Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!

I started following Mia to the medical ward.

Apparently, she knew where the damn place was.

Had she been touring the academy beforehand? Maybe. Probably.

Wouldn’t surprise me if she’d already made a mental map of the place while I was out there being chewed up and spit out by oversized bugs and eldritch abominations.

We walked side by side.

But neither of us said a word.

Me? Well, it hurt like hell. Every breath felt like someone had wedged a burning dagger into my lungs.

I’d already spoken more than my body could tolerate today. My vocal cords had clocked out. And frankly, so had the rest of me.

But Mia’s silence was different.

There was no obvious pain on her face. No wince or flinch. Just an eerie stillness. Her gaze never left the path ahead, her lips pressed in a tight, unreadable line.

Something was going on in that puny brain of hers.

I could tell.

Then again, something was happening in mine too.

Something worse.

I was forgetting.

Forgetting her.

Forgetting Mia.

Not just her. But more. Everything.

My past. My old life. Earth.

Technically, those were my only memories. I hadn’t exactly lived long in this world yet.

But even with such a short time here, the contrast was too obvious to ignore.

Something was wrong.

The moment that damned thought slipped into my brain—"Who was Mia, exactly?"—alarm bells had gone off.

Loud ones.

Blinding red flags waving in my head.

I immediately started digging through my memories like a paranoid detective on a caffeine overdose.

Trying to pull things to the surface. Events. Faces. Emotions. Anything.

And I found them.

Sort of.

Flashes.

Pieces.

Deja vu.

A fleeting image of Mia yelling at me for forgetting to pick her up from work. A memory of her hugging me in the rain, crying over something I couldn’t place. A couch, a dim room, the scent of coffee—gone before I could hold onto it.

It wasn’t just forgetfulness.

It was degradation.

Slow. Inevitable.

Like watching a photo fade under sunlight.

I wasn’t just missing memories. I was remembering that I should remember them—and that was far worse. freёwebnoѵel.com

That’s when my thoughts turned—naturally—to that profane skill.

Eye of the End.

Every time I thought I’d reached the peak of its bullshit, it outdid itself.

I needed to investigate. I needed answers.

If that skill was the source of my memory rot, then I needed to understand it before I ended up a hollowed-out husk, walking around with someone else pulling the strings.

Thankfully, this place—the Rose Academy—was basically a cheat code for knowledge.

The best starting point I could ask for.

But first...

I had to fix myself.

The pain was screaming at me. Nagging, stabbing, clawing through every joint and tendon.

The two of us continued walking in silence. Our footsteps echoed in the pristine hallways, sharp against the stillness.

It was unsettling. The same girl who had just cried into my bloodied chest minutes ago now refused to look me in the eye.

And maybe... just maybe... that was a good thing.

Because if she did, she’d see the growing emptiness there.

She’d see that I was forgetting her.

That I was losing pieces of her—slowly, painfully.

And I didn’t want to see how that would break her.

Finally, we stopped.

Before us stood a door so white it hurt to look at under the sunlight. It practically glowed.

Like it had never seen dirt. Like even germs bowed before it and left.

The words MEDICAL WARD – PRIMARY were etched in sleek, silver lettering above.

Mia stepped forward and opened the door for me. No words. No eye contact.

She just held it open.

That same detached stillness on her face.

I walked in.

The room was massive. Far larger than I expected.

Square-shaped. Neat rows of beds lined the walls. White curtains hung between them like ghostly sentinels.

The floors were polished to the point of reflection. The walls—white. The ceiling—white. Even the furniture—white.

Someone here had a serious obsession.

The scent hit me next.

A sharp blend of medicine, disinfectant, and something more earthy—like dried herbs. It sliced straight through my nose and stabbed the back of my skull. My body jolted on instinct, almost tripping on the step.

"Careful," Mia whispered, finally.

The first word out of her mouth in the past ten minutes.

But I didn’t respond.

I just shuffled further in, each step dragging like I had lead weights tied to my ankles. My muscles were jelly, my joints screamed, and my vision was dimming again.

The room wasn’t just big—it was strange.

There were chambers tucked neatly along the back wall. Tall, sleek, cylindrical pods with smooth metal frames and transparent panels that emitted a soft blue glow.

Cryo chambers.

Yes, actual cryo chambers.

I blinked at them.

’Since when did the genre change?’

This was supposed to be a semi-urban fantasy world, wasn’t it? Old architecture, swordplay, monsters, magic.

The whole charming medieval-with-electricity aesthetic. Where the hell did futuristic bio-tech come from?

Was this still the same world?

The same game-like system?

Because right now, it was looking more like a sci-fi movie set designed by someone who binge-watched space operas while high.

As I stared at the pods, dumbfounded, a figure standing by the window finally stirred.

She’d been looking out, lost in her own little world—or pretending to be, at least.

A woman.

Pink hair, cascading over her shoulders like a lazy wave of cotton candy. Deep, almost unnatural blue eyes that gleamed with mischief even from a distance. And then... that figure.

Curves that made it impossible to take her seriously as a medical professional.

She wore a white lab coat draped over sleek black clothes—tight-fitting, modern-day apparel that hugged her body in ways no uniform should legally be allowed to.

Definitely not your average nurse.

Our footsteps must’ve snapped her out of her daydream. She turned her head lazily toward us, and when her eyes landed on me—

Yeah.

That was the kind of stare reserved for when a teenage boy stumbled into a succubus’s lair.

There was hunger in that look.

And amusement.

And just a little bit of ’I wonder what sound you make when you’re flustered.’

’Is she really a nurse?’

If she was, I really wanted to read her career essay. ’Why I Became a Nurse: A Tale of Horny Intentions and Cryo Pods.’

She stood up slowly, as if giving us time to appreciate the way her hips swayed with every step. No hurry. No shame.

She walked right up to me and raised her hand, clearly intending to touch my face.

And not in a medical way either. In a "let’s skip formalities and make questionable choices" kind of way.

But her fingers never reached me.

Mia’s hand shot up like a whip, slapping the nurse’s hand away.

A loud smack echoed in the sterile silence of the room.

The nurse blinked. Not surprised. More like annoyed.

"What’s your problem?" she asked, brushing her wrist off, then glaring at Mia. "I was just checking up on him."

Mia stared straight into her eyes, her voice flat.

"You look like a bad woman."

I nearly choked.

Where the hell did that come from?

Since when did my sister say things like that with a deadpan expression? She’d always been soft-spoken, careful, polite.

Now?

Now she sounded like a miniature version of Isolde.

Tch. Of course. It was her fault. That damn woman had corrupted Mia’s soul.

Still, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or applaud.

The nurse didn’t argue. She just exhaled like a tired mom dealing with a brat and turned back to me.

Apparently, she’d decided Mia wasn’t worth her attention.

"Your wounds are grievous," she said, her voice silk over steel. "But easily treatable. You’ll need to spend about two days in one of the cryo chambers. The restoration fluid will accelerate cellular regeneration and stabilize your system."

She casually pointed toward the line of pods with a perfectly manicured finger.

Mia gasped beside me.

Two days?

She clearly wasn’t a fan of that. Understandable. But honestly, I welcomed it.

I gave her a small nod—subtle but firm—and began limping toward one of the empty pods.

Most of them were already occupied.

Inside the transparent chambers, I could see silhouettes of other injured students. Some unconscious.

Some asleep. A few twitching like they were dreaming of their own personal hell.

I pulled open the door to an empty one and stepped in.

It was cold.

Really cold.

Like diving into a winter lake naked. The cryo fluid rose slowly around me as the chamber sealed shut with a hiss, and I sank into the gel-like substance.

There was no immediate miracle.

No ’ping!’ as my wounds instantly vanished.

But I felt it.

Subtle warmth beneath the cold.

A soothing sensation, like tiny hands working deep into my flesh and bone, kneading the pain away one pulse at a time.

The pain didn’t disappear completely.

But it dulled.

Heavily.

Maybe it was a placebo. Or maybe my body was just too tired to keep fighting back.

Either way, it was a damn relief.

Two days, she said.

That was enough time.

Enough to heal.

Enough to rest.

And—most importantly—enough time to prepare.

Because when I got out of here, I wasn’t just going to walk around confused and violated by my own skill anymore.

I was going to dig into it.

That element.

That second one no one else had.

That mysterious, silent void sitting next to Lightning in my profile like it didn’t owe me an explanation.

Nothing.