Chapter 1. I Got Possessed
It was an utterly ordinary day. I'd pulled three all-nighters to meet my deadline, scarfed down some late-night grub before bed, and passed out cold, fused to my mattress. That was it.
So when I opened my eyes…
"…What the hell is this place?"
Another unfamiliar ceiling stared back at me. Sure, I'd collapsed from exhaustion and ended up on an IV drip a few times before, but this was the first hospital ceiling rocking such an ornate, old-school vibe.
That's when it hit me.
Oh. I must've keeled over from overwork and gotten isekai'd into another world.
My decade-plus of otaku data banks screamed "dead cert."
My buddies had warned me plenty of times: You're grinding your body to dust—you're gonna drop dead. But I never figured it'd happen in my twenties. No way.
"For real?"
I checked myself over. Arms and legs attached and functional. No major issues when I wiggled them. The room looked normal enough, just not my room. For an isekai start, it was pretty tame.
Honestly, as a modern guy who'd spent half his life holed up drawing comics, I counted my blessings. My peak exercise was breathing. Chronic neck and back disks were my passive buffs. Skinny webtoon artist through and through.
I rolled out of bed and scoped the place. Fancy antique furniture. Spotless and tidy. The vibe screamed medieval fantasy.
I headed to the full-length mirror by the wardrobe. Possession or reincarnation, whatever—I needed to ID my face first. Knowing who I was would clue me into the plot ahead.
There I stood, staring at some dude in the glass.
Who the hell are you?
Was my brain too clogged with lore to place him? Or was he just your bog-standard isekai avatar? Webtoons, webnovels, manga, anime—I'd devoured them all, but this guy rang zero bells.
Black hair, brown eyes. …Like that's not a dime a dozen?!
I was screwed. Totally screwed.
Main characters must have perfect recall or some shit. They wake up and instantly rattle off: This guy's from that story, plot goes like this, next event's blah blah.
Me? Staring at Mirror Me, all I got was Hey, not bad-looking and zilch else. If I could just figure out my status…
If I was nobility, I could ration the family fortune and scrape by.
Right then, a woman's voice called from nearby.
"Did you cough, young master?"
Young master! Thank you, young master! Nobility start confirmed. The isekai gods had finally thrown me a bone.
"Young master Primo?"
Yeah. For exactly three seconds.
The name Primo hit like a gut punch, shattering my hopes and sanity.
Goddaaaamnit──!
Too damn familiar. It was my cafeteria nickname from school days, my pen name. And… the name of an extra in my buddy's romance fantasy novel.
The story went back about five years. Me and my fellow NEET, scraping by any way we could. I drew comics; he dove headfirst into webnovels.
Genre: romance fantasy. Or, bluntly, a knockoff mashup of tropes. Regret porn, grimdark, obsession bait, northern duke ML, trashy hero. Every cliché from back then, plus hipster worldbuilding bloat that went off the rails.
I could judge it so harshly for one reason.
…I'd contributed massively to that worldbuilding clusterfuck.
In my defense, we thought it was peak shit back then. Delusions of being Tolkien or whatever. We mapped out timelines, myths, geography, racial traits—the works.
Result? Epic flop. Last I checked, latest chapter views were single digits.
I wouldn't know—I bailed after skimming the opener.
Should've read it properly when he begged me to.
Anyway, now I knew the original work. But my grasp of the plot? Surface-level at best. And yeah, my pen name starred as an extra.
Primo… Aureon? Something. He'd borrowed my handle for an extra.
It happened during one of our usual setting jam sessions.
"Hey, can I use your nickname in my novel? My brain's exploding from naming."
"Go for it."
A few days later:
I laughed it off back then. No clue it'd boomerang like this.
I did push back a bit.
That godawful gacha trash game with no pity system. Shredded my wallet, and now it was tanking my fresh isekai life too.
Damn you, Izuna limited bikini LatuDi.
Rage bubbled up for my fave, but I shoved it down. Nah, Izuna was innocent. My wallet was just too fragile.
My balance was too pathetic for more excuses. And so, canon Primo was locked in as a gambling addict.
My life's over.
To be precise: about to be. Not yet. Not this instant.
"Young master Primo?"
I took a slow breath, ignoring the voice outside, and racked my brain.
Isekai rule #1: Avoid the death flags from the original.
Primo's doom chain: Gambling → Kicked out → Homeless → Dead.
Skip the gambling, skip the death. I only knew Go-Stop anyway. Never touched poker or any Western games.
What? That's it? Easy mode.
Too anticlimactic, almost boring.
"Young master, the lord is summoning you. About that loan you took recently."
Ah. Already did the deed?
Death route barreling full speed from spawn. Shit.
This trajectory? Booted penniless. In a world bloated with dangers from overdone settings, as a useless extra with zero skills.
Gacha whaling kills me IRL and here? There’s gotta be a way…
Then it clicked—that cursed chat with my buddy.
We'd cracked up back then. No idea it'd hardcore my life.
Still, that nickname since middle school—getting painted as pure trash stung a bit.
Then "typing…" popped up.
10 seconds. 30. 1 minute. 3 minutes of silence said it all.
That little talent?
Shouldn't have said "reflect reality." Nailed how he saw me.
Debating cutting ties when—
He screenshotted the setting doc.
[SKILL: Materialization]
The user can manifest drawn objects into reality.
His explanation followed.
We laughed it off that day.
But now? My ticket out of this hell.
Unlike canon Primo, I was a pro webtoon artist. Specializing in hyper-realistic food illustrations.
Clutching at straws, I thrust out my hand and yelled desperately.
"Skill! Skill! Skill!"
"…Young master?"
"SKIIIIILL─!"
"……Have you lost your mind?"
The pitying voice from the door hit just as a glowing blue translucent window materialized before my eyes, like magic.