Manuel Cruz had never been anyone special. A 26-year-old office worker in Manila, he lived an unremarkable life filled with spreadsheets, coffee breaks, and the occasional binge-watching of historical documentaries. He was an average man with average dreams, content with the monotonous rhythm of his existence.
Until the day he died.
It happened suddenly—one moment, he was crossing the street near his apartment, and the next, blinding lights filled his vision. The screech of tires, the sharp sting of impact, and then… darkness. No pain, no sound—just the abyss.
Then, something strange happened. He woke up.
The first thing he noticed was the smell—gunpowder, leather, and something metallic. His body felt different, stronger, but also heavier. The air was thick with tension, and as he tried to move, he realized he was lying on a luxurious bed, draped in fine silks. His hands trembled as he raised them to his face, feeling his features—sharper cheekbones, a strong jawline, and hair that was shorter and curlier than his own.
A wave of unfamiliar memories crashed into him. Battles, strategies, faces he did not recognize but knew intimately. His heart pounded as he stumbled toward a mirror across the room.
The reflection staring back at him was not Manuel Cruz.
It was Napoleon Bonaparte.
Panic surged through him. This had to be a dream, a hallucination. He pinched himself—no change. He took a deep breath and focused. His mind was a chaotic mix of his old memories as Manuel and the newly acquired ones of Napoleon.
Slowly, understanding dawned upon him. He wasn't just imagining things. He was Napoleon Bonaparte. And judging from the surroundings—the military uniforms neatly folded on the chair, the strategic maps sprawled across the table—this was the year 1798, just before Napoleon's return to France from his Egyptian campaign.
A knock on the door jolted him from his thoughts.
"Mon général," a deep voice called from outside. "The officers are waiting for your orders."
He took a deep breath. If history remained the same, in just a year, Napoleon would return to France and stage the coup that would make him First Consul. If he played his cards right, he could ensure that he won against all of Europe's coalitions—something the real Napoleon had failed to do.
He had been given a second chance, not as an ordinary man in Manila, but as the most brilliant general in modern history.
A smirk curled his lips.
It was time to conquer the world.