The Reborn Prince: My Summoning System is God-Tier

POV: Mike

At twenty-one years old, my existence had become the definition of a golden cage. I lived every day within the silent walls of my family's mansion, an otaku not by choice, but by circumstance. My isolation began as a teenager when I was left utterly alone in the world. All I had was my inheritance—a legacy left behind after my parents' private plane spiraled into a mountain. "Engine failure," my relatives had whispered with crocodile tears. But I knew the truth they hid behind those words.

For nine long years, my life withered into a hollow routine: wake up, eat, lose myself in the digital worlds of anime and novels, write a new chapter of my own story, and study in solitude until sleep claimed me again. I was a ghost in my own home. My relatives, infuriated by my refusal to become their perfect, puppet-like heir, deemed me a "worthless piece of trash." When I showed no interest in their greedy teachings, they stripped me of ninety percent of my birthright, leaving me a mere ten percent—a cruel mockery they labeled an "act of kindness."

To the outside world, I was a crazy recluse, a weirdo who refused to leave his room. But reality was far darker. I wasn't allowed to leave. To my relatives, I was a "disgrace" that needed to be hidden away, guarded by men whose only job was to ensure I never saw the sun outside those gates.

Through my eyes, the world was filled only with greed and disgusting stares. None of them possessed the gentleness of my mother or the warmth of the caretaker I loved as a child. Every time I saw their faces, my heart ached with a physical, stabbing pain. To survive, I built a sanctuary—an alternative reality full of dreams and happiness. Or at least, that's what I led them to believe.

I poured my soul into a novel about a young man in a situation mirroring my own. The only difference? My protagonist was possessed by a soul with "cheat abilities," a man who systematically destroyed the corrupt empires and sects that dared to oppress him. I lived through my writing; it was the only place I felt truly alive.

But my refuge was discovered. As my novel exploded in popularity across the internet, my relatives realized the author was the boy they held prisoner. They felt the cold breath of a threat; the novel was too accurate, detailing a family that murdered for wealth and resources. Fearing I was plotting a revolution from behind my keyboard, they decided I was a variable they could no longer afford to keep.

Back in the mansion:

"Finally, the fifth volume is complete," I whispered, leaning back from my monitor. "Three more to go, and the story will be finished. I'm exhausted... I'll upload the extra chapters before dinner."

These "Extras" were hosted on a separate site, where I painstakingly detailed the lore of my world—treasures, hidden inheritances, and the dark backstories of villainesses. To my surprise, the readers craved this world-building more than the plot itself, so I dedicated myself to writing seven extra chapters every week.

After the upload finished, I walked toward the main hall. The air felt heavy, charged with an unspoken tension. Guards stood in rigid lines, their eyes tracking my every step. When I arrived, a massive feast lay before me—dishes from all around the world, enough to feed five people. It was a stark contrast to the meager noodles they usually threw my way. I knew then that I was a prisoner being offered a final mercy, but I had to play my part to stay safe.

I sat down, a thin, knowing smile playing on my lips as I looked at the guards. "So, you've decided not to give me a choice anymore, haven't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sir," the head guard replied, his voice cold and flat. "Please, enjoy your dinner."

I didn't argue. I pulled out my phone for a brief moment, my fingers dancing across the screen before I tucked it away for the last time. I looked at them and said, "I might be a fool in your eyes, but even a fool can be lethal when cornered. There is a limit to what a person can endure. If you hunt a rabbit until it has nowhere to run, you should expect it to bite back, right? You're the ones who left me with no choice."

The head guard's eyes narrowed into slits. "It seems the young master is having trouble eating. You two, go and help him finish his food."

I laughed—a helpless, hollow sound—as they forced the meal down my throat. It didn't take long. A heavy lethality crept into my veins, making my vision swim and my heart stutter. I knew the food was laced with poison, and I could feel the darkness rushing in.

With the last of my strength, I looked directly into the security camera in the corner. "You think you've won? Fools. Game over." I coughed, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. "For nine years, I didn't just write stories—I mastered the art of hacking. Every bribe, every corrupt scheme, every drop of blood on your hands... it's all in a file. And guess where that file is now?"

A jagged grin split my face. "It's already... all over the internet! Why the panic? I even created wonderful pieces of evidence for the world to see. Since you're my 'dear family,' I decided to take care of you one last time. Don't be afraid... the best you can hope for now is a quick death by public rage. Checkmate."

I knew they were watching the feed, their faces turning pale with terror. They thought they were killing me for a novel, never realizing I had been waiting for the right moment to pull the trigger on their downfall.

As the darkness finally claimed me, my final thought wasn't of revenge, but of my unfinished work: 'I really wish.

.. I could have finished my novel...'