Zack stared at the peeling wallpaper of his dorm room in Aether Academy, the faint morning light casting a golden hue on the worn-out furniture. He sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers gripping the spear leaning against the wall. It was a familiar sensation, the roughened wood against his skin, yet it brought him no comfort. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustling of leaves outside the window.

"Damnit. Again?" he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His tone was tired, more weary than angry.

This had become routine for him—waking up, reassessing his existence, and preparing for another monotonous day. He'd once been Kim Yoo Jin, an ordinary gamer from another world, someone who had devoted countless hours to playing Aether Heroes, his favorite game. When he'd suddenly found himself transported into the game as an NPC, it had felt like a dream come true. He had knowledge of the world's events, its secrets, and even its heroines.

At first, Zack had envisioned himself as the savior of Aether, using his foresight to rewrite the game's narrative, save everyone, and charm the heroines. It had been a thrilling plan, one filled with ambition and excitement. But reality had other plans.

The curse of Eternal Return changed everything.

Each time he died—and he had died more times than he could count—he was transported back to this dorm room, unharmed but tormented by the memories of each death. He could vividly recall the excruciating pain of being ripped apart by monsters, the searing agony of poison coursing through his veins, and the suffocating despair of being stabbed in the dark. The pain never faded, lingering in his mind like a shadow.

At some point, Zack had stopped counting his deaths. Was it hundreds? Thousands? Millions? He didn't know anymore, and he no longer cared to keep track. The agony was the same every time, and so was the frustration.

Worse, he had tried to fight fate, to alter the destiny of those around him. But no matter how hard he fought, his parents—both in this world and his original one—always died. He had tried every method he could think of to save them, yet they always slipped through his grasp.

The pain of their loss had worn him down over countless cycles. It was the cruelest reminder of his failure, of his helplessness.

Eventually, Zack had abandoned his dreams of heroism and romance. What use were dreams in a world so unyielding? He no longer wanted to be the main character; he didn't even want to be here. All he wanted was to go home—but there was no home to return to.

"Just another day," he said, forcing himself to stand. His body moved on autopilot as he reached for his academy uniform and put it on. The motions were mechanical, a stark contrast to the once-vivid ambition that had driven him.

His reflection in the cracked mirror caught his eye. He looked the same as always—messy black hair, tired gray eyes, and the faint scar along his jawline that had carried over from one of his earliest deaths. Despite everything, his body remained unchanging, frozen in the prime of youth.

Zack glanced at the spear once more, his only companion in this never-ending nightmare. He had tried other weapons over countless cycles, but the spear was the only one that felt natural to him, as if it had become an extension of himself.

With a heavy sigh, he picked up the spear, slinging it over his back. It was time for another day of classes, another day of going through the motions, another day of pretending everything was fine.

As he opened the door to his dorm room, the familiar hallways of Aether Academy stretched before him. Students bustled about, chatting and laughing, oblivious to the horrors that Zack had endured.

He envied them—their ignorance, their blissful lack of awareness of the world's cruel design.

"Here we go again," he muttered, stepping into the hallway. Whatever this day brought, Zack knew one thing for certain: it would end the same way it always did, with him returning to this room, trapped in the endless cycle of pain and despair.

For now, though, he walked forward, his steps heavy yet steady. After all, even in a world as unforgiving as this, he had to keep moving no matter what.