Chapter 1: The Budget-Friendly Apocalypse
The last thing Kaito remembered was a 4 a.m. binge of Imperium: Total Conquest, a game so complex it made a tax audit look like a beach vacation. Then, his heart gave a final, caffeinated flutter, and the world went dark.
He expected an afterlife of fluffy clouds. Instead, he got a lungful of dust and the smell of a damp basement.
"Gah—!" Kaito choked, his eyes snapping open.
He wasn't in his gaming chair. He was in a bed the size of a small zip-code, draped in heavy, moth-eaten velvet curtains. The air was thick with the scent of beeswax and "Ancient Stone™."
"Either I'm in a very expensive escape room," he wheezed, his voice sounding suspiciously like a choir boy's, "or I've just been 'Isekai-ed' into a nightmare."
He sat up, and his brain immediately performed a backflip. His hands—usually pale and calloused only by a mouse—were smaller, tanned, and scarred from sword-drills. He grabbed a polished metal mirror from the bedside table and nearly dropped it.
The reflection was unfair. Shimmering silver-blonde hair, deep violet eyes, and a jawline sharp enough to cut cheese. He looked like the lead singer of a medieval boy band.
"No way," he whispered. "Silver hair? Violet eyes? This is the Andechs-Merania bloodline. I'm Julian."
Kaito's stomach dropped into his shoes. In the game, Julian von Andechs-Merania was what pro-players called "The Speedrun Obstacle." He was a minor noble with a shattered house, 150 starving soldiers, and a canon death date exactly three months after the game starts. He usually died off-screen during a "Tax Audit Gone Wrong."
Suddenly, a transparent window flickered into existence. It wasn't gold or holy. It was a dull, bureaucratic grey.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING: THE DIET OF WORMS]
[Welcome, User. You have successfully occupied the body of Julian von Andechs-Merania. Current Status: Bankrupt. Future Status: Corpse.]
"The Diet of Worms?" Kaito shouted. "The most boring historical assembly in history is my system name? And did you just predict my death?"
[Correct,] the system pulsed with a hint of what felt like electronic smugness. [You have inherited a 'Non-Romance Optimized Route.' While other protagonists are currently being pampered by Saintesses, you are currently $4.50 away from being evicted by the Holy Roman Empire.]
"I want a refund," Julian hissed. "Where's the 'Overpowered Cheat' button? Where's my dragon?"
[Dragon.exe not found. However, I can offer you a 5% discount on stationery for your funeral arrangements.]
The heavy oak door groaned open. A woman stepped in, her presence so commanding the dust motes seemed to stop floating out of pure respect. She was tall, her blonde hair streaked with silver, and her grey-blue eyes held the weight of a woman who had buried three husbands and two tax collectors.
This was Lady Mathilde von Andechs, his aunt (by title) and the current holder of Aarenfels Keep. She was twenty-five, looked thirty-five in terms of authority, and was the only reason the family hadn't been sold for parts yet.
"Julian," she said, her voice a cool cello note. "You've finally stopped imitating a decorative rug."
"Aunt Mathilde," Julian blurted, the name sliding out of his memory.
Mathilde crossed the room, her silk gown hissing against the stone floor. She leaned down, pressing a cold, ring-covered hand to his forehead. "The doctor said you collapsed from 'Acute Reality Shock' during the budget meeting. A bit dramatic, don't you think?"
"I... I was overwhelmed by the numbers," Julian lied, trying not to stare at her. In the game, Mathilde was a high-tier political ally. Here, she felt like a predatory shark in a corset.
"The numbers are quite simple, dear nephew," Mathilde said, a sharp, terrifying smile touching her lips. "We have 150 militia. We have three villages that produce more mud than gold. And we have the Imperial Tax Collector arriving in a fortnight. If we don't have 5,000 Crowns, he won't just take the furniture. He'll take your head."
[SYSTEM ALERT: NEW QUEST]
[OBJECTIVE: Don't get decapitated by a bureaucrat.]
[REWARD: Continued breathing. 10XP. A lukewarm potato.]
"A lukewarm potato?" Julian whispered. "You're the worst system in the multiverse."
"What was that?" Mathilde asked, her eyes narrowing.
"I said... I'll find a way to pay the potato—I mean, the tax!" Julian corrected, sweat beading on his silver-blonde hairline.
The door opened again, and a small, energetic blur collided with Julian's bed. This was Liana, his younger sister. Behind her walked his father, Baron Maximilian, looking like a man who had been tired since the Crusades.
"Julian! You're awake!" Liana chirped. "Does this mean we don't have to sell my pony to pay for the 'Saint's Peak' maintenance?"
Maximilian sighed, a sound that carried the weight of the entire shattered county. "Liana, please. Julian needs rest. And no, we aren't selling the pony yet. We're selling the silver spoons first."
Julian looked at his family. They were the background fluff. The "tragedy" that motivates the real hero, Albrecht, to seize the throne later in the game. But as Liana squeezed his arm and his father leaned heavily on his sword-belt, Julian felt a surge of genuine panic.
They're real, he realized. And if I follow the 'Canon Route,' they all end up in a mass grave.
"Father," Julian said, his voice gaining a sudden, unnatural clarity. "Don't sell the spoons."
Mathilde raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Does the 'Sleeping Beauty' of Merania have a plan? Or has the fever turned your brain into porridge?"
Julian looked at his Aunt. "The Imperial Academy in Aachen. I'm still enrolled, right?"
"Technically," Mathilde said. "But the tuition is more than our entire annual harvest. Sending you there would be like burning our last bag of grain to keep the house warm."
"It's not an expense," Julian said, his gamer brain finally kicking into high gear. He knew the Academy wasn't just a school—it was a hub for the Sovereign Pathway. If he could awaken even a 'Stirring' level of resonance, the Church would provide a subsidy. "It's an investment. If I don't go, we stay a 'Shattered House' forever. If I go, I get access to the Vassal Vision."
[SYSTEM NOTE: Finally. A glimmer of intelligence. My circuits were starting to hurt.]
"Vassal Vision?" Maximilian muttered. "Is that a new brand of spectacles?"
"It's... a talent," Julian lied smoothly. "I can see things. Loyalties. Corruption. I can find the leaks in our economy."
Mathilde leaned in closer, her grey-blue eyes searching his. The air between them grew thick. Julian realized that in this "dating sim," Mathilde was one of the "Three Widows"—powerful, dangerous, and potentially his only way to survive.
"You've changed, Julian," she whispered. "Usually, you'd be crying about the lack of silk sheets. Now you're talking about 'investments' and 'leaks.' Did you hit your head on a Saint's relic?"
"I just realized that being poor is very inconvenient," Julian replied with a shaky grin.
Mathilde let out a short, sharp laugh. "True enough. Very well. I will fund your first month at the Academy. But know this, nephew: If you fail, I won't just let the Tax Collector take you. I'll finish the job myself. It would be more merciful."
[LOYALTY CHECK: Lady Mathilde von Andechs]
[STATUS: Intrigued/Predatory. Current Loyalty: 15/100.]
[SYSTEM COMMENT: 15? Wow. She'd sell you for a moderately sized ham right now.]
"Thanks for the encouragement, Auntie," Julian muttered.
As the family began to discuss the logistics of his departure, Julian stared at the system window. The map of the Holy Roman Empire was a mess of thirty houses, all waiting to eat his lunch. Luxembourg, Wittelsbach, Habsburg—they were monsters with tens of thousands of troops.
And he had 150 guys and a sarcastic system named after a bug-filled meeting.
"First step," Julian whispered to himself. "Get to the Academy. Second step, find a way to not be a 'Canon Death' statistic."
[SYSTEM: Suggestion—Try not to look like a 'Target' while walking through Aachen. Your face is currently 400% too punchable for a minor noble.]
"Shut up," Julian hissed.
"What was that?" Liana asked, tilting her head.
"Nothing!" Julian shouted, pulling the blanket over his head. "I'm just... practicing my battle cry!"
From the corner of the room, he saw Mathilde watching him, her hand tracing the hilt of a small dagger at her waist. She wasn't convinced. But for the first time in his two lives, Kaito—now Julian—didn't just want to win the game.
He wanted to survive the budget.