Chapter 3: Who the Fuck Am I?

Peep. Peep. Peep.

The sound drilled into Darius’s skull before consciousness fully returned.

Those fucking Wild Hounds bastards.

They had caught him completely unaware in that alley, all thanks to that foolish, spoiled brat Rosé, just because he had rejected her.

Since when did not being interested in someone earn a man a gang beating?

Because her brother owned half the criminals in the district, she thought she could force him to date her? The joke is on her. He preferred sucking dicks to eating cunts, and he would make absolutely sure she paid for every bruise currently decorating his body.

Just wait until he got out of this mess.

Peep. Peep.

The sound came again. Hospital?

His eyes flew open.

White ceiling. White walls. White sheets.

"Oh hell no. Not a fucking damn hospital."

He tried to bolt upright, but a wave of white-hot agony flooded his spine and ribs.

"Aw!"

He collapsed back against the stiff pillows with a harsh grimace. "My body feels like I got tossed into a cement mixer."

Who the fuck had even brought him here?

Did he look like someone who could afford expensive hospital bills? His gaze landed on the clear tubing taped to the back of his arm.

He immediately reached for it with his good hand. "I need to get out of here before they start charging me for breathing."

He yanked at the tape.

The door clicked and swung open.

Darius froze, his hand still clamped around the IV line. A fancy-looking man and woman rushed inside and they both looked like they had spent hours crying.

Darius blinked at them. Wrong room.

They’re definitely in a wrong room.

That assumption lasted exactly two seconds.

"Son," the woman burst into tears. Before Darius could react, she threw herself onto him. "Oh god, what happened to you?" she sobbed harder, burying her face into his neck.

"My baby, who did this to you?"

Darius nearly blacked out from pain. Every injury screamed in protest. His face twisted.

Over the woman’s shoulder, he looked desperately at the man accompanying her. The guy just stood there, not making any attempt to drag his obviously insane partner off him.

"Madam," Darius groaned, his voice thick and raspy. The woman only hugged him tighter.

"Mad-fucking-dam!"

The woman looked up, her face streaked with tears. "I don’t know what you have been through, nor why you are hugging a complete stranger," he started softly, then his tone sharpened, rising in pitch.

"But you are rubbing against my injuries, dammit! Get off me, you crazy witch!"

The room went silent.

The woman pulled away instantly, her face a mask of profound shock. Behind her, the man looked equally stunned. "Oh God, I’m sorry."

She wiped frantically at her tears. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just... I was just so overwhelmed finally meeting you."

Darius stared. Meeting him?

What kind of crack was she smoking?

He eyed her suspiciously. "Are you on drugs?"

The woman gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. The man finally stepped further into the sterile room, placing a heavy, ring-adorned hand on the woman’s shoulder.

"Son," he said carefully. "She’s your mother. We have come to take you home."

Okay.

This was way more serious than he originally thought. Darius’s eyes started darting around, calculating his chances of a quick escape.

The door opened again at that moment.

A doctor in a pristine white coat walked in, followed by a nurse wheeling a cart.

Relief washed through him.

Thank God.

"Doc, please," Darius said immediately. "Can you and your very fine nurse drag these lunatics out of my sight before I start knocking the madness out of them."

The doctor stopped, nurse froze.

The woman started crying again.

"Calm down, Your Highness," the doctor said, resuming his walk up to the side of the bed.

Darius’s brain stalled. Your Highness?

What the fuck was going on?

Was the medical staff involved in this weird joke too? But wait a damn minute.

A horrifying possibility suddenly entered his mind. Had he died? Had he transmigrated?

His eyes widened. He had read plenty of those web novels back in his cramped apartment. Truck-kun. Death. New world. Prince body. That was the usual process.

And there was always that running joke on the forums that reading enough transmigration novels increased your odds of ending up in another world. Could that be what happened?

But he could still feel pain. Lots of pain from the fight with the Wild Hounds.

​Maybe the prince whose body he took over had also gotten beaten up.

​Come to think of it, the very last thing he had heard before blacking out in the dirt was a booming voice saying something about His Highness. Was that the exact moment the transmigration effect kicked start?

He cleared his throat, deliberately softening his tone to match what he thought a noble might sound like. "A mirror, please. Bring me a mirror."

​The room exchanged confused looks.

​"A mirror?" the doctor repeated.

​"Yes. A mirror."

The doctor glanced at the King and Queen before nodding toward one of the nurses. "Go get a mirror for His Highness." The nurse hurried out.

​The doctor turned back to the bed, pulling a stethoscope from his pocket. "While we are waiting, why don’t I check how you are recovering, Your Highness?"

​Darius immediately nodded, even though that small movement was pure agony, and leaned back against the pillows. "Of course, my subject. Check every part of my body. Do I need to strip?"

The King and Queen exchanged another deeply worried glance. Was their son completely mad? The guards had reported finding him taking a brutal beating from a street gang. Did the thugs hit his head hard enough to break his brain?

​The doctor offered a small, professional chuckle. "You don’t need to strip, Your Highness. I will just examine your injuries."

​"What a shame."

The doctor gently pressed two fingers against the left side of Darius’s midsection. Darius flinched, his breath hissing through his teeth. "How does that spot feel?" the doctor asked.

​"Like ten elephants stomped on me before fifteen rhinos used my body as a running track," Darius snapped, his pleasant facade cracking under the pain.

The doctor nodded. "I think it’s broken."

​"You think?" Darius stared at him. "What kind of a doctor are you? What do you mean by you think?"

​He glanced toward the door and shouted, "Where are my bodyguards? Throw this quack inside the dungeon and get me a qualified one."

The doctor paled, visibly panicking as he glanced toward the King and Queen for protection. The King quickly stepped forward.

​"Son, calm down."

​"Please," the Queen added between sniffles.

The doctor cleared his throat. "What I mean is that the imaging suggests fractures, but we will need further scans to determine the full extent."

​"Oh."

​That sounded much smarter.

​At that moment, the nurse returned carrying a mirror. Darius immediately perked up.

​"Bring it here. Let me see the handsome face I have taken over," Darius said, beckoning her forward.

The nurse looked horrified.

The doctor looked confused.

The King looked concerned.

The Queen looked ready to cry again.

​Still, the nurse handed him the mirror.

​Darius lifted the mirror, bracing himself for a regal, flawless face. Instead, his jaw dropped.

"What the fuck?"

What kind of ugly frog’s body had he inherited?

He had been too distracted by the pain earlier to realize he was only seeing out of one side. His left eye was completely shut, swollen into a dark, hideous shade of purple. The visible one was surrounded by bruises. His left cheek looked like someone had hidden a rock beneath the skin, and his lips were swollen and stitched. Cuts covered his face. Purple, red, blue, black, just name it, he had all colors on his face.

Who the fuck had this prince been fighting with?

He looked like he had just crawled out of hell. He slowly tilted the mirror.

​"At least we share the same blue eyes and black hair," he muttered.

​"Prince Darius, are you okay?" the doctor asked carefully.

Darius lowered the mirror with a heavy frown.

​Prince Darius? Even the name matched.

​Well, that was usually how transmigration worked in the books. Same name, sometimes the same appearance, though in this case it was impossible to tell because the poor bastard currently looked like he had gone ten rounds with angry bulldogs.

He adjusted his position on the mattress with a sharp wince. The King and Queen hovered over him nervously.

​Darius turned his head slowly toward them. "You two are my parents?"

The Queen nodded frantically, fresh tears spilling over her eyelashes. "Yes, dear. You have no idea how much this means—"

​"Oh, will you stop crying already?"

​The Queen froze.

Darius rubbed his forehead. He needed information. He needed a better understanding of this world, and he had absolutely no time for royal waterworks.

​"Look," he started. "I get it, you are emotional seeing your beloved son like this, but can one of you please explain what happened?" he asked, keeping his expression neutral. "It seems like I have amnesia."

Internally, he patted himself on the back. Amnesia was the perfect excuse for a situation like this.

​Transmigration Rule Number One.

​Pretend you lost your memory to avoid suspicion.

​The Queen’s breath hitched, her sobs immediately intensifying. "Oh God."

How could her biological son have passed through such horrific trauma only to lose his very mind and memories? The King wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His own eyes looked suspiciously wet. How could their son suffer so much that he couldn’t even remember who he was?

​Rage burned behind the King’s expression. Whoever had done this would pay. A hundred times over.

"Can you just stop crying and start telling me who the fuck I am?"

The shout startled everyone. Even Darius winced, his swollen cheek mangled half the words. He sounded like an angry man trying to yell through a mouthful of marbles.

​But the raw irritation behind them was undeniable. He was sick and tired of their shenanigans. His entire body hurt, he was apparently in a new world he knew absolutely nothing about, and nobody was explaining anything. Did he look like he needed to watch some woman cry in front of him?

​"So," Darius said, glaring at the four people in the room. "Which one of you is going to tell me who the fuck I am and what happened to me?"