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SSS Talent: Rise of the Cursed Heir

Klotz
14
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 14 chs / week.
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Synopsis
I was just a nobody—skipping class, sitting on a toilet, waiting for my favorite gacha game to launch its sequel. I had my card ready. I was going to whale for the rarest character in the game. Trafalgar du Morgain. Forgotten son. Broken backstory. Abused, abandoned… perfect for my self-destructive taste. I didn’t get to summon him. Instead, I became him. Now I’m stuck in a twisted noble house where everyone wants to use me, manipulate me, or erase me—and one of them already did worse. The worst part? The original Trafalgar was a weak little whining bitch who gave up. But I’m not him. I've got the face, the name, the blood—and now, something else: [Talent: SSS] This world doesn’t know what’s coming.
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: A Shitty Reincarnation

"What the fuck!"

That was the first thing I screamed after opening my eyes and realizing I was still taking a shit—but not in any toilet I recognized.

It wasn't my stall. It wasn't even my campus bathroom.

Suddenly, I had a different face, and I was sitting in a place I had never seen before.

"Where the hell am I, and why the fuck am I so handsome?"

Those were the two brilliant questions I asked myself the moment I arrived in this… whatever-the-fuck-this-is.

But let's rewind a bit. Just a few minutes ago, I was in the university bathroom, skipping class.

Why? Because my favorite gacha game was releasing its sequel today.

New characters. New world. Zero leaks. Pure chaos.

5

4

3

2

1

"YEEEEESSSSSSSS! FINALLY!" I screamed, fists clenched with the intensity of a man who had been waiting months for this moment.

They'd promised a complete overhaul of the world—brand-new lore, systems, factions. None of the old guides would help.

It was a fresh start, a pure slate for us degenerates.

Then—BANG!

Someone from the stall next to mine slammed the wall.

"Dude! Can you shut the fuck up?! Some of us are fighting for our lives in here!"

"Sorry!"

'Shit… I thought I was alone.'

I pulled out my card. Time to whale.

No hesitation.

There was one character I'd been eyeing since the teaser: Trafalgar du Morgain.

Black hair tied loosely in a small tail. Deep ocean-blue eyes. Cold, bastard son of House Morgain.

No friends. No allies. A backstory darker than my search history.

One of his sisters even assaulted him as a child. The devs had really gone hard on his lore.

"Perfect… You're absolutely perfect," I whispered, trembling as I typed in the card details.

—2146

Name: Trafalgar

'I guess I liked him so much 'cause we shared a name…? Maybe that's why I felt drawn to him.'

ERROR

Insufficient funds.

"WHAT?!"

BANG! Another hit, harder this time. The dude next door sounded desperate now.

"Please! I'm dying in here! I need peace and quiet! I can't take it anymore!"

But I didn't reply.

Ten minutes later, the poor guy finally finished his personal war.

"Alright man, thanks for shutting up at the end," he muttered, wiping sweat off his forehead as he flushed and zipped up.

He got no answer.

'Is he ignoring me?'

Confused, he left the bathroom.

Inside the stall where I once was, only a backpack and a phone remained.

No trace of me.

Only silence.

"Alright… what the fuck."

That was all I could mutter as I stared at the ridiculous luxury around me.

Gold-trimmed tiles. A marble toilet that looked cleaner than most hospital beds. Perfumed air. And the soft glow of enchanted lanterns hovering near the ceiling. It looked like the bathroom of a royal palace.

The problem?

I was sitting on the toilet. Naked. Still mid-shit.

'Okay, okay. Deep breath. Either I passed out, got kidnapped by billionaires with a toilet fetish, or… no, let's not finish that sentence.'

I glanced down at myself. Everything looked normal... enough.

Except the body wasn't mine.

The skin was paler. Younger. Smoother. My build was lean, almost athletic—but this wasn't my body.

'Why the hell am I so clean? Did someone wipe me?'

I grabbed the roll of fine silk toilet paper next to me—yes, silk, like actual fancy-ass cloth—and finished the job myself. Then stood up and walked toward the mirror.

That's when it hit me.

The face staring back wasn't mine.

Smooth pale skin. Sharp cheekbones. Long black hair tied into a small tail.

Eyes—deep, stormy blue, like the heart of the ocean.

'No way… No fucking way.'

I leaned closer, eyes wide.

'I know this face. Trafalgar du Morgain…'

That was the name.

The name of the character I tried to summon moments ago.

"Am I him?" I whispered.

And just like that, a wave of memories that weren't mine flooded my mind—fragments of academy life, sword drills, noble politics, twisted family dinners. And pain. A lot of pain.

I staggered back from the mirror, nearly slipping.

'This is bad. This is really fucking bad.'

I looked down again. My hands were trembling.

'Wait—does this mean I got isekai'd into the new game world? But… they didn't release any info about the lore! I don't know shit!'

Then I screamed.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT?!"

My voice echoed against the polished walls like a defiant idiot challenging the gods.

And the gods?

They said nothing.

Only silence… and the scent of lavender toilet soap.

Knock knock.

A gentle knock came from the other side of the grand bathroom door. Then, a soft voice—graceful and composed, the kind of voice that belonged to someone who bowed before speaking.

"Young master… Are you well? You've been inside for over three hours. I heard a scream."

'Three hours?!'

I scrambled to grab a towel and wrapped it awkwardly around my waist. My mind raced.

'Shit, who is that? A maid? A servant? Do I have those now?'

I cleared my throat and tried to sound calm, dignified… not like someone who just screamed at a mirror while half-naked.

"Yeah… I'm fine. Wasn't feeling great, but I'm better now."

"I understand. I'm relieved to hear that," she replied gently. "Your father is waiting for you."

'My father…? Right. The nobleman. The one from the backstory…'

I didn't even remember his name. In the lore, Trafalgar du Morgain was just the forgotten son. His father barely acknowledged him.

"Is it… urgent?" I asked, stalling for time.

"Pardon?"

"I mean—do I really need to see him now? Can it wait?"

There was a pause. Then, with perfect courtesy:

"I'm not permitted to know the importance of the meeting, young master. I was only instructed to deliver the message."

'Alright, it makes sense…'

I sighed, running a hand through my still-damp hair.

"Fine. Tell him I'll be there soon."

"As you wish."

The sound of retreating footsteps echoed faintly, leaving me once again alone with the marble, the mirror, and a dozen unanswered questions.

I sat back down—this time on the edge of the ornate bathtub, not the throne of porcelain—and buried my face in my hands.

'Okay. Think. Just… think.'

No menu. No stats. No system message welcoming me to a new world.

Not even a "Congratulations, you've been reincarnated!" notification.

Just a mirror, a new face, and the word "father" thrown at me like a live grenade.

'This isn't like the other isekai stories.'

No truck-kun. No goddess. No tutorial.

Just me, Trafalgar—whoever the hell that is now—screaming in a rich guy's bathroom.

'Do I even have magic? Am I supposed to fight something? Am I going to get killed at breakfast for using the wrong fork?'

I rested my elbows on my knees and stared blankly at the floor.

'This body… it's young. Maybe sixteen? That matches what I remember about the academy. First-year students.'

And the memories… bits and pieces were starting to surface. Not mine, but his.

Sword lessons. Duels. Cold glares. That sister.

God, that sister.

'Great. I got isekai'd into the trauma dump character.'

I laughed. Just once. A dry, empty chuckle that echoed in the lavish bathroom like a ghost.

'Who even am I now? Am I me? Or am I Trafalgar?'

There it was.

Still sitting beside the sink, like it had always been there. Like it had been waiting.

A small glass bottle—delicate, crystalline, almost ornamental. The liquid inside shimmered a deep violet, too thick to be wine, too vibrant to be poison.

I picked it up carefully.

I tilted it, watching the viscous liquid slosh gently inside.

And then—something clicked.

A memory.

A bitter one.

It wasn't mine, but it hit me like it was.

Trafalgar—the real one—sitting here, in this very room. This very bath. Dressed in uniform, staring at that same bottle.

He had placed it beside the sink after writing a letter. A long one, full of anger, resentment, and exhaustion.

He hadn't screamed. He hadn't cried. He'd just… swallowed it.

The last thing he thought before everything went black was:

"No one will even notice I'm gone."

My fingers tightened around the bottle.

'He killed himself. The original me… he ended it. Right here.'

The weight of it settled in my chest.

Just an empty kind of realization.

'So I didn't just take over a body. I took over a life that someone else didn't want anymore.'

I set the bottle down.

Carefully. Respectfully.

'No wonder I was given this one. Who else would want it?'

"Guess it's my fucking problem now."