Chapter 3: Crests

“What’s all this talk about Dungeon breaks?” Mateo muttered as he stretched, his joints popping lightly in a way that felt sharper than anything he had ever felt in his real body.

The sensation startled him enough to pause mid-motion, and he slowly rolled his shoulders again, feeling the strength ripple beneath his skin in a way that absolutely did not belong to a formerly overweight reviewer.

“Where am I too?” he murmured, his voice trembled with questions as he wondered

The apartment around him was eerily familiar yet undeniably different, as though someone had tried to recreate his real home using vague memories and artistic interpretation.

The walls were cleaner, the flickering light bulb was no longer there and the cramped bed actually had a proper frame rather than the wobbling metal disaster he had been sleeping on for months.

’This isn’t my place,’ he thought as he slowly sat upright, blinking in the dim morning glow that filtered through thin curtains. ’But it still looks like me and the person were in the same financial situation… so what the hell is going on?’

His gaze moved toward the desk at the far end of the room, where his streaming table and phone stand should have been.

They were indeed present, but noticeably sturdier and surprisingly modern.

The old wobbly stand was replaced by a clean, sleek one that looked like it belonged to someone who knew what cable management meant.

Even the table no longer creaked or sagged; it stood firm as though built from pure confidence and actual structural integrity.

’I could have gotten something better if I wasn’t focused on buying that house,’ he thought bitterly, remembering the months he had spent saving toward his first major adult purchase.

He already had an agent prepared, contracts being reviewed, and he was one step away from leaving the dark, noisy apartment behind.

But it seemed like the world had decided to hit him in the back before he could take that step, throwing him here… wherever here was.

He pushed himself off the bed, and the moment his feet hit the floor, he froze.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath as he looked down at himself.

He felt taller… significantly taller as if someone had stretched him out like dough overnight.

His legs were longer, leaner, and far more defined than the soft, rounded limbs he had been used to his entire life.

His arms, once thick and stubby from stubborn fat distribution, were now toned and proportionate, carrying strength without the clumsy heaviness he remembered.

“I… I feel different,” he whispered shakily, running his hand across his abdomen only to feel a set of softly defined abs.

His heartbeat spiked in a stunned panic. “Did I reincarnate?”

It was a ridiculous question under normal circumstances, but nothing about this felt normal.

He had read enough manga, novels, and isekai stories to recognize the signs, and paired with the strange radio broadcast he had woken to, the idea didn’t feel as far-fetched as it should have.

’This can’t happen on a random Tuesday,’ he thought nervously. ’So it has to be reincarnation… right?’

He looked at the adjacent bathroom door.

’Where’s the mirror?’ he wondered as he walked toward it quickly, hesitating only for a moment before pushing the door open.

The bathroom was spotless, smelling of lavender soap. It was a really nice kind too.

The mirror took up most of the wall above the sink, reflecting a figure that made him stop breathing for a full second.

’The fuck?’ he thought with wide eyes, leaning closer in disbelief.

The man in the mirror was tall… far taller than he had ever been with broad shoulders and a frame sculpted as though he had spent years modeling for fantasy character sheets.

His hair was long, luscious, and blond, cascading down to his shoulders in gentle waves that caught the light in an annoyingly perfect way.

His face was sharp but soft, handsome with the kind of symmetry that only existed in manga illustrations. Even the faint shadows under his eyes looked stylish rather than exhausted.

He raised a hand slowly and touched his cheek, half expecting the reflection to fade like a dream.

It didn’t. Instead, the man in the mirror copied his movements in perfect sync, the golden strands of hair brushing against his cheeks with a silky rustle.

“Not only am I tall… but I’m handsome as well and muscular,” he said slowly, his voice trembling in excitement and fear. He flexed experimentally, watching the toned arm in the mirror ripple with lean muscle he had never possessed before.

Then he squinted at the reflection skeptically. “Why does this face look so familiar?”

He pushed his hair back with one hand to get a clear view of his forehead and eyes, and the moment he saw the last detail, his stomach dropped so violently he almost gagged.

“I’m him???” he shouted, stumbling backward as realization slammed into him like a truck full of bad writing decisions.

The face staring back at him, the perfect golden hair, the absurdly protagonist-like aura…

It was Amagi Kōya.

The main character of the manga he had brutally roasted on stream last night. One of the trashiest, most poorly written MCs he had ever encountered.

A man so bland, so infuriatingly incompetent, that Mateo had dedicated an entire 15-minute rant to him alone.

And now he was him.

“I look very different…” Kōya muttered numbly, leaning closer to examine the differences between himself and the Volume 1 version of Kōya.

“Did the original actually forego this cold look to get that short hair that made him look like a chump?” He sighed deeply, brushing his hair back again. ’I knew that guy was a fucking idiot… even his hairstyle was stupid.’

But then another thought struck him with equal force.

“But the guy didn’t even try streaming…” he murmured slowly, frowning at the table setup behind him back in the room.

His streaming equipment… albeit upgraded was still present. “Does that mean the worlds merged or something? Or did they just boot me over here? I’m confused.”

He turned toward the mirror again, but this time his gaze locked onto something he had previously missed.

A line trailed from the bottom of his right eye down to his cheek… a crest mark.

’Oh right… people in this world have crests,’ he thought, recalling the glaze he had given about the system just yesterday.

Crests were everything here… it was status, power, and identity.

In this world, they functioned like classes, though the progression system was noticeably slower than the leveling structures he was used to seeing in fiction.

Almost every human began life with the same starting point… the Black Crest, the most basic and universal mark. It represented untapped potential and once it did awaken, the body underwent a complete transformation.

The moment someone awakened their first Black mark, they obtained what the world called an advanced body.

They became far stronger and healthier than any normal human, though not to the level of bending metal or throwing cars down a street.

Still, any sickness or ailment that could cripple or kill a regular person no longer posed a threat. Their body reshaped itself as well, shedding deformities and imperfections until they emerged beautiful by default like every person was sculpted for magazine covers.

Right now, Kōya fit neatly into that category: handsome, polished, and well-built, though not so impossibly perfect that he stood out among the naturally model-like population of this world.

He might have been average in comparison to them, but compared to his old self, he felt like he had won a new life.

And honestly? He didn’t care if he blended into the background. Being better than before was enough.

From that first single-line crest, people could grow further… awakening the double-line, triple-line, and eventually the quadruple-line crest.

These stages came with staggering physical improvements and refined appearances. By the time a person reached the quadruple-line stage, their body had already been sculpted into its ideal form.

Their muscles were at peak efficiency, their reflexes sharpened, and their stamina nearly bottomless.

At this stage, they could also manifest the faint sparks of their affinity and use simple, low-level skills.

After reaching a quadruple-line Black Crest, a person’s power diverged into one of two evolutionary paths: Red or Blue.

A single Red Crest indicated someone whose abilities leaned toward physical combat… weapon mastery, enhanced strength, heightened speed, and skills designed to push the body beyond its limits.

A single Blue Crest, however, marked someone attuned to mana… natural Magi capable of shaping spells, manipulating elements, and wielding the mythical arts this world was known for.

Following the Red or Blue evolution, the next great milestone awaited: Silver.

A Silver Crest was the gateway into true greatness. Anyone who reached Silver instantly became a valued powerhouse, someone nations would fight to recruit.

The Clan Heads, the top officers, and the most respected combatants of modern society were nearly all Silver Crest holders.

And above that, standing at the absolute peak, was the White Crest.

The purest and rarest mark. Only the World President and a handful of ancient clan leaders possessed it.

The White Crest was the representation of humanity’s final evolution… it was unmatched power, immense influence, and near-immortal vitality.

’Oh, and with each mark increase… your lifespan increases as well,’ Kōya thought, recalling the absurd ages some individuals were rumored to reach.

Many people in this world were far older than they looked, living quietly behind perfect faces and youthful bodies that defied time entirely.

He sighed and stretched his arms again, trying to get used to the new weight of his own muscles.

But halfway through the motion, something flickered into existence in the air before him.

「Welcome to this new world」

He froze.

「I will be your virtual assistant in this place」

His lips parted slowly in disbelief.

「I am known as the ’Heroine-Saving’ System and you may ask me important questions」

’The fuck?’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep