When Jack opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed wasn't the velvet curtains or the towering canopy bed.
It was the silence.
Not the comforting kind. Not the peaceful, Sunday-morning kind.
This was the silence of expectation. Of judgment.
Where the hell am I?
He slowly sat up, blinking away the heaviness in his limbs. The air smelled faintly of lavender and iron. On the nearby wall hung a massive sword, and to the right, polished armor stood like a silent sentinel. A polished mirror across the room showed him a face that wasn't entirely his — it looked like him, sure, but worn down. Pale, underfed, haunted.
He reached for his chest.
Still beating. Definitely not Earth.
---
A knock came. It was soft, polite, but not friendly. The door creaked open before he could respond.
A tall woman in uniform — silver armor without a scratch on it — stepped inside and bowed stiffly.
"Sir Jack," she said, tone flat. "You are awake. I will inform the household."
"…Great," Jack muttered. "I don't suppose you know who I am?"
Her eyes flickered, just slightly.
"You are Lady Elsa's husband. General of the North and war hero of the East. You've been unconscious for three days since your fall down the stairs."
Husband? General?
His heart dropped. Oh, no. This isn't one of those wish-fulfillment isekais, is it?
He rubbed his temples. "Right. The stairs."
---
When she left, he paced.
This wasn't Earth.
He was in someone else's body.
And apparently, this guy — Jack — was married to a general named Elsa.
He tried to remember anything. Nothing. Just fragmented emotions. Panic. Numbness. The scent of smoke.
He opened a drawer — mostly empty. A journal, untouched. A bottle of ink, dried. No letters. No memories.
The only thing that sat at the center of the desk was a single envelope.
---
To Jack
From Elsa.
He didn't open it. He stared at it. For several minutes. Then tucked it away.
---
Hours later, he was summoned to meet the family. Elsa's family.
It was the most awkward dinner of his entire existence — and he had sold vacuum cleaners door-to-door for three months once.
Nobody looked at him. The father, a broad-shouldered noble with piercing eyes, drank his wine in silence. The mother glanced at him like one might inspect a moldy pear. Two young children sat at the table, not even acknowledging his presence.
Jack tried.
"So… nice weather?"
The eldest girl, maybe six, blinked once, then continued eating.
The father finally spoke. "Don't think your coma bought you sympathy. We haven't forgotten the things you did."
Jack flinched. "I… don't remember."
"That's the best lie you've told in years," the man said coldly. "At least it's shorter."
Jack's jaw tightened. He stood to leave, not because he was angry — but because he felt like vomiting.
---
That night, Jack sat on the balcony, watching the moon rise.
So. I'm in another world. Everyone hates me. And I'm married to a woman who's been at war for five years and probably regrets everything.
What do I do now?
He chuckled bitterly.
"Just like that drama… the one where the general wife comes home and divorces the idiot husband."
He ran a hand through his hair.
"Yeah. I guess I'm the idiot."
---
The next morning, he tried to help in the estate. No one accepted.
He asked to carry a basket — the maid took a different hallway.
He tried to sweep — the groundskeeper muttered, "Just don't touch anything."
Even the cats avoided him.
One boy hissed, "My father said you'd sell your own name if you thought it'd buy you more ale."
Jack's fists clenched.
He wanted to yell, That wasn't me.
But what good would that do?
---
Desperate, Jack wandered into the nearby town.
Same thing. Disdain. Avoidance. A few threw spoiled fruit at his feet.
It wasn't just reputation — it was legacy.
And that's when he learned the worst part:
Jack — his predecessor — was in debt.
Ten thousand silver coins.
"Oh. Wonderful," Jack muttered, staring at the notice pinned to the tavern wall. "So I'm broke, hated, and stuck in a marriage built on a scandal. Top tier isekai experience."
---
He found a bench and sat down.
"I did everything back home," he muttered to himself. "Mechanic. Teacher. Street performer. Nothing lasted. And now I'm here… and I can't even sweep a floor."
He looked to the sky.
"But this world doesn't know me. They only know him."
That's when it clicked. This world didn't have to stay the same.
He'd survived everything Earth threw at him. Maybe it was time to try again.
Not for respect. Not for glory.
Just so he could look at himself in the mirror again.