"Now, Why Did I Transmigrate Into a Protagonist?!?"

The room finally fell silent, the absence of voices a balm to his frayed nerves.

Yīchéng tried to process what had just happened, but the sheer absurdity of it all pressed down on him like a boulder. He hated it.

All his life, he had been a kid from an ordinary family. Sure, he was lazy and practically useless, but no one ever controlled him. His parents were strict, but they never restricted his freedom, and he, in turn, never did anything reckless or absurd to hurt them-aside from stubbornly refusing to study.

But here? A broken system was now dictating his every move. Not just his actions but even his behavior and voice. He never asked for this.

No matter how uncertain the road ahead, he couldn't afford to let this go unchecked. He needed to finish what was required of him, survive, and get rid of this system. Consider it repayment for this second chance at life.

Finally, unable to stay still, Yīchéng rolled out of bed and tried to stand. His legs wobbled like jelly beneath him, and before he could stop himself, he collapsed onto the floor in an unceremonious heap.

He ended up kneeling on the cold, hard ground, his forehead pressed against the floor like a disgraced emperor begging for forgiveness. "Mom, Dad," he croaked, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to check out this early, okay? It's not like I had a death wish! It was the puddle-blame the damn puddle!"

His voice cracked as tears streamed down his face. "Take care of my siblings, alright? Make sure they don't screw up like I did. And Mom, stop nagging about my grades. Guess what? None of that matters when you're dead."

He sniffled, wiping his nose on the absurdly long sleeve of his robe. The fabric, a deep shade of midnight blue, flared out around his wrist, almost as if it had a life of its own. "I've got a new life now, apparently. Don't worry about me... wherever I am."

For a moment, he stayed like that, the silence around him amplifying the rawness of his words.

Finally dragging himself upright, Yīchéng decided to test his legs again. They wobbled beneath him, but this time, he managed to stay upright. He shuffled toward the mirror on the other side of the room, catching his reflection for the first time.

What stared back at him was undeniably a masterpiece sculpted by the heavens.

He leaned closer, scrutinizing his reflection with a mix of awe and exasperation. Now, he probably understood what those novel descriptions meant when it said "Sword-like eyebrows, phoenix eyes, and a nose so straight it could cut steel." This face could win wars just by showing up, he thought with a dry chuckle.

Yīchéng groaned, running a hand through his absurdly silky hair. "So, this is what I'm working with? The heavens really went all out on this protagonist look. Too bad they stuck it on me."

He shook his head, chuckling bitterly. "But right now? It looks a little pale, sickly, and baby-faced. Give it a few years, though, and this kid could outshine the heavens. Figures-of course the protagonist has to look like this."

Straightening up, he brushed his hair back with an air of resignation. "Young gongzi of the Mèng family, huh?" He ran a hand down the side of his face, marveling at how absurdly smooth his skin was despite its pallor. "More like a fraud forced to babysit villains."

He chuckled, the sound laced with bitterness. "So much for being the protagonist. All those novels made it sound like a dream-power, adventure, endless adoration. But no one ever mentions the pressure to be a saint, to carry the weight of the world like some overworked donkey."