*A bedroom*
An adolescent boy and a middle-aged man faced each other. One sat on a cozy bed in sleepwear; the other stood impeccably dressed, posture sharp enough to cut glass.
The boy's epiphanic expression seems to expand in intensity each second, while on the butler's face, the intrigue was almost leaking out of his eyebrows.
---
*Boy— no, the newly transmigrated man's POV*
"So… that's!… it…"
'Now I know what's going on.'
He rambled about.
"Never thought I'd be in this situation…"
"Heh."
He nodded at something only he seemed to understand.
"Boy… what situation have you found yourself in to scream like a mouse trapped?"
The butler's worry was practically audible in his question.
"Is it about…"
He composed himself with a slow inhale.
"…your admission results?"
Clarifying his doubts the butler continued.
"Because yesterday you refused to open the letter after dinner…"
"Are you alright? I hope you're not wallowing over the results, because your par—"
"Stop right there!"
The boy snapped back to the present, alarm flashing as if he experienced something that instant.
A moment after the shock came the reply.
"It's not what you think, Uncle Khan."
He clarified his stance.
"I'm not worried about my situation."
He straightened up with forced conviction.
"I just… suddenly had an idea, that's all."
Then suddenly with a slight sheepish grin he said.
"Well… maybe a little excited about the admission. But that's it."
The butler, no, Khan's worry softened into something fatherly. His gaze gentled like someone seeing the child they raised regain their spirit.
---
POV Khan
'He really resembles you, doesn't he…'
'She would have been so proud…'
A moment of sadness flickered in his old eyes.
"So what is this plan you speak of, young one?"
"May I assist you in any way?"
His tone pledged absolute support.
'Gods be good… let him stay happy.'
Behind his words there was still a silent prayer for the boy.
The boy as if thought of something, replied to Khan
"I'd like some time alone, Uncle,"
The boy said.
"Just to get ready… quickly."
"Starting to feel ants in my stomach."
Khan smiled knowingly.
'Some things can break a person… but this boy still found his ground.'
'Your bet was right, my lord. This one will be alright.'
His smile contained something that only a sweet nostalgia could being about.
He bowed with a practiced grace.
"I'll wait for you at the dining hall."
---
*Boy's POV again*
Once the door closed, he let out a deep exhale.
"Memory reels with no pain? That's dope."
"I thought mind-merging always came with migraines."
"So… a rundown young master of a cast-off family, recently orphaned, freshly awakened awaiting academy opening, huh..."
'This is, this defenetly is… an EXTRA !template.'
He froze with equal parts excitement and confusion.
"But why though? I never read academy genre novels, only extra genre, even then did not rant about any of the tras—"
"Book. Ahem..."
"I didn't even comment negatively on any of them…"
'Didn't even have time to read new appears because of work…'
"Sighhhhhhhh."
"To think I'd transmigrate into a cliché template…"
He rambled for a good 15 minutes while fixing the bed and changing into daywear, before heading to the bathroom.
---
*Bathroom*
Moderate size. Sink, shower, toilet. Western design but with a bidet, a good hygiene point.
He stared into the mirror for 30 seconds straight.
"Didn't work… so the memory template activates with keywords, huh."
'Would've been nice if staring at myself unlocked memories.'
"But the name's decent enough no need for worries there."
"Zain… Zain Thatcher…"
He tasted the new name on his tongue for that is his identity in this new world he was sucked into.... literally.
"Hm…"
"So this world really is modern-fantasy."
'If not—'
"Status!"
A floating window appeared, about seventeen inches wide. Blurred background, textual readouts, octagonal graphs, gradual bars—everything a generic system genre reader could recognize.
"Yup, i knew it, the world really has a regular template huh."
'Awakened with systems, evolutions, races, modern tech, awakening academies bla bla bla…'
"Pretty much the usual setup."
'Then, clichéd academy genre, with transmigrated into an extra template it is.'
The boy confirmed his situation once again to reel in his mind to present.
"Now then, what—"
His voice etched with plans for future..