"⬛⬛⬛⬛!"
My eyes snapped open from the sound echoing in my ears.
"...!"
Had someone called my name?
A real name, not the one given to me in this story.
The familiar scent of old books and worn in furniture greeted me as I took in my surroundings.
It was my room, unchanged from the day I left it.
The same cluttered desk, the same faded posters on the wall, the same worn-out armchair in the corner.
I looked down at my hands, at my body.
It was me.
The real me, not Rel Laurence, the fictional character I had become.
I was back in my old life, seven years before my transmigration.
Just an ordinary high school student, before the world of writing had consumed me.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Compared to my 25-year-old self, I was in peak physical condition back then.
I wasn't slouching over a keyboard, I wasn't battling writer's block and deadlines.
I was free.
