, a cascade of feelings, experiences, and thoughts from a stranger's life.

— AHHHHHHH! — Richard clutched his head, a primal scream escaping his lips as the foreign memories tore at the fabric of his being. The overwhelming sense of incompetence, being unwanted, mirrored moments from his past, but the intensity was magnified. When the torment subsided, Richard's body lay drenched in sweat, the pain replaced by an eerie calm. Yet, he knew the memories were real, vivid echoes of a boy's struggles and hardships. An orphan, the boy faced disdain and brutality, his dreams stifled by societal prejudice within a magic academy.

The boy's anticipation soared as he envisioned a brighter future, fueled by the prospect of applying for a scholarship to a prestigious magic academy in the capital. In his hopeful imagination, he believed that everything would fall into place, for mages were esteemed as the apex of society, even more so than mere commoners.

However, upon arriving at the academy, reality shattered his optimistic illusions. The disdainful glances and scornful treatment from everyone around him cut deeper than he had anticipated. Richard, a commoner in the midst of the magical elite, was met with an unwarranted hostility that eclipsed his expectations. Day after day, he endured physical punishment, a consequence of his inadequate training compared to his more privileged peers.

While the children in his class had honed their magical abilities since infancy, Richard's status as a commoner denied him the luxury of such consistent practice. As the semester drew to a close, the cruelty escalated. The impending task, crucial for determining his fate at the academy, became a brutal ordeal. Beaten once more, Richard grappled with the injustice of their harsh treatment.

— Why dId they have to be so ruthless with that boy? — He pondered, the empathetic realization stemming from his newfound perspective. A surge of determination coursed through him, fueled by the second chance he now possessed. With a steely resolve, he vowed to fulfill the dreams of that downtrodden boy. A triumphant smile graced his lips as he reminisced about a recent magic class, realizing that he now had the power to rewrite the narrative and make those dreams a reality.

— Magic isn't just theory and formulas, but you need to understand the ancient language. When you use modern languages, you can't tap into all the power the world can provide. — explained the old, bald, and portly teacher to the disinterested class. Even the previous owner of Richard's current body seemed unenthusiastic, but for Richard, it was the best news he could receive.

— I'm not so sure about the mathematical part, but I'm confident I can grasp at least some phrases of a new language to pass the test. — he asserted, reaching for a book on his dorm shelf titled "The Beginner's Guide to Magic Languages."

The dim light outside hinted at the early morning hour, around 5 am, with his class scheduled to begin at 11 am. Seated comfortably, Richard delved into the contents of the book, absorbing the information at his own pace. As the words unfolded before him, he was startled; what he was reading seemed too fantastical to be real. The only way to confirm it was to put it to the test.

Initially, he constructed the magic formulas in his mind, following the principles taught in class. Words materialized in his thoughts, forming a circle filled with numbers. This was a feat the previous Richard could never accomplish, given his struggles with mathematics, an obstacle he attributed to a lack of opportunity for formal education. Confident in the correctness of his formulas, Richard uttered the chant. As the words left his lips, an ethereal script materialized in the air.

— Ember! — He exclaimed, unprepared for the flame that materialized in his hand. While he understood the purpose of the spell, experiencing its manifestation was an entirely different sensation, one that resonated deep within him. The newfound power seemed to dance at his command, a tangible affirmation that the arcane arts were now within his grasp.

— Magic! So those memories aren't just me being delusional. — Richard exclaimed with overwhelming joy. The power to summon flames, to command the arcane forces, was a dream he never dared to entertain. The prospect of making the world kneel before such newfound abilities filled him with an electrifying sense of satisfaction. Yet, he knew it wasn't the end. A tense determination gripped him as he contemplated the need to validate and refine his newfound skills.

— It's not the end, though. I need to try if it will really work. — He muttered, the anticipation rendering him breathless. Once again, Richard meticulously crafted the formulas, ensuring they mirrored his previous successful attempts. The crucial moment arrived as he summoned the courage to try once more.

— Brasa! — he declared, conjuring the flame. However, this time, the flickering fire proved unstable, vanishing before a mere second had passed, ultimately exploding in his hand.

— Damn, what did I do wrong? Was it the chant? — Richard questioned himself, his confidence momentarily shaken. He was certain the chant had been correct, as he understood that a spell could not be cast if the incantation was erroneous.

— I even did the formulas as stable as the last time… That's it. It's so obvious. — He realized, a swift acknowledgment of his mistake. With newfound clarity, Richard wasted no time in seizing the opportunity for improvement.

Some time later, Richard found himself immersed in the rhythmic dance of his pen on paper. In a state of flow, he wrote the formula effortlessly, the culmination of his refined understanding. The result was a formula akin to the previous one, but this time, he had enhanced both the outcome and the influx of mana.

Satisfied with his work, Richard decided it was time for another test. Unmindful of his surroundings, he shouted, — Brasa! — The room filled with the intense heat as a flame once again manifested in his hand. This time, it dwarfed its predecessor, three times the size and radiating a far more intense heat. Struggling to contain the fiery force, Richard flung it against the wall.

A thunderous burst reverberated through the room. The rock wall shook, and a hole, three times deeper than the original spell should have been capable of, marred the once-solid surface. A boisterous laughter erupted from Richard, an audible release of pent-up stress. He understood that it wasn't his burden that had been lifted, rather, it was the weight carried by the previous owner of his current body.

— I don't know what happened, neither how I'm here, but you'll never be bullied again. — he declared with unwavering confidence. Seated, he resumed his studies, each new spell a testament to his growing mastery. Testing them in various languages became a routine, and with each successful attempt, Richard's assurance grew.

— Somehow, the languages of this world are similar to the ones in my world.— he marveled, shock coursing through him as he unraveled another layer of the mysterious connection between his past and the present.