That was the first thing I felt when I regained consciousness. A dull, throbbing ache in my head, the raw sting of bruises on my body, and a vague nausea curling in my stomach. I forced my eyes open, only to be greeted by a dimly lit room that reeked of alcohol and sweat. The ceiling above me was cracked and stained, the wooden walls worn and splintered.
This wasn't my room. It wasn't my world.
Memories flooded in all at once, overwhelming and disjointed. Ethan del Arvent. A name I knew but had never spoken before. A third-rate noble, a disgrace, a scoundrel whose only legacy was getting expelled from the academy dorms for harassing students. He was a stepping stone in someone else's story—a minor villain meant to be discarded.
And now, I was him.
I sat up slowly, fighting through the dizziness as I assessed my situation. My clothes were filthy, wrinkled, and carried the faint scent of spilled wine. A quick glance around the room confirmed my suspicions—this was a cheap inn, the kind that turned a blind eye to the drunk and the desperate. There was no luxury here, no sign of nobility, only the bare minimum needed to survive.
I needed to think. Panic wouldn't help me. The last thing I remembered before waking up here was falling asleep at my desk, reading The Last Hero's Journey. It was a novel I had practically memorized. And Ethan del Arvent? He didn't even make it past the opening chapters.
His fate was sealed—beaten, humiliated, and killed offscreen, discarded as an insignificant failure.
Not exactly reassuring.
I took a slow, measured breath. The first thing I needed to do was confirm my surroundings. Standing up was a challenge, but I managed. The wooden floor creaked beneath my weight as I approached the cloudy mirror hanging on the wall. The face staring back at me was unfamiliar—sharp features, disheveled dark hair, and deep blue eyes that looked far too hollow for someone my age. Faint bruises trailed along my jaw, and a dried cut lingered at my brow. Whoever had last met Ethan had left their mark.
I couldn't afford to stay here long. My reputation was already in shambles, and I didn't doubt that someone, whether a vengeful student or an opportunistic noble, would come looking for me soon enough. I needed a plan—one that would keep me alive and out of sight.
Survival was my only goal.
I had no interest in playing the role of a villain or seeking redemption. I just needed to endure, to outlast the events of the novel. If I stayed unnoticed, if I avoided the major characters, I could disappear into the background, let the story play out without me.
But fate rarely allowed things to go so smoothly.
A sharp knock at the door shattered my thoughts.
"Ethan del Arvent." A voice called from the other side, cold and authoritative. "Come out."
I let out a slow breath. So it begins.