Chapter 1: Shehzade Orhan
1515 — Ottoman Empire
Palace of the Governor of Manisa
Sultan Selim I's Reign
[Choose one of the following options:]
Don't Cry — Reward: Sword Manual
Cry after 3 minutes — Reward: Kiss on Cheeks
Cry immediately — Reward: +1 Attribute
Huh?! Where am I?
I had just turned off my phone after watching my favorite series, The Magnificent Century, preparing to sleep. Then, everything went black.
I tried to move my body—only to realize I couldn't even roll to the side.
My senses were dull. My vision, blurry.
Did I suffer a paralysis attack in my sleep? My entire body felt disconnected—unresponsive.
Suddenly, a strange set of options popped up in my mind—something straight out of a novel or comic.
I thought it was a lucid dream, so I went along with it...
The Sword Manual sounded interesting, so I chose Option 1: Don't Cry. After all, I was a grown teenager. Why would I cry without reason?
—3 minutes later—
Slap—Slap—Slap!
Pain jolted through my lower body. I wanted to scream, but instead, tears burst forth. A loud wail escaped my lips—the unmistakable cry of a newborn. I recognized it from countless commercials and YouTube videos.
My backside was on fire.
Ding — Reward: Sword Manual stored in Inventory.
Moments later, something soft entered my mouth, calming me. My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted off again.
I had no idea how time passed. My body cried and wailed without my permission—sometimes for no reason, sometimes because the cloth rubbed uncomfortably against my back. I wanted to speak, to explain... but all I could do was cry.
Eventually, I accepted it. Maybe this wasn't a dream. Maybe I had been reborn or transmigrated. I still wasn't sure which world I was in, but I noticed my muscles developing gradually. My vision improved, though only slightly.
But in my religion, ideas like reincarnation don't exist. After death comes the afterlife and then the Day of Judgment, when everyone's deeds are laid bare by Allah, the Almighty. Those whose good deeds outweigh the bad will enter Jannah—eternal paradise. As for the others... Hell. Eternal agony.
I was relieved I wasn't paralyzed, but curiosity and anxiety still gnawed at me.
Where was I? Please, Allah... don't let this be a dangerous world filled with the supernatural. I joked as I prayed, still convinced this was just a dream. Since Islam forbids self-harm and suicide, all I could do was wait—for someone to wake me, or for my own consciousness to do the job. Maybe the chill of the air conditioner would snap me out of this.
I don't want to miss my Fajr prayer.
The options didn't appear again—until today.
[Choose one of the following options:]
Cry immediately — Reward: Favorability -10 from Father
Cry after 3 minutes — Reward: Kiss on Cheeks
Don't Cry — Reward: +1 Attribute
I felt someone lift me, their warm body cuddling mine.
This time, the rewards and penalties were different.
I still remembered the sharp sting on my hips from the last time I didn't cry.
But... let's try something different. I chose Option 1: Cry immediately.
"Wuain... Wuhain..." I began to cry, and I could feel it—the hands holding me froze. Just like the option had said, this must be my father. Who cares about favorability? He'd still love me, right? Every parent loves their newborn baby... right?
Ding — Reward: Favorability -10 from Father.
I heard muffled murmurs—a deep male voice—but I couldn't make out the words. My consciousness slipped again.
A Year Later
It had been a year in the dream, and I still wasn't awake. I couldn't help but worry that I might be in a coma in the real world. Everything happening around me was just... magical.
In 1516, my younger brother was born. By then, I could finally see clearly. I still couldn't see my own face, but I saw my mother's—and nearly screamed.
Mahidevran. Yes, the very woman who was sure to become Sultan Suleiman's legal wife after his ascension. Seeing that this beautiful yet tragic lady was my mother... I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She was far more stunning than that Alexandra—what was her name in the drama again? My mother outshone her in every way.
And my father? So loving with my mother... how would he end up loving another woman so much he'd forget this one?
My name in this world? Orhan. My younger brother's name?
Mustafa.
Yes, that Mustafa. The one and only son of Mahidevran in the series. But now, I was the eldest.
And I knew the truth. My innocent baby brother was fated to die—executed by none other than our own father, the future Sultan.
I didn't know if this was a lucid dream or a divine test. But I did know one thing:
Allah watches over every soul.
Wherever I was, whatever name I bore—I couldn't forget my faith or my values.
In my past life, I'd often wished I could enter The Magnificent Century and fix the moments that frustrated me. Now, whether it was dream or destiny, I had the chance. A chance right at the heart of the plot—reborn as the firstborn son of Shehzade Suleiman.
But that also meant... a death flag hovered above my head.
Mustafa had just been born. I expected our father—Shehzade Suleiman—to arrive any day now. Over the past year, the system had only triggered a handful of times. Each time, the choices reminded me of RPG characters or webtoon protagonists.
Let's enjoy this dream to the fullest. Let's fix all the regrets—one by one.
My first objective?
Prevent Mahidevran from bullying the new slave girl… Hurrem.
That infamous incident had soured Father's heart, and the rift only widened as my mother kept opposing Hurrem. The only reason she survived was because Father loved Mustafa dearly.
But... did he love me?
I wasn't sure. He'd visited me once—just once. Since then, it was only Mother or the palace maids who looked after me.
Maybe I chose the wrong option last year when he visited... Who knew he had such a fragile ego that he'd hold a grudge against a newborn for crying?
Tch. How heartless.
Still, the series didn't do Mahidevran justice. She was more beautiful and compassionate than shown. Her fall began when she felt neglected—her love for Suleiman slowly fading as she fought a losing battle for attention.
Only after Mustafa grew older did the Sultan start caring for him. But by then, Mustafa's popularity had grown too large—a threat to the throne. That fear led to his death.
"Attention! Shehzade Suleiman is entering!"
Clang—
The door opened. In walked the man who would become Sultan Suleiman the Magnificent.
I had to suppress a laugh. His receding hairline formed a small "W" on his forehead.
Tch—
I clicked my tongue—though I didn't have teeth yet.
Behind him stood his most trusted friend—Ibrahim. Not a real brother, but closer than blood.
I wish I hadn't been blind at birth. Had he smiled when he saw me? Or frowned in disappointment?
[Choose one of the following options:]
Smile faintly — Reward: +1 Favorability with Suleiman
Stare blankly — Reward: +1 Attribute
Cry loudly — Penalty: -10 Favorability with Suleiman → Bonus: Attracts attention from court maids
Seriously? Ten favorability points lost just because I cry? That confirmed it—the man who visited me once... must've been him.
I chose Option 2: Stare blankly.
Father walked in—and, to my surprise, didn't even glance at Mother. Instead, he walked straight to Mustafa and picked him up gently.
"Mustafa," he said, his voice thick with emotion.
So... the name remained the same. History hadn't changed. Not yet.
I had no intention of currying favor with a man like him. I waved my tiny legs in the air and focused instead on Ibrahim.
"Prince Orhan," Ibrahim said, smiling warmly—even though I was a baby. In the future, he'd grow arrogant and fall from grace, but for now, everything was still intact.
If I could treat him like family rather than a subject... maybe I could change his fate too.
I understood the language—they spoke in Turkish. Coming from a Muslim family in the 21st century, I had studied the Qur'an. I wasn't fluent, but I knew enough.
"Suleiman..." my mother spoke softly. They talked quietly about Mustafa.
Meanwhile, I played with Ibrahim's finger, waving it in the air.
He smiled.
Ding — Reward: Attribute +1 Strength
"Huh?!" Ibrahim flinched.
Father looked over. "Ibrahim, is something wrong?"
"Y-Yes, my prince. The Shehzade gripped my finger so tightly it surprised me."
Father gave me a glance... and turned away, continuing to coo over Mustafa. Mother lay pale on the bed, her gaze fixed longingly on him.
After placing Mustafa beside her, Suleiman left the room—without even looking at me.
I sighed inwardly. So, I'm the one carrying the first death flag...
Maybe it'd be better to get killed first and return to my world.
At least, back then, Mother had loved both of us. But after Father's visit, her affection shifted. Mustafa became her everything. I was left in the care of maids.
Thankfully, I had an adult's mind. Otherwise, I'd have developed a complex. Ibrahim often visited and sometimes took me to the garden.
Still, I didn't let jealousy consume me. I knew they'd need me eventually—when palace politics turned against them. But I would be long gone before that.
Right now, I had three clear goals:
Learn the language of this era.
Reconstruct the plot and make detailed notes.
Change fate—mine, and theirs.
And perhaps...
Find the right way to die in this world—not by my own hand, and not at the hands of non-Muslims on a battlefield. No. Only Father could fulfill that wish.
The game had started.
And I was playing to lose.