In the kingdom of Eidalein, one academy stood above the rest.
Celestia Academy.
For over two centuries, it had been the heart of the kingdom's future. Knights trained to defend the borders, mages honed their spells, and alchemists crafted wonders that shaped history.
Kings, nobles, and even famous heroes had at least once walked its halls.
Celestia wasn't just an academy; it was a gateway to greatness.
In the fantasy game Alchemia Tale, Celestia was where everything began.
And the center of that story? A boy named Shin Valor, a mysterious orphan with strange powers. Taken in by a kind professor after he accidentally destroyed a training dummy with raw magic.
Shin had it all: a secret lineage, a world-saving destiny, and so many girls chasing him that it broke the romance counter.
His fate? To grow through battle, earn the hearts of powerful heroines, and save the world with dramatic speeches and glowing swords.
But all of that is absolutely none of the concern of the young man sulking alone on a bench near the academy's gates.
Jericho Vaun Ashenwald.
A name that still sends cold sweat running down the backs of dozens of students.
The stories about him? Oh, they were juicy.
A self-entitled noble brat. A tyrant in tailored robes. The apex predator of the academy's social hierarchy.
He strutted down the halls like he owned them, treating commoners like dirt, toying with women like trophies, and throwing his weight around with a sneer and a fat wallet.
A womanizer, a sadist, a real piece of shit.
But then, justice.
He got into a feud with Shin, the golden boy himself. Jericho crossed the line when he tried to force himself on Shin's beloved childhood friend.
What followed wasn't just a beatdown; it was a full-blown public execution of status, pride, and reputation.
Shin dismantled him in front of the whole academy. One punch broke his nose. The next knocked out a tooth. By the time it was over, Jericho was face-down on the floor, bleeding, groaning, and unconscious.
Soon, everyone learned about it. Professors, nobles, commoners. Everyone cheered, some even clapped. And for Jericho, it was far from the end.
"You are hereby stripped of your student privileges," the headmaster had said. "You have brought disgrace to this academy and your family. You are no longer welcome within these walls until further notice."
His father had been there too. Lord Ashenwald. Cold as stone.
"Consider that you have no family now," he said, turning away as Jericho stood wobbling. "You've embarrassed our house. You'll get nothing more from me."
That was it. Just like that, the doors slammed behind him. No servants. No carriage. Just silence, sneers, and a trail of thrown dirt as students made sure he left with as much shame as possible.
Rotten bread would've been kinder.
Now, here he sat. Back against the bench, arms folded under his nose, fingers steepled like a philosopher brooding on the meaning of existence.
His long, dark coat draped over his suitcase like a flag of surrender.
His only possessions? Clothes, luggage, and a legacy of absolute trash.
And yet, he sat proud, solemn...
Totally defeated.
The problem?
'I'm not the one who did those things!' Jericho snapped, finally exploding as he kicked at a nearby pebble.
Well. Technically, he wasn't Jericho.
Inside, he was someone else entirely.
A nobody. A shut-in. A failure.
Back on Earth, he'd spent every waking moment, which was at any moment of the day or night, rotting in his tiny room.
Video games, anime binges, cup noodles, repeat. After a few humiliating school memories and a job he despised, where his coworkers called him Nicolas Tomato because of one blushing, asthma-induced meltdown, he shut everyone out. Stammering, socially awkward, with a chest like a crushed can and lungs made of wet paper, he was practically the CEO of Failure.
His doctor warned him about heart failure. Told him, dead serious: "If you don't change, your heart won't keep up."
But of course, he didn't listen.
Change? Ok, but tomorrow.
And tomorrow stayed a promise, until the day without tomorrow.
His last memory was a dull, squeezing pain, like his ribs were collapsing. His arms went numb, and his vision popped like electricity on a broken screen.
Then... nothing.
Next thing he knew?
Here.
Eidalein. Alchemia Tale.
He'd pinched his arms so many times his forearms were red. It wasn't a dream. No system menu, no cheat powers. Just a second-hand body and a pile of sins.
He'd actually reincarnated.
"Okay... calm down," he muttered to himself. "This is fine. This is fine."
On one hand, this was AMAZING. He was inside his favorite game! He could explore Eidalein! Meet the characters he loved! Pet a griffin! Fight a skeleton knight! Talk to that one mage girl whose character arc made him cry!
But on the other hand...
He looked down at his trembling hands.
He wasn't Shin.
Not the Hero of Flame and Steel, Heir of the Forgotten Lineage, Savior of the Seven Realms, or Ladies' King of Eidalein.
He was Jericho. The Pervert Speedbump.
A character so despised, fans actively cheered when he got publicly humiliated.
And he remembered why.
Jericho wasn't just a villain, he was a dev's personal vendetta.
Named after some jerk from their high school days. Built to be hated. His role? To harass, annoy, and ultimately elevate Shin by getting wrecked.
A walking trash can on fire.
Jericho sighed and closed his eyes.
"This is the worst. Is this divine punishment? Did I waste my life so badly that I got respawned as karma bait?"
And the timing was the worst. He hadn't just reincarnated into Jericho; he reincarnated into him after the beatdown.
The dirty looks. The glares. The mutters. The girlfriend slapping him, calling him disgusting. The girls Jericho had messed with laughing as they watched him fall. His own friends ghosting him. His father's cold scowl.
He didn't understand any of it until now.
His hands clenched on his knees.
"I didn't do anything... I didn't deserve this...!"
"Still denying it, huh?"
A voice cut through the air. Jericho looked up.
Two students stood a few feet away, arms crossed, sneering.
"What a disgrace. Still pretending you're innocent?"
"Shameless. Honestly, they should've expelled you outright."
Jericho blinked, slack-jawed.
He opened his mouth, closed it, then slowly sat back down, adjusting his coat like a gentleman defeated by weather.
"...Okay, maybe I lost my temper there."
He took a deep breath.
"Technically I'm not Jericho... but to them, I am. And as far as they care, I did all those things."
His face dropped onto his palms.
"God. I'm so screwed."