In the quiet, my mind drifted back to what happened before I lost consciousness.

The air hung thick and windless. Cars jammed the streets; crowds still flooded the snack alley. After squeezing through the human tide—enduring sun and sweat for exactly seventeen minutes and twenty-five seconds—I finally reached the restaurant my friend mentioned.

Lao Bi’s Fat Beef Hot Pot…

Seeing that name, I wanted to rub a whole bag of salt in my friend’s face. Hot pot in this heat?!

Still, I stepped inside. The AC’s icy breath was too tempting after baking in the sun for twenty minutes. The moment I crossed the threshold, coolness kissed my bare arms, legs, and face. I closed my eyes, savoring it deeply—even the pretty waitress’s practiced smile and her “Welcome!” faded into the background. All I craved was this chill.

“You’re here! What are you waiting for? Come in!” A familiar, warm voice cut through. I opened my eyes to that infuriatingly handsome face.

My childhood friend, classmate, and utter bastard: Dragon Peak.

Yeah—the guy with a protagonist’s name, model-perfect features, and a body straight off a magazine spread.

Worst of all? He was a third-generation elite. Not just *from* a powerful family—his ancestors had been officials and tycoons for three generations straight.

Sword-like brows. Tiger-bright eyes. Flawless porcelain skin. A sharp nose. Lips thin and red as if stained with lipstick. And that effortless charm that made everyone his friend. This bastard was everything I both envied and resented.

“You made it! Hurry—I booked a private room. Everyone’s waiting.”

*Sigh.* Of course. Every meal with him meant strangers. Didn’t he know I hated crowds?

And every time…

It was always a room full of people worlds apart from a loser like me. Yeah—second-gen officials and heirs.

Even outside, I’d noticed the luxury cars parked bumper-to-bumper. I couldn’t name a single brand, but their sleek shine made even me—a guy who couldn’t care less about cars—stare.

“I mean…” I was genuinely tired of this. Couldn’t we just catch up alone? Was he rubbing our differences in my face again?

“What?” Dragon Peak turned, beaming. His dark eyes held no pretense—just pure, unfiltered brotherhood.

“Nothing…” I hesitated. That flicker of irritation vanished. His smile disarmed everyone—even a loner like me.

That’s why everyone knew his nickname:

Sunshine Prince.

Sunshine warmth. Prince-like grace. Prince-like status. If he wasn’t a prince, I wasn’t even human.

“You just got back from the U.S. I heard it’s chaotic there. You okay?” I forced out the question, staring at his radiant grin.

“Nothing to worry about! Though… yeah, some areas are rough. Five out of ten friends I knew there were into drugs…”

“Don’t you dare touch that stuff.” I cut in sharply.

“Relax…” He chuckled. “You know me better than that. C’mon—everyone’s waiting.” He grabbed my hand. My face burned. The waitress’s knowing smirk made my skin crawl. I yanked my arm, but his grip was iron.

Trapped, I walked beside him, wishing I could vanish into the floor—or just stab myself. By the time we reached the VIP room, raucous shouts spilled out: “Drink up!” “Six six six!”

*BAM!* The door flew open. Dozens of eyes locked onto me. Flushed, I finally wrenched free and slunk to a corner seat.

Before I could settle, Dragon Peak yanked me up again. “Everyone! This is my childhood buddy! Look out for him, yeah?”

The room erupted in cheers and chest-thumping promises. Annoyed, I shook off his hand, snatched a Sprite from the floor, and chugged it.

…

The memory snapped as eerie footsteps echoed outside. *Thud… scritch-scritch… THUD… scritch-scritch…*

Like someone dragging a broken limb down the hall. The grating scrape against tiles pierced my ears. Maybe the darkness sharpened my hearing—or maybe it was just the novelty of being female now.

Yeah. Me—a lonely author and shut-in who’d spent half his life without a real girlfriend. My closest companions? The Five Beauties…

Who were they? Thumb! Index! Middle! Ring! And little Miss Pinky—the youngest of the Five.

*Heh.* A tragic tale, really.

As the footsteps faded, I sat up dazed. None of this felt real.

*Human or ghost out there? What happened here? Why so silent? Where am I? Is this even my body? If yes—how? If no—whose is it? Where’s mine?*

Questions spiraled. My writer’s imagination yawned wide as a black hole:

*Alien invasion? Isekai’d? Lab rat for some Organization? Or…*

Authors’ brains run wild. Their willpower? Pathetic. Just ask any overworked editor.

My thoughts drifted back again—to that day. To the moment before darkness swallowed me…

…

The Sprite’s icy sweetness slid down my throat. Cool relief shot from my spine to my scalp, washing away the sun’s brutal drying.

I exhaled slowly, scanning the room. No one noticed me. Dragon Peak was chatting across the lavish suite.

Silent in my corner, I endured the heirs’ loud bragging. Restlessness gnawed at me. This place didn’t fit me.

Time blurred. A voice jolted me awake—I’d been lost in my novel’s plot for who knows how long.

The table was a wreck. Dragon Peak gently shook my shoulder, his face flushed. I felt that familiar pang of envy. Perfect looks. Perfect life. Perfect heart. *How does someone get to be this flawless?*

“Yu Xuan… YU XUAN!”

“Huh? Over already?” I asked, blinking at his grinning face.

“Seriously—why do you zone out every meal?”

*Because you keep inviting strangers.*

“Just… like spacing out,” I muttered.

Dragon Peak stared, baffled, as I stood up.

“It’s Sunday! Everyone’s free. Isn’t hanging out nice?” He sounded hurt.

*Different worlds. Different friends.*

“Whatever…” I sighed, turning to leave. He chased after, slinging a heavy arm over my shoulders.

“How’s the novel going? I just landed—haven’t checked yet…” He forced cheer into his voice.

“Fine…” I lied, thinking of my plummeting subscriptions.

“Doesn’t sound fine,” he mused, rubbing his chin.

“Are you a reincarnated gut worm?” I snapped, studying his face.

This bastard always saw through me. So why drag me to these hellish gatherings?

“Ever seen a gut worm this handsome?” He gasped dramatically, pointing at his face.

I sized him up. “Never.”

“Exactly! I told you—”

“But…” I cut in, “hookworms usually look like you.”

*Cough cough.* He choked, glaring. “Must you always be this vicious?”

“Born this way. Bite me if you hate it.”

“I—!” He sputtered. Then I saw it—a crowd gathering at the restaurant entrance.