Aaron sat slouched in his beat-up office chair, the kind of chair that had no lumbar support and squeaked with every slight movement. The glow of his computer screen illuminated his modest apartment—a cluttered yet cozy one-bedroom unit in a city that was far from exciting. Outside, the muffled sounds of car engines and distant barking dogs provided the soundtrack to another quiet evening.
Life, as Aaron knew it, was… fine.
"Another riveting Friday night in the life of Aaron Grace," he muttered, clicking through another line of dialogue in A Court of Eternal Blossoms, the visual novel he'd somehow gotten hooked on. "Who needs clubs and friends when you have pixelated heartbreak and cheesy romance tropes?"
He glanced at the half-empty bag of chips on his desk, then at the time in the corner of the screen. 11:47 PM. "I should sleep. I have work tomorrow. Like a responsible adult." He popped another chip in his mouth and clicked again.
Aaron's life wasn't bad, per se. He had a stable office job that paid the bills, a small circle of friends who'd check in occasionally, and a family who'd FaceTime him every other week. He wasn't miserable—just bored. The kind of boredom that crept in slowly, turning days into a repetitive blur.
"I mean, sure," he mumbled to himself, "I could be in debt, or dealing with some world-ending drama. But no, here I am stuck in neutral. The most exciting part of my week is wondering if my online order will arrive on time."
Still, he wasn't ungrateful. A boring life, he figured, was better than a disastrous one.
His attention returned to the screen, where the radiant heroine, Serena, was delivering an impassioned speech about love triumphing over all. Aaron snorted. "Yeah, sure, Serena. Try saying that after your fourth heartbreak in this game."
This was his third night in a row playing A Court of Eternal Blossoms. He hadn't planned on getting sucked in, but the art was gorgeous, the soundtrack oddly relaxing, and the characters… well, some of them weren't awful.
"Except you," he said, glaring at Lysander Hale, the 10th love interest, whose sprite had just appeared on screen. Lysander, with his perfect hair and smug smile, was the ultimate filler character. He existed for two things: to be charmingly insufferable and to get rejected faster than the player could blink.
Aaron clicked through the dialogue, his inner monologue running as a live commentary. "Oh, here we go. 'Serena, your beauty rivals the moonlight.' Nice one, Lysander. Bet that's gonna win her over."
To his surprise, he found himself enjoying the game in a guilty-pleasure kind of way. Sure, it was riddled with clichés and questionable dialogue, but there was something comforting about the predictability of it all.
Two hours later, after a whirlwind of dramatic confessions, betrayals, and one truly baffling duel between rival suitors, the credits rolled.
Aaron leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Well, that was… a thing. Seven out of ten. Maybe six and a half. Serena's okay, the art is great, but the plot? Way too much drama for my taste."
He shut his laptop and stretched, groaning as his back protested the hours spent hunched over. "Alright, bedtime. Maybe tomorrow I'll do something productive." He paused. "Ha. Yeah, right."
Crawling into bed, Aaron's thoughts drifted back to the game. He couldn't help but think about Anastasia Corvelle, the villainess. She was the only character that felt real to him—sharp, bitter, and surprisingly vulnerable beneath her icy exterior.
"Honestly," he murmured, half-asleep, "she deserved better."
The darkness of sleep took him, warm and comforting.
...
When he woke up.
Something was wrong.
The air smelled different—richer, like flowers in full bloom. His bed felt too soft, his sheets too smooth. He opened his eyes, squinting at the sunlight streaming through a massive window framed by velvet curtains.
"What the—?" he started, only to freeze at the sound of his voice. It was deeper, more polished, and definitely not his.
Aaron shot up, stumbling out of bed, and caught sight of himself in a gilded mirror. A handsome, aristocratic stranger stared back.
It didn't take long for him to piece it together. The ornate bedroom. The ridiculous outfit hanging over a chair. The painfully familiar face.
He'd seen it all before.
"No way," he whispered, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair.
Lysander Hale.
He wasn't just in the game. He was the 10th love interest.
"Okay," he said to his reflection, heart racing. "This is either a nightmare… or the weirdest second chance I'm ever gonna get."