Yesterday morning, Henry Clark had just finished reading the first instance of the book "Thriller Trainee." Because he felt uncomfortable with the supporting character in the story who shared his exact name, he casually set the book aside right after witnessing that character’s tragic death.

Unexpectedly, in just the blink of an eye, not only did he transmigrate into the book, but he landed precisely in the story, replacing the cannon fodder character who shared his name.

Henry Clark's situation was quite unique. He didn’t transmigrate as a soul, but physically.

The body in front of the mirror was still the same one Henry Clark had before entering the book.

It was just that he looked even younger, his appearance had inexplicably improved by several degrees, and even his hair and eye color had changed to match the original description. Even the calluses on his hands, left from years of practicing magic as a child, had disappeared.

As for how Henry Clark could be sure this was his own body, it was because...

His hands still showed no signs of recovery or improvement.

The white-haired young man lowered his head, somewhat laboriously scooped up a handful of cold water and splashed it on his face, then raised his hand to rub his temples.

Through the curtain, he could hear that the discussion about him outside had gradually died down. Instead, they had started talking about the most pressing issue at hand.

These people were all in agreement, firmly believing that the Thriller Trainee project was a scam.

“Could it be some hidden variety show, where the artists have to participate without knowing?”

“I don’t think it looks like that at all. Maybe it’s some kind of ter/ror/ist group.”

“Ever since we got here, our phones have had no signal at all, and there’s no signal jammer in the room. Clearly, this was all premeditated. We can’t even call the police. It’s been so long—are we really going to be trapped here until we die?”

Listening to the voices outside, Henry Clark shook his head helplessly.

In the more than twenty hours since they arrived, none of them had felt any need to drink water or eat.

These people didn’t even stop to think: why did the main system’s voice appear so precisely in everyone’s ear? How could they be transported here from thousands of miles away in an instant? If anyone had checked the time—even if their phones couldn’t connect to the internet—they would have noticed that only about a minute had passed.

Maybe they had noticed, but just didn’t dare to think about it.

People are always like this—unless the most undeniable facts are laid out before them, they’ll stubbornly hide in their own fantasies, searching for reasons to convince themselves.

Henry Clark tore off a piece of toilet paper and wiped the water droplets from his face.

Ordinary transmigration into a book wouldn’t be a big deal, but this just had to be a horror infinite flow novel.

When he first started reading, Henry Clark thought the original character, described in such detail, was the protagonist. But for some reason, the author, with a twisted sense of humor, gave the original character layers upon layers of beauty, only for him to die a miserable death in the very first instance.

"Thriller Trainee" was an ensemble POV infinite flow novel, with no fixed perspective and no fixed protagonist. The author might focus on one character, only for that character to die the next moment.

Even worse, Henry Clark had only read half of the first instance—he’d only seen the original character’s death and knew nothing about the nearly million words of plot that followed.

If it were anyone else, they probably couldn’t accept the fact that they didn’t know the future plot and were facing a death ending. It wouldn’t be surprising if they broke down on the spot.

But Henry Clark wasn’t afraid.

Not only was he unafraid, he was even eager to try his hand at all the uncertainties the future held.

Since childhood, Henry Clark had always been emotionally detached. His joys, angers, sorrows, and happiness were different from ordinary people—so faint as to be almost nonexistent. Emotions that others could easily experience were extremely difficult for him.

He started learning magic at the age of three, and by his early twenties had become the world’s top card magician. Yet at just twenty-five, he quietly announced his retirement from the stage, never to appear in public again.

All of this was because of a sudden car accident.

After the accident, Henry Clark barely survived, but his hands suffered comminuted fractures.

For a card magician who relied entirely on dexterous fingers, this was a devastating blow.

Maybe mentalism, coin magic, or other prop-based stage magic could have allowed Henry Clark to scrape by, but his true love was always card magic.

The world’s top orthopedic surgeons had held special seminars for him, but all ended with sighs and shaking heads.

Now, Henry Clark had transmigrated into this world full of strangeness and miracles.

What did this mean?

It meant he might be able to use this place to find a way to successfully heal his hands and pick up cards once more.

And this fascinating world would become the most astonishing, most interesting, and most incredible stage in history!

How exciting.

Henry Clark curved his lips into a smile, humming an off-key tune as he casually lifted the curtain.

The washroom was right by the door. After coming out, he went straight to the rusty iron door at the dormitory entrance and placed his hand on it.

The people who had been chattering away happened to see this scene. “What are you doing! We tried all day yesterday—this door is locked from the outside, there’s no way you can pull it open. Instead of wasting your energy, you might as well wait for someone to come and unlock it...”