Cheaters Prosper 1 (Patreon)

 The rain drummed incessantly against the window, a monotonous rhythm that matched the irritation brewing inside Daniel as he stared at his laptop screen.

He’d spent the entire night hunched over the keyboard, eyes burning from the harsh glow of the monitor as he slogged through the final chapters of Adventures of Henry Porterson. The apartment was dim, illuminated only by the pale light of the screen, which cast long shadows over the cluttered space, books piled haphazardly, empty coffee cups, and scattered papers creating a fortress of his restless, unfulfilled ambitions.

Daniel leaned back in his creaky chair, rubbing his tired eyes. The words ‘the End’ lingered on the screen, mocking him. He let out a derisive snort. “Unrealistic,” he declared to the empty room. Henry Porterson had wrapped up another fantastical year at his magical university Everglade, brimming with absurd conveniences and unbelievable resolutions.

Daniel couldn’t believe he had wasted another night on it, yet here he was, bitter and unsatisfied, dissecting the familiar litany of tropes.

“Henry didn’t deserve any of it,” Daniel grumbled, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Henry, the perfect hero, who stumbled from one victory to the next as if life were handing him scripted moments of glory on a silver platter. Every professor saw Henry as a prodigy, his friends practically worshipped him, and even his so-called enemies never managed to be more than mild inconveniences.

The latest book hadn’t deviated from the formula: Henry saved the school, got the girl, and outsmarted a villain who was about as threatening as a wet paper towel. Predictable. Utterly predictable.

“Why the fuck I’m still reading this garbage,” he questioned himself even as he slammed the laptop shut, the click of the hinge making him wonder whether he broke the screen. If so, he couldn’t afford it.

Admittedly, his inability to replace a garbage second-hand laptop explained why he was so frustrated with the books. When he started the series, he was still a high school student, filled with hope for the future.

A hope that died pathetically once he ended up juggling three part-time jobs just to deal with his own student loans, while the other rich assholes lived a life similar to Henry Porterson.

Daniel stared at the dark wall, feeling the familiar burn of dissatisfaction. The idea that Henry — and everyone like him — could glide through life so effortlessly, while real people, people like him, slogged through every day with nothing to show for it. Daniel had grown up believing in stories, only to realize that luck only worked for the rich. Unlike the stories, being good didn’t bring victories, hard work didn’t pay off, and life wasn’t wrapped up neatly in prophecies and magical destinies.

No, if there was a destiny, his life was like was one of the villains. And, not one of them like Raum, who never truly encountered any real setback despite the endless line of failures. No, he was like Anton, Markus, or Gregory, who popped into the screen occasionally, only to be smashed to highlight Henry’s spectacular nature.

That, or one of the faceless crowd.

He pushed himself up from the chair, joints stiff from the hours spent in the same position. The rain was still going strong outside, a dreary backdrop that perfectly matched his mood. He had work in an hour, and the idea of trudging through another mind-numbing day at the restaurant smelling grease made him grind his teeth.

He was twenty-six, stuck in a dead-end job and a worthless degree that gave him nothing but student loans, and living alone in an apartment that felt like it was shrinking around him every day. Henry Porterson’s world of grand adventures and effortless charm felt like a cruel joke in comparison.

Daniel threw on his coat, shoving his laptop into his bag with more force than necessary. He barely noticed the reflection in the hallway mirror as he passed—a disheveled man with dark circles under his eyes, a far cry from the polished, heroic image of Henry.

He wasn’t particularly tall or striking; his hair was an unremarkable brown, and he carried a slight slouch from too many hours spent hunched over books and screens. He was average in every possible way, and he felt it with every fiber of his being.

He grabbed an umbrella on his way out, though he knew it would do little against the downpour. The elevator ride to the ground floor was slow, the ancient machinery groaning with every floor it passed.

Daniel tapped his foot impatiently, eyes locked on the changing numbers. He hated the routine of it all—the same elevator, the same commute, the same cubicle with the same spreadsheets and unanswered emails. It was a life that felt like it was slowly grinding him down, one monotonous day at a time.

Stepping out into the rain, Daniel snapped his umbrella open, but the wind whipped the rain sideways, soaking his pant legs and splattering his shoes. He gritted his teeth and kept walking, head down as he made his way to the bus stop.

The city was a blur of gray, the sky a heavy slate pressing down on the rooftops. He could see his breath in the cool air, mingling with the mist that rose from the wet pavement. Cars hissed by, spraying water from the puddles that had already formed on the road. It was miserable, but at least it matched how he felt.

As he neared the bus stop, Daniel’s thoughts drifted back to the novel. It wasn’t just Henry’s luck that bothered him—it was the sheer predictability of it all. The heroes always won, the villains were always punished, and there was never any real consequence for the mistakes the protagonist made.

In his real life, every decision felt heavy with the potential for failure, every misstep another reason he was stuck where he was. He’d have given anything for just a fraction of Henry’s charmed life, just one moment of something extraordinary.

A flash of lightning split the sky, followed almost instantly by a deafening crack of thunder. Daniel flinched, his heart leaping in his chest. He hadn’t even seen the bolt, but the sound was so loud it left his ears ringing. He looked up, just in time to see another brilliant arc of lightning streak across the sky, followed by another boom. The storm was right overhead now, the air charged and buzzing.

Daniel was halfway through a step when the world exploded in light.

He felt a searing heat, a blinding flash that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The umbrella was ripped from his hands, and there was a moment of pure, overwhelming sensation—pain, light, noise—before everything went black.

When Daniel opened his eyes, he was staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, one that didn’t look like a hospital.

He blinked, confusion settling in as his mind struggled to make sense of where he was. The ceiling was high, ornately decorated with swirling patterns of gold and deep red, like something out of an old manor house, though one that had fallen into disrepair.

It took him a second to realize he was lying on the floor rather than a bed, sprawled out in a very undignified manner. The air smelled faintly of old wood and mold, like a library that had fallen into disrepair.

Panic bubbled up as he tried to piece together how he’d gotten here. He remembered the rain, the lightning—then nothing. “Am I being pranked,” he growled, but his own voice felt unfamiliar, gravely.

He pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing as his muscles protested. He felt… different. He looked down at himself and nearly choked. This wasn’t his body.

His limbs were thicker, his hands calloused and far too large. He scrambled to his feet, staggering a little as he adjusted to the sudden shift in balance.

There was a full-length mirror on the far wall, framed in polished mahogany, though both had clearly seen better days. Daniel stumbled towards it, his breath catching in his throat. Staring back at him from the mirror was not his familiar, average reflection, but someone else entirely.

The man in the mirror was tall, towering even, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. His face was rugged, with a square jaw and a stern expression that seemed permanently etched into his features. His hair was dark, almost black, and cut short in a no-nonsense style. He looked like someone who spent his days lifting weights and breaking down doors, not someone who got winded climbing a flight of stairs.

A figure that was familiar, one that he had previously seen on a book cover.

“What the hell…” Daniel muttered, but the voice that came out was deep and gravelly, utterly foreign. He raised a hand to his face, watching as the reflection did the same. The skin was rough under his fingers, a light stubble covering his jaw. He took a step back, trying to wrap his mind around the impossibility of it all.

His hands caressed his clothes. That was nothing compared to having a different body, but he still found himself focusing on them. Maybe to manage his shock.

He was dressed in a heavy leather coat, the kind that looked more suited to a medieval mercenary than anyone who walked the modern streets, though it needed a detailed cleaning.

A thick belt was cinched around his waist, with various pouches and loops. A large dagger hung on his waist, the brown marks on the hilt suggested a practical, if not entirely lawful, lifestyle.

“Gregory,” he muttered.

The name worked like a charm. The moment he uttered that, foreign memories rushed into his mind, like a half-forgotten dream. Memories that not only included his childhood and adolescence, but also one full year in Everglade Academy, ones that included acting like a lapdog to villain Raum, trying — and failing — to sabotage Henry Porterson.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He had a big problem.