"Ugh..."
The young man groaned as he cracked his eyes open, only to be assaulted by a blinding white light. He winced, squinting hard and throwing up a hand like a vampire caught outside at high noon. Blinking rapidly, he sat up, waiting for his vision to adjust.
When it finally did, he took a proper look around—and immediately concluded that either he was dreaming, or the afterlife had a much bigger budget than he expected.
He was seated in the middle of an expansive courtyard, the kind you'd expect to see in one of those historical dramas where everyone wears cloaks and has suspiciously perfect teeth. Looming far ahead of him was a gothic mansion straight out of the 12th to 16th century—because, thanks to his High Intellectual Potential (HIP), he could recognize medieval structures with ridiculous accuracy, even while possibly dead.
The architectural details were pristine—pointed arches, ribbed vaults, and ornate tracery, all exuding an eerie grandeur. The sheer scale and precision of the structure made it feel less like a relic of the past and more like a timeless monument to something powerful, something watching. Shadows clung stubbornly to the recesses of the stonework, giving the impression that the building itself was alive, waiting in silent judgment. The craftsmanship screamed high gothic, not the watered-down Hollywood version. His brain, despite the absurdity of the situation, couldn't help but appreciate the attention to detail. If this was a hallucination, his subconscious had some serious taste.
Getting to his feet, he noticed he wasn't alone. All around him, others were groggily rising, their expressions running the full emotional spectrum. Some looked dazed, some terrified, and a select few—like the guy a few feet to his left—were absolutely ecstatic.
"Yes! I knew it! I was chosen!" the man was practically vibrating, eyes gleaming with excitement.
The guy next to him, clearly having none of it, smacked him upside the head. "Shut up, man. Read the room."
The young man raised an eyebrow. They knew each other? A sudden, unsettling thought crept into his mind.
"Wait… did they die together?"
His stomach twisted, but before he could spiral too far, something even weirder happened—because of course, it did.
Figures began materializing out of thin air, their forms flickering like static before solidifying with an eerie, weighty presence. A faint hum filled the air, accompanied by a rush of displaced wind, as if reality itself had momentarily shuddered to accommodate their existence.
The young man's eyes widened as he took in the newcomers—humanoid creatures with animal heads, dressed in crisp suits and formal attire like they were about to host a dinner party rather than... whatever the hell this was.
"There's no way this is real," he muttered under his breath. Then again, his media consumption habits included a lifetime's worth of anime, manga, manhwa, web novels, and isekai stories. If this was a fever dream, it was one hell of a well-researched one.
His internal monologue was cut short by a sudden scream. A man in his 30s, not far from him, was having a full-blown meltdown.
"Where the hell am I? I'm late for work! You can't just kidnap people like this, you sick freaks!" He spat profanities in every direction, veins bulging in his forehead.
The young man groaned inwardly, already seeing where this was going.
"Oh no… I'm in a transmigration novel, aren't I?" He facepalmed. "And if that guy's the stereotype I think he is…"
Sure enough, the lion-headed figure—who he had already mentally dubbed "Administrator No. 1"—adjusted his monocle, gave a slow, unimpressed blink, and snapped his fingers.
There was a brief, terrible pause—just long enough for realization to dawn in the man's eyes—before the explosion came.
Boom.
The man's head didn't just explode—it detonated. A sickening wet pop filled the air as bone shards and fleshy bits sprayed across the courtyard. Blood splattered across the cobblestones in wide, red arcs, and a chunk of what could only be part of his jaw landed with a sickening slap right next to the young man's foot. A few unlucky souls caught the worst of it, now screaming in horror as they wiped viscera off their faces.
The young man, however, just exhaled sharply through his nose. "Yup. Called it."
Administrator No. 1 delicately brushed a fleck of brain matter off his immaculate suit, then clasped his hands together. "So," he said, in a very distinct British posh accent, "does anyone else wish to test their luck?"
The Orientation Begins
Silence.
Nobody answered—for fear of their lives, obviously.
The lion-headed administrator gave a satisfied nod before finally continuing. But rather than launching into an immediate explanation or answering the burning questions on everyone's mind, he simply began calling out names.
"When an administrator calls your name, step forward. They will be responsible for your orientation," the lion-headed administrator announced, his rich, deep posh accent cutting through the tense silence.
And so, the roll call began.
The ecstatic man from earlier and his friend were summoned by an administrator with a cat's head—one that looked eerily like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. Slowly, the crowd began to thin as more people were called forward, leaving the young man standing there, waiting for his name.
Anxiety gnawed at his stomach. One by one, people were whisked away, yet his name still hadn't been called.
Finally, when only he remained, the last administrator left standing spoke up.
"Mr. [*****]!"
Swallowing hard, the young man stepped forward, only to freeze mid-step when he laid eyes on the administrator waiting for him. The figure stood unnervingly still, long ears twitching slightly, its pristine white fur a stark contrast against the dark formal attire. Despite its otherwise composed posture, something about the rabbit's rigid stance and tense shoulders sent a prickle of unease down his spine. Its gleaming red eyes locked onto him—not with the smug superiority he expected, but with something dangerously close to… dread?
A rabbit.
Sweat immediately began pooling at his temples.
"Not the rabbit!" his mind screamed. "Anyone but the goddamn rabbit!"
His brain flooded with PTSD flashbacks from all the manhwa he'd read featuring rabbit-headed administrators. They were always the worst—condescending, annoying, and smug little bastards that made him want to reach through the pages and punch them square in their fluffy, snarky faces. Sure, all administrators were usually assholes, but the rabbit ones? They were a special breed of unbearable.
Forcing a neutral expression, he took a steady step forward, bracing himself for whatever nonsense was about to come out of this rabbit's mouth.
But instead of snark, he got something he never could have predicted.
Just as he reached about a meter away, the rabbit-headed administrator suddenly stiffened. For a split second, the young man caught a glimpse of something—was that fear? Panic? Before he could fully process it, the rabbit's entire body lurched forward into a deep bow, ears flattening as it practically threw itself to the ground. Then, in a voice that trembled with desperation, it shouted at the top of its lungs—
"P-PLEASE FORGIVE ME!"