The soft, trembling warmth of her fingers sending a sudden, frantic rhythm through Arthur’s chest. For a man who had commanded absolute control over global financial markets and negotiated with ruthless coldness, feeling his heart hammer wildly against his ribs at the mere touch of a shy, dirt-streaked girl was a surreal shock.
He stared down at her, mesmerized by the deep violet hue of her eyes peeking out from behind her tangled ash-grey bangs. She was undeniably stunning—a hidden gem buried beneath layers of grime and rags—and the sheer proximity of her voluptuous frame made his unaccustomed, nineteen-year-old body react with embarrassing intensity.
"Who... who are you?" Arthur blurted out, his voice cracking slightly.
The young woman went dead silent. Her wide, violet eyes dilated in utter terror, and her grip on his wrist slackened. "Y-You... you don’t know who I am?" she whispered, her voice trembling so violently it barely carried across the cramped, foul-smelling shack.
In his haste to step back and process the situation, Arthur’s heel caught on a piece of jagged wooden debris jutting out from the dirt floor. He lost his balance completely, his arms flailing as he tumbled backward into a heap of moldy straw and discarded rags.
"Ah!"
The fall didn’t hurt, but Arthur quickly clutched his forehead, letting out a groan as a cover. His sharp, strategic mind was already piecing together a believable cover story. In a world he knew nothing about, playing the victim of memory loss was his most efficient path forward.
"My head..." Arthur groaned, squinting up at the low, sagging ceiling. "I... I can’t remember anything. My name, where we are, who you are... it’s all completely blank."
The girl gasped, instantly scrambling over the dirt on her hands and knees. Forgetting her meekness for a fraction of a second, she hovered over him, her face pulled into an expression of desperate worry. "No, no, no... did you hit your head when you passed out last night? Please tell me you’re joking!"
Arthur looked up at her, keeping his expression confused and vulnerable. "I’m not joking. I genuinely don’t remember a single thing. Please... tell me what’s going on."
She collapsed back onto her heels, her small hands clutching tightly to her frayed tunic as tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to collect herself before speaking in a low, rushed whisper.
"I’m... I’m Lyra," she murmured, ducking her head so her long fringe hid her burning face. "We’ve been together since we were children. After... after both our families died in the plague years ago, we were the only ones left in this slum. We grew up side by side."
As Lyra spoke, Arthur listened intently, his refined analytical instincts digesting every scrap of information she inadvertently revealed about their reality.
"This is the outer ring of the lower district," Lyra explained softly, her gaze fixed on the dirt floor. "A place where magic exists, but only for those who can afford the mana crystals or belong to noble bloodlines. Out there... beyond the slums... there are grand cities, the Adventurer Guilds, monsters lurking in the wildlands, and ancient non-human races. But none of that matters for people like us."
Arthur’s eyes sparked with excitement at the mention of magic, monsters, and guilds—the classic fantasy tropes he had devoured as a child were real. But as Lyra continued, her tone darkened, turning somber and laced with deep-seated shame.
"The world is broken," she whispered, her knuckles turning white. "Ever since the Great Mana War a century ago, the birth rate of men plummeted. Today... the gender ratio is completely messed up. There is barely one male born for every fifty females. Because of that... men are treated like rare, precious treasures by society."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Treasures?"
"Arrogant, spoiled, cruel treasures," Lyra corrected softly, a bitter edge slipping into her timid voice before she caught herself and swallowed hard. "High-born women use their power and wealth to buy or manipulate men into political unions. High-ranking female adventurers hunt for male companions to elevate their status. But for low-born boys who grow up in the slums... it’s different. They realize early on how rare they are, and most of them become horrific."
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and lingering fear.
"Because men are so scarce, even a pauper boy can command anything from a woman. Women are expected to submit, to provide, to beg for a man’s favor. Men grow up lazy, violent, and utterly ruthless, knowing no woman will ever dare to hit them back or deny them. Girls like me... we are treated like garbage. Disposable trash."
Arthur’s stomach twisted into a cold knot. The global strategist in him instantly recognized the societal power dynamic: extreme scarcity creating absolute, unregulated tyranny. But then his eyes drifted down to his own hands, and a horrifying thought crossed his mind.
"Lyra..." Arthur asked slowly, his voice dropping into a stern, measured tone. "What kind of person was I... before I lost my memory?"
Lyra flinched as if struck. She shrank back into the corner, wrapping her arms around her voluptuous frame, unable to meet his eyes. The silence in the small room stretched long and suffocating.
"You... you weren’t like this when we were children," she sobbed softly, a stray tear cutting a clean streak through the dirt on her cheek. "When we were little, you were kind. You shared your bread with me. But... as you grew up and realized what you were... you changed."
Arthur felt a chill creep up his spine. "Tell me."
"You started hating all women," Lyra confessed, her voice shaking. "You said all girls were manipulative snakes after power and lineage. You treated me like a servant. You made me scavenge through the garbage dumps all day for food and copper coins while you stayed inside. And... and lately..."
She choked on her words, burying her face in her hands.
"Lately, you got a job at the lower-tier brothel at the edge of the pleasure district. Because you are a young male, the madam pays you in cheap ale and heavy coin just to lie there while wealthy, desperate women line up all day and night. You came back every morning reeking of alcohol, covered in cheap perfume, throwing empty bottles at me, degraded beyond belief... completely consumed by filth, lust, and arrogance."
Arthur sat frozen in the damp straw, a profound disgust washing over him.
In his past life, he had built an empire, manipulated world leaders, and accumulated unimaginable wealth, but he had lived by an unyielding personal code of discipline and self-respect. The former host of this nineteen-year-old body was nothing more than an arrogant, lazy, hedonistic parasite—a absolute scum of the earth who had abused the only person who genuinely cared for him while drowning himself in cheap vice.
He looked at Lyra. Despite being treated like trash, despite being forced to scavenge in garbage while he sold his body for booze, she was still here. She had stopped him from walking outside into the harsh world because she was terrified of what would happen to him in his disoriented state.
Arthur slowly stood up from the straw. The childish excitement of his reincarnation vanished, replaced by the razor-sharp resolve of a sovereign commander. He walked over to the shivering girl in the corner and knelt directly in front of her.
Lyra flinched, instinctively pulling her head down, expecting a harsh reprimand or a flying fist.
Instead, Arthur reached out, his hand gentle, and softly lifted her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes. Gone was the glazed, arrogant, drunk look of the boy she had known. In its place was a gaze of piercing intelligence, absolute authority, and profound sincerity.
"Lyra," Arthur said, his voice deep and smooth, carrying a weight that made her breath catch. "Listen to me very carefully."
She blinked through her tears, mesmerized by the sudden, terrifying dignity radiating from him.
"The pathetic, arrogant trash who treated you like dirt died last night," Arthur declared softly, his fingers gently wiping the tear from her cheek. "I don’t care about the distorted rules of this world, and I don’t care how rare men are supposed to be. From this second onward, you will never scavenge in a dump again. You will never cower in fear of me, and no one in this world will ever treat you like garbage while I draw breath."
Lyra’s violet eyes widened in complete shock, her heart thumping so loudly she was sure he could hear it. "A-Arthur...?"
"You kept me alive," Arthur said, offering her a faint, genuine smile—the smile of a man who had conquered one world and was fully prepared to dismantle another. "Now watch how I change yours."
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