I Live in a Chicken Coop With Curtains
Caelus had played survival horror games with better starting conditions than this.
“This can’t be a manor,” he muttered as he limped through the hallway. “This is a glorified haunted shed. I’ve seen chicken coops with more insulation.”
A breeze drifted through the shattered window above him. It smelled like mold, regret, and faint chicken poop.
>> You are currently inside: Prince Caelus’s Assigned Noble Residence (a.k.a. “The Forgotten Shed”)
>> Residential Rank: F–
>> Upgrade Requirements: Yes. All of them.
The floorboards creaked with every step, loudly enough to make stealth impossible and sanity optional. The walls were paper-thin—literally. Someone had wallpapered crumbling plaster with old prayer scrolls. For "protection", probably.
“Fucking hell…!” He muttered, dragging his bony feet over the rotting wood. “My house is haunted and religiously guilt-trippy. Perfect.”
He turned a corner and ducked under a beam that was definitely not regulation height. The hallway opened into a room the size of a walk-in closet. It contained: a wobbly writing desk, a rusted basin, one chair missing three legs, and a wardrobe door that refused to close, as if even it had given up.
Caelus rubbed his face. “This place couldn’t even host a murder mystery dinner. You’d run out of places to hide the corpse.”
[New Environmental Trait Unlocked: Humble Beginnings]
> Effect: All EXP gained +5% while living in absolute squalor.
> Bonus: +1 Resistance to Disease (Mild).
“Oh good,” he muttered, “a perk for not dying in a biohazard. That’s comforting.”
He pulled open a warped drawer and found… a half-eaten biscuit, a single copper coin, and a mouse, which looked him dead in the eye before taking the biscuit and leaving with zero fear.
“Didn’t even ask, huh?” he called after it. “Just took it and left. Bold.”
Caelus sighed and turned to the warped mirror again. Still him. Still scrawny. Still the face of a 16-year-old prince who looked like a stiff breeze would drop him dead.
[Body Status - Detailed Scan Available]
> View now?
“Hit me with the damage, doc.”
>> Body Status: Prince Caelus Solari
>> Condition: Actively pitiful
>> Strength (STR): 2 – Can lift approximately a heavy loaf of bread
>> Agility (AGI): 3 – You might win a race against a snail. If it’s old.
>> Constitution (CON): 1 – Your body is a passive-aggressive letter to Death.
>> Intelligence (INT): 7 – Surprisingly decent, considering you were recently hit by a truck.
>> Wisdom (WIS): 6 – Just enough to know this sucks.
>> Charisma (CHAR): 4 – People will pity you. That counts.
>> Luck (LUK): 1 – A pigeon will probably poop on you today.
>> Skills: None
>> Titles: [Trash Prince]
>> Quests: [Get Out of Bed Without Dying – COMPLETE ✔]
Caelus winced. “That’s not a stat sheet—that’s a cry for help.”
He dragged the broken chair over to the desk and sat, flinching as the whole thing tilted 30 degrees to the left like a sinking ship. “Okay. Think, Caelus. Think.”
His mind was clearer now. In his old world as Jayden, he’d been a snarky pre-med dropout who played too many games, spent too much time theory crafting obscure builds, and once got banned from a forum for calling a cleric build “emotionally fragile”.
And now he was in an actual RPG.
Not just an RPG… a fantasy empire full of noble houses, magic, swords, and political backstabbing. The kind of place where a sickly prince could easily die from poison, neglect, or stepping on the wrong noble’s shoes.
“System,” he said aloud. “Is there a tutorial? Or a stat screen I can actually do something with?”
[SYSTEM ACTIVATING FULL ACCESS MODE…]
Warning: This feature is in beta. No refunds.
— SYSTEM MENU UNLOCKED —
• Status
• Skills (Currently Empty)
• Inventory (1 Biscuit Crumb)
• Titles
• Quests
• Map (Unavailable - You live in a dump)
• Help (Emotional, not available)
• Settings
“Finally,” he breathed. “Now we’re talking.”
He flicked over to the Titles tab.
Titles Unlocked
Loading…
[Trash Prince]
> You are the ninth-born of the Solarian Empire, forgotten and neglected. Considered trash by 98% of the nobility.
>
> Effects:
> – All EXP gained from humiliation +20%
> – NPCs are 30% more likely to underestimate you
> – -10 Reputation with Fancy People™
>
> [Survivor of Truck-Kun]
> You were hit by a truck and lived. Technically.
>
> Effects:
> – +1 INT
> – +10% resistance to sudden death (non-magical)
Caelus stared. “EXP from… humiliation? So if someone slaps me with a fish, I level up?”
[Correct. Fish-based EXP gains capped at 50 per day.]
He slammed the title onto his Status.
“Fine. Let them call me trash. I’ll become a Level 100 Trash Emperor.”
Just then, someone banged on the front door—technically a curtain stapled to a doorframe.
“Prince Caelus!” a voice barked. “The Emperor has summoned you to morning court! If you are not present in ten minutes, punishment will follow!”
Caelus then groaned. “Oh right. I have a family. Probably a toxic one… like in one of those soap opera telenovela my mother used to watched, huh?”
>> New Quest Unlocked: Face the Court
>> Objective: Attend Morning Court Without Dying or Passing Out
>> Rewards: +10 EXP, Survival, Political Intel (Maybe)
>> Optional Bonus Objective: Don’t collapse on the stairs.
He looked at his stats again.
"With this CON, I might die halfway there."
[Suggestion: Crawl dramatically for sympathy EXP.]
Caelus grinned darkly. “Let’s make an entrance, then.”
He threw open the curtain-door of his barely-habitable manor and stepped outside into the grand courtyard of the imperial estate—which looked even worse from the outside.
And every step toward the palace would be a trial.
The path from his condemned shack to the imperial palace took exactly fourteen minutes, eight wheezing pauses, three “I might pass out” moments, and one dramatic crawl for sympathy EXP.
>> Quest Update: Face the Court
>> Objective Progress: Still Alive
>> Bonus Objective: 17 stairs survived (no collapse… yet)
The palace loomed ahead like a divine prank: gold-plated spires, imported marble stairs, and guards so shiny they looked like they had personal cleaning maids. Which they probably did.
Caelus reached the main doors, where two imperial guards looked down their noses at him with expressions perfected in noble disdain bootcamp.
“State your name and purpose,” one of them barked.
He blinked at them. “Caelus Solari. Ninth-born, official family disappointment, current F-rank resident of the Chicken Coop With Curtains.”
“…Ah,” the guard muttered. “Him.”
[Reputation Check: Failed]
> The guards think you’re a diseased pigeon that learned to walk upright.
> +1 EXP (Humiliation)
They opened the doors anyway. Begrudgingly.
The throne room smelled like expensive candles, power, and the crushed dreams of minor nobles.
Caelus limped inside, barely upright and definitely still bleeding somewhere. Behind him, the massive obsidian doors groaned closed like a final judgment.
[Atmosphere Detected: Oppressively Regal]
> Advice: Avoid making direct eye contact with anything gold.
> Bonus: +10% chance of dying politely.
He staggered forward. Red carpet. Too red. Suspiciously red. Was it dyed, or...?
“Prince Caelus Solari,” a herald announced, voice flat as week-old bread. “Ninth of His Majesty’s line, by grace of imperial blood and failure of contraception.”
Caelus gave a crooked smile. “Well. At least they remembered I exist.”
At the far end of the room, perched atop the Sunfire Throne, was Emperor Lucien Solari. Cloaked in starlight silk, a crown that looked surgically attached, and an expression that said… you are already wasting my time.
He looked down at Caelus like one might study a dead bird stuck in their shoe.
Lucien didn’t speak at first. Just stared. Let the silence stretch long enough to birth a new calendar system.
[SYSTEM NOTICE: Tension Level Critical]
> Suggestion: Break silence with biting wit or ill-timed cough.
> Failure: Public beheading probability up 12%.
Caelus cleared his throat. “Father. You summoned me. I assume this is about the dead chicken?”
Lucien blinked once. “What?”
Caelus gestured vaguely to himself. “There was a chicken. In my bed. Its death was... untimely.”
[Memory Check Passed]
> It was a political warning. From your siblings. Possibly the twins.
> Or your niece. She’s five. Ambitious.
Lucien finally spoke. “You look unwell.”
“I walked here. Bleeding. Through five districts. One of which was actively on fire.”
[True]
> +1 Endurance
> +2 Disrespect for Infrastructure
The emperor’s gaze swept over him like a tax audit. “Why do you persist in embarrassing the name Solari?”
Caelus smiled. “You gave me the name, Father. I’m just using it creatively.”
[Charisma Check: Barely Passed]
> Several courtiers smirk behind their sleeves. One writes it down for later use.
Lucien leaned forward slightly. “You have squandered your years in exile. I had hoped poverty would instill humility. Or at least silence.”
Caelus inclined his head. “It instilled tetanus. Close enough.”
A flicker of something crossed the emperor’s face. Annoyance? Amusement? It was gone too quickly.
“You are not here to spar with me in wit, Caelus.”
“Shame. It’s the only thing I haven’t failed at this week.”
Lucien gestured, and a servant approached with a silver tray. Upon it: a scroll, sealed in black wax.
“Your presence is required,” Lucien said, “not for war, nor courtly duty—gods forbid—but at the behest of the Imperial Concord.”
Caelus stared at the scroll. “That sounds unnecessarily ominous.”
“It is a summons to observe a negotiation. You will not speak. You will not intervene. You will simply listen.”
[New Quest Acquired: Sit There and Shut Up (Advanced Version)]
> Objective: Do not die. Do not talk. Definitely do not provoke the Duke of Tharros.
> Reward: None. Survival is its own prize.
> Optional Bonus: Look pretty and pitiful. Court sympathy is rare but delicious.
Caelus accepted the scroll. It was heavier than it looked. Maybe lined with lead. Or guilt.
He glanced up at his father. “And what happens if I decline?”
Lucien smiled. It was an emperor’s smile—equal parts beauty and threat. “Then I shall assume you are already dead, and announce your memorial during the spring opera.”
Caelus nodded. “I do love a good aria.”
Lucien rose, the movement slow and deliberate. Power radiated from him like heat from a forge. “You may go, Prince Caelus. And remember, you are a Solari.”
Caelus turned, limping away with regal defiance and a faint wheeze.
As the doors closed behind him, the SYSTEM chimed:
[SYSTEM TIP: Being forgotten is safer than being remembered. But less satisfying.]
>> Quest Updated: Attend the Concord Negotiation
>> Side Objective: Don’t trip on your way out
>> Warning: Someone in that room wants you dead. Narrowing it down: everyone.
The Imperial Concord met in the Solaris Chamber—a room designed to intimidate, suffocate, and blind the weak with unnecessary amounts of gold leaf.
Caelus limped in ten minutes late.
[Penalty: -3 Reputation with Punctuality-Fetishist Nobles]
> Bonus: +1 Style (Fashionably Wounded)
> Bonus: +5 Sympathy from Maids
The doors creaked open behind him, revealing a domed chamber lit by floating crystal orbs and shame.
The Concord—an elite council of nobles, generals, guildmasters, and people with titles so long they had to be abbreviated—sat in a half-circle of judgment.
At the head was Duke Valen Tharros, silver-haired warhound of the north, with a face carved from spite and frostbite.
Next to him was Lady Sereia of the Guild Consortium, wearing sixteen rings and an expression that said… I own everything I touch.
The others were a blur of velvets, fan-clicks, money, and power.
Caelus stepped forward, bloody bandage still clinging to one leg like a badge of suffering.
The whispering started immediately. Soft. Sharp. Hungry.
“Is that the Trash Prince?”
“I thought he died in a gutter.”
“Looks like the gutter spat him back out.”
[Passive Title Activated: Trash Prince]
> EXP from Humiliation: +15
> NPC Underestimation Bonus: +10%
He gave them a nod. Not a bow. He couldn’t bend that far without risking spinal betrayal.
Lady Sereia raised an eyebrow. “Your Highness, we were not expecting... participation.”
Caelus smiled. “I was told I wouldn’t be. I’m just here to… observe, like an underpaid court intern.”
[Passive Sarcasm: Detected]
> Effect: Causes tension in a 15-foot radius.
> Critical Success: One noble coughs wine up their nose.
An aide scuttled over and guided him to his designated seat: a velvet chair placed slightly behind a support column, partially obscured by a decorative fern. It screamed decorative afterthought.
“Of course,” Caelus muttered as he sat. “The Fern of Shame. My natural habitat.”
He leaned back. Tried to look harmless. Harmless, dying, and vaguely decorative.
Duke Tharros turned his attention forward again. “Now that His Highness has graced us, perhaps we can resume?”
Caelus squinted at the long scrolls unfurling on the table. Maps. Trade routes. Battle forecasts. Something involving disputed grain tariffs and an unsolved assassination in Tharros.
[Insight Check: Passed]
> Summary: A rebellion’s brewing in the north, masked by economic bickering.
> Relevance to Caelus: None. Unless someone needs a noble scapegoat. (They do.)
As the nobles resumed talking, Caelus tuned them out just enough to survive.
One phrase caught his attention.
“...if the northern front collapses, we’ll need a face to blame...”
He blinked. Sat a little straighter. No one was looking at him yet—but the sentence lingered like smoke.
[SYSTEM WARNING]
> Threat Level: Increasing
> Political Position: Expendable Decorative Royal™
> Suggestion: Do not speak. Do not sneeze. Do not correct anyone’s pronunciation.
He clutched the imperial scroll his father gave him. Still sealed. Still ominous.
His presence here wasn’t just about ceremony.
It was a test.
Or bait.
Or both.
Outside, thunder rolled in the distance. Unscheduled. Ominous.
[New Side Quest Unlocked: Survive the Concord Session Without Becoming the Scapegoat]
> Reward: Continued existence. Maybe tea.
> Optional Objective: Learn something useful before they try to kill you.
Caelus folded his hands. Smiled faintly.
Let them whisper. Let them plot. Let them think this prince is a trash.
Because trash doesn’t threaten anyone... until it catches fire.
Ya’ll motherfu—