They Called Me Trash? Now I'll Hack Their World Chapter 2: The Sick Boy

Click! Click! Click!

I lay still, listening to the sound of her footsteps echo off stone walls until silence settled over.

Then I cracked one eye open.

Sigh!

I rubbed my face with both hands.

"Just what the fuck was that?"

My voice ca out higher than expected, bit thinner.

Poison? In that cup?

I peeked through my fingers at the cup sitting on the nightstand. Then my gaze drifted to the dark stain spreading across the rough blanket where I’d spilled most of the liquid.

Gulp!

If I’d actually drunk that...

I pushed myself up on my elbows, muscles protesting the movent.

Everything felt weak, fragile, like my bones were made of glass.

The room around was completely foreign.

Rough-hewn wooden beams overhead. Stone walls. A small window. A simple wooden chair with worn armrests, a chest that had seen better decades, iron hinges black with age.

This wasn’t my apartnt.

"Where the hell am I?"

I held up my hands, staring at them in the morning light filtering through the window.

Small, thin fingers. These weren’t my hands. My hands had calluses from years of typing, small scars from building PCs, a burn mark on my thumb from a soldering iron.

These hands looked like they belonged to a kid.

I pushed the blanket aside and looked down at my arms. Stick-thin. With almost no muscle on them. Pale skin that looked like it had never seen sunlight.

"How am I this much smaller?"

Thump!

My heart hamred against my ribs as the implications hit .

I hurriedly threw off the blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

Bad choice.

Thud!

My feet hit the floor and my legs imdiately turned to jelly. The world tilted sideways as I pitched forward, arms windmilling uselessly.

My palm slamd against the wooden table, fingers scrambling for hold on the rough surface.

"Shit..."

My body felt like it was made of lead. Every muscle ached, a deep bone-deep exhaustion that made even standing feel impossible. My head throbbed with each heartbeat, vision swimming at the edges.

Breathe. Just breathe.

I gripped the table edge, knuckles white, waiting for the dizziness to pass. After what felt like hours, I managed to straighten up slightly.

One step. Then another. My bare feet scraped against the floor as I dragged myself toward the corner where a full-length mirror stood.

Then I looked at it, and my blood froze at the reflection that stared back at .

A kid.

Which seed to be around twelve or thirteen years old. Blonde hair hung limp around a gaunt face. Dull blue eyes sunken deep in their sockets. Dark circles beneath them like bruises.

The body was a skeleton wrapped in pale skin. Ribs visible through the thin nightshirt. Arms like twigs. Shoulders that curved inward from malnutrition.

The boy’s hands—my hands flung to my face, fingers tracing the surface.

"What the fuck happened?" I whispered to the reflection.

The boy in the mirror mouthed the words back.

Then, just before I could say sothing else, a translucent window materialized in front of .

[System Installation... 80%... 90%... 100%]

[System Installation Completed!]

I blinked hard.

"What?"

[System Logging in...]

Ding!

[Ultimate Editor System Activated!]

[Status]

Na: Jin Raith

Age: 15

Class: Debugger (??)

Level: 1

Exp: 0/100

Rank: F

MC (Mana Capacity): 1/50

HP: 40/180

MP: 4/45

STR: 2 (-8 Poison)

VIT: -2 (-12 Poison)

INT: 45 ( 35 Old Knowledge)

WIS: 38 ( 28 Experience)

AGI: 2 (-8 Poison)

LUK: 15

Allocation Points: 0

Active Skill: Debug Vision

Passive Skill: None

Jin Raith?

I stared at the floating interface.

Status window? And a system?

My eyes widened. So I really transmigrated into this boy’s body?

Then my eyes focused on my stats.

"Negative VIT? How the fuck am I even alive?"

-8 and 12. Damn, the poison penalties were brutal. Without them, this body would have had decent physical stats for a fourteen-year-old.

The ntal stats, though... INT 45 and WIS 38 were high.

Old Knowledge. Experience.

Does that an my programming skills and my adult mories had carried over and been quantified by whatever system this was?

Before I could think further, a sharp ache shot through my head like a red-hot spike.

Thud!

I collapsed backward, my skull cracking against the stone floor.

I clutched my head. "Argh!"

The pain writhed and intensified, boring deeper into my brain.

Foreign images flashed behind my eyelids, faces I didn’t recognize, places that felt familiar but foreign at the sa ti.

A woman with kind eyes singing a lullaby.

A man in expensive robes shouting.

Cold stone walls. Hunger. Fear.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Soone was pounding at the door, but I wasn’t in any position to care.

The agony increased with each passing second, mories that weren’t mine flooding in like a broken dam.

Low screams tore from my throat.

Then...

Bang!

The door flew open, wood slamming against stone.

"Young master!"

A woman’s voice, startled and afraid, echoed from the doorway.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Footsteps rushed across the floor as she hurried toward . Her gentle hands touched my shoulders, trying to lift from the floor.

"Young master, what’s wrong? What happened?"

"Agnes?" I whispered instinctively, the na surfacing from Jin’s flooding mories.

"Yes, it’s , young master." Her voice was soft, relieved. She slipped her arms under mine and helped sit upright against the wall.

The pain that had felt like thousands of needles digging into my brain slowly began to ebb, leaving behind a dull throb.

"Haa... Haa..." My breath ca in ragged gasps.

Vision was blurred, watery eyes making everything swim together in unfocused shapes.

"Are you alright, young master?"

I felt soft fabric brush against my cheeks as she gently wiped away the tears with her sleeve, her touch was careful and practiced.

As my vision cleared, I saw her properly for the first ti.

She wore a simple maid’s dress in dark brown wool, clean but well-worn. The fabric was practical, with long sleeves and a high neckline that spoke of modesty rather than fashion. She had a slender but strong figure.

Her chestnut brown hair was pinned back neatly, though a few strands had escaped to fra her face. But it was her eyes that caught my attention. Soft green, filled with genuine worry and kindness.

She looked young, maybe mid-twenties, but there was sothing maternal in the way she fussed over .

"I’m... I’m okay." I managed, my voice hoarse.

Agnes’s brow furrowed as she studied my face. "Young master, you were screaming on the floor..." She glanced at the open door, then back at . "Should I call for the physician?"