Arzen was just about to push the door open when it suddenly swung inward, almost knocking him off balance. He caught himself at the last second, mentally cursing the door for having such terrible timing.

A guy stood in the doorway, looking as if he’d just stepped out of a high-fashion magazine—blonde hair perfectly tousled, blue eyes that seemed to glow with their own internal spotlight, and a smile that might’ve had its own contract with a toothpaste brand. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and managed to pull off that rare combination of friendliness and intimidation that only someone with his genetic lottery could achieve.

Arzen’s breath caught in his throat as a rush of memories from this world’s Arzen flooded his mind. 

The guy was Elden Desmond, the second son of the ridiculously influential Desmond family. The memories painted a clear picture—Elden was practically royalty in this world. The Desmonds were one of the country’s oldest and wealthiest families, with members who practically owned the entertainment industry.

The memories made it clear that, despite his powerful background, Elden somehow managed to stay humble—or maybe just a bit clueless sometimes. His father had apparently decided that living in a dorm would give him some “real world experience” before he had to dive into the family business after high school.

Elden, noticing Arzen’s hesitation, greeted him with a friendly smile. 

“Zenzen! You’re back! Why are you just standing there? Come on, get in quickly!”

Elden’s voice was light and inviting as he gently grabbed Arzen’s wrist and pulled him inside. It was strange how cold Zenzen’s hand felt, but Elden dismissed it as nothing at that moment.

As Arzen stepped into the room, he took in his surroundings. The dormitory was far more spacious than he had expected—designed for four people, with lofted beds, desks, and neatly arranged shelves. The walls were covered in posters and photos, giving the space a lively, lived-in feel. It was something Arzen wasn’t used to, and something that made him feel even more out of place. 

Elden noticed how oddly quiet Arzen was being. Usually, Arzen would have said something by now, but today he just seemed off. Elden snapped his fingers in front of Arzen’s face.

“Zenzen? You okay? You don’t seem well.”

Elden’s voice was full of concern, but to Arzen, it sounded distant, muffled by the panic tightening in his chest.

Arzen nodded stiffly, the movement awkward and forced. The pain from where Elden had grabbed his wrist earlier suddenly throbbed, reminding him that everything was painfully real. 

Elden’s eyes narrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. Arzen was acting strange—distant, like he was barely present. Did something happen? Elden couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“You’re acting weird, Zenzen. Did you eat something funny?”

Arzen didn’t respond immediately, still lost in the whirlwind of his thoughts. Elden, noticing the blank expression on his friend’s face, decided to take control of the situation. Without waiting for an answer, he gently steered Arzen toward the desk and guided him into the chair.

Arzen let himself be seated, his brain still on vacation. The familiar action felt strange in this unfamiliar context. As he placed his belongings on the desk, the odd blend of familiarity and foreignness struck him. The desk was a strange mix of what he knew from his original world and what belonged to this world’s Arzen. It was unsettling.

Elden watched closely, his usual lighthearted demeanor giving way to a subtle worry. Elden wasn’t sure what to make of this mood. Usually, Arzen was the most predictable of them all—steady, calm, and always ready with a sarcastic comment. 

“Zenzen, you were out late last night. Where’d you go?” 

Elden's sudden question jolted Arzen back to reality. His heart skipped a beat as he realized he had been lost in his thoughts. The seriousness in Elden's tone cut through the fog of confusion in his mind, and Arzen instinctively searched through the memories of this world’s Arzen, trying to find something he could use to respond.

“Library.” Arzen finally blurted out, feeling the word roll off his tongue almost automatically. It was as if this world’s Arzen’s memories were feeding him the answer, but it still felt foreign.

“Library, huh? Next time, give me a heads-up if you’re staying out that late. Hanjun almost freaked out and started a search party! I can’t let him win the ‘Best Friend’ contest!” 

Elden grinned and winked playfully, hoping to get a reaction. But when Arzen just stared back blankly, Elden couldn’t help but feel a little unsettled. Normally, Arzen would have come back with something snarky or at least rolled his eyes, but today he just seemed... out of it.

Oblivious to Elden’s concerns, Arzen forced a small, distracted smile. Internally, he was still grappling with the fact that he’d somehow landed in what felt like the weirdest reality ever. Everything around him was strange, but he knew he had to play it cool—or at least not look like he was on the verge of losing his mind.

From this world’s Arzen’s memories, he knew these dorm mates were practically obsessed with this world’s Arzen, constantly bickering over who got to be his number one best friend. This had apparently been their favorite pastime for more than a year since they started living together.

The thought made Arzen internally cringe. He compared this new reality to his old life—a life where no one even noticed if he was around, and where solitude was his only reliable companion. The idea of being surrounded by people like this, with zero personal space, felt like some kind of ironic punishment. Living with them would be like being trapped in a never-ending social marathon, and Arzen wasn’t sure he had the stamina for it.

Elden, blissfully unaware that Arzen was mentally drafting a survival guide for living with overly enthusiastic roommates, settled into his desk with a casual ease. He glanced at Arzen, who still seemed a bit spaced out, and decided it was time to break the silence.

“Got any plans for the weekend?”

“Sleep and maybe some writing.” 

Arzen answered cautiously, unsure if he was saying the right thing but deciding that vague was the safest route.

“Still working on that story?” 

Elden’s tone was light, but there was a genuine interest behind his question. He had always admired this world’s Arzen’s dedication to writing, even if he didn't fully understand it.

Arzen’s mind raced as he struggled to recall what Elden was referring to. 

‘What story?’ 

His brain offered no helpful clues, just a rising tide of panic as he realized he was utterly clueless. Instead of responding, he stared at Elden, hoping the moment would just pass without further interrogation.

Elden, seeing the blank look on Arzen’s face, felt a flicker of concern. Arzen looked like someone who had just been asked to solve a complex math problem without a calculator. Elden considered pressing the issue but then thought better of it. Maybe he’s just overworked again, he mused, deciding to let it go for now—much to Arzen’s silent relief.

“I better be the first to read it this time. Don’t just let Hanjun see it! I wanna check it out too!”

Arzen managed a weak nod, still trying to piece together his jumbled thoughts. His mind was spinning faster than he could keep up with, and keeping track of this conversation was becoming increasingly difficult.

“Wanna play some games before dinner?” 

Elden offered, his voice as cheerful as ever. Arzen, however, wasn’t quite in the mood for Elden’s endless optimism.

“I’m tired. I’ll rest.” 

The words slipped out before he could think them through, and he immediately regretted how flat they sounded.

Elden, sensing that something was definitely off, dropped the subject as if it were a hot potato. He considered suggesting a movie or some other way to cheer Arzen up, but the weary look on his friend’s face made him pause. Maybe rest really was the best option for Arzen right now, Elden concluded, deciding to give him some space.

“Alright, I’m gonna take a bath, then dinner.”

As Elden disappeared, Arzen’s attention drifted to a notebook on the desk—one that belonged to Arzen of this world. The worn edges and frayed cover made it looked like it had seen more action than a TV remote during a binge-watching marathon.

Flipping through the pages, he saw them filled with unfinished stories, thoughts, and sketches—none of them his, yet they carried a sense of familiarity. It was a bridge between two lives, two different people. The gap between who he was and who he had become seemed smaller than ever.

He picked up a pen, which felt strangely foreign in his hand, and began to write. He jotted down details from his old world—the tiny, lonely room that had been his sanctuary, the comforting solitude that now felt like a distant memory. He wasn’t about to let these memories slip away into the void of this new reality. No, he was going to document every last detail before they were lost forever, like socks in a washing machine.

As he wrote, his thoughts turned to the novel, I Became a Business Tycoon After I Regress. The story revolved around Roel Arth, who regressed five years before his death to seek revenge on those who had wronged him. Devon August, the male lead, was the kind of character you wouldn’t want to cross—a calculating businessman with a heart of ice, unless you were family, in which case he might thaw just a little. He married Roel when his adopted nephew, Raizel, was 15 years old.

Arzen jotted down these details meticulously, aware that if he didn’t pin them down now, they might slip away, swept under the rug by the new memories crowding into his brain.

He recalled the dialogue between Carsel and Raizel with surprising clarity—a memory tied to his past efforts at scriptwriting. He’d once dabbled in adapting the extra chapter of the novel, which was why these particular details were etched into his mind. But as he continued to write, something unsettling bubbled up—a conversation with a young man was missing. Beyond Raizel’s reminiscence of his past with Carsel, everything was a blank.

The gap in his memory was troubling, but Arzen pressed on, determined to capture everything he could before it faded away. He scribbled down the specifics of the extra chapter where his character—the nameless extra who sat behind Raizel—was mentioned. It had been just a fleeting detail, but now it was his reality, whether he liked it or not.

While Arzen was lost in his swirling thoughts and memories, a light tap on his shoulder jolted him back to reality. He turned quickly, his heart racing as if he’d just seen a ghost.

“Transmigration?” 

The softly spoken word sent a chill down his spine.