A sluggish, heavy grogginess clung to Dante's mind as his consciousness slowly drifted back into awareness. He let out a deep sigh, relishing the rare sensation of feeling well-rested. That was odd. Lately, sleep had been a luxury he could barely afford, given the countless hours he had spent editing that damn webnovel. It was a brutal, mind-numbing endeavor that had left him running purely on caffeine and sheer determination.
Yet, right now, his body felt strangely refreshed. The exhaustion that had plagued him for weeks seemed completely absent, replaced by a lightness that was both foreign and unnerving.
Then, something else clicked.
His bed felt… different.
There was no familiar creak of worn-out springs beneath him as he shifted slightly. No lumps, no awkward depressions from years of use. Instead, his body was cradled by a mattress that was unbelievably soft, like sinking into a cloud. The sheets wrapped around him were smooth, almost silk-like, and definitely far too luxurious for his usual tastes.
With a growing sense of unease, he forced his eyes open.
His vision adjusted to the dimly lit room, and the sight that greeted him nearly stole his breath.
This… wasn't his apartment.
The ceiling above him was high, adorned with intricate carvings and a grand chandelier that subtly illuminated the space. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with pristine, leather-bound books. A large, ornate desk stood against one side of the room, its polished surface reflecting the ambient glow of a modern-looking desk lamp. A mixture of modern design and aristocratic opulence blended seamlessly—the sleek edges of a high-quality writing chair beside a grand wooden dresser, the elegant drapery framing a massive window that allowed sunlight to spill in.
Everything screamed wealth.
Dante slowly sat up, his body moving with an unfamiliar ease. His feet slid off the bed, coming into contact with the floor, and a sharp shiver ran up his spine. The floor was frigid—smooth, expensive marble that starkly contrasted the rough wooden planks of his old apartment.
And then, he saw his hands.
Pale.
The skin wasn't his usual tone—it was lighter, like polished ivory. His fingers, longer and more refined than he remembered, curled instinctively as his breath hitched. Heart pounding, he swallowed hard and forced himself to stand.
His legs felt different. Longer, leaner, but still strong.
Taking a hesitant step forward, his eyes darted downward, catching sight of the clothes draped over his body. A loose, white buttoned shirt hung open at his chest, exposing a well-toned physique—firm yet not overly muscular, defined yet balanced. His pants were unlike anything he owned, a blend of noble finery and modern comfort, resembling regal sweatpants with an elegant trim.
Dante's breath quickened.
He needed answers.
He turned toward the grand desk, drawn to the items resting atop it. His gaze immediately locked onto what looked like a smartphone—finally, something familiar. If he could use it, maybe he could get some context—
Then he saw it.
A mirror.
A small, ornate mirror sat next to the desk lamp, angled just enough to catch his reflection.
And what he saw made his blood run cold.
The boy staring back at him was not Dante.
Messy yet silky amber hair, strikingly vibrant even in the dim light. A face that was both youthful and undeniably handsome. Skin so pale it seemed almost ethereal.
And then—those eyes.
Pitch-black. Darker than the void. They held a haunting, almost otherworldly beauty, drawing him in, trapping him in their abyss.
Dante took an involuntary step back, heart pounding in his ears.
The reflection moved with him.
Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reached out, fingers grazing the cool surface of the mirror. His breathing grew ragged, disbelief gripping his chest.
This face…
This wasn't his.
This was—
"Vryne El Drexsic…"
The name escaped his lips before he could stop it, his voice softer, smoother than before. It sent a shiver down his spine.
Vryne El Drexsic.
The son of the main villain in The Hero's Assent.
The character he had helped with editing in the novel.
The character who was doomed to meet a bitter, tragic fate.
And now, he was him.
—
It had been a week.
Seven days since he first woke up in this body. Seven days since he was forced to reconcile the impossible truth: Dante was gone. At least, in the physical sense.
Vryne El Drexsic was who he was now.
Adapting to this life hadn't been easy. At first, he had stumbled, his mannerisms shifting erratically between his old self and the cold, detached demeanor of the original Vryne. The staff had noticed immediately.
They had known Vryne to be diligent, yes, but only when it came to swordsmanship and magic. He had never been the type to seek knowledge beyond what was required of him. Yet now, they saw him hunched over books—old tomes on economics, literature, history. They saw him deep in thought, eyes scanning the words as if desperate to consume every ounce of information.
The maids whispered among themselves. The butlers exchanged puzzled glances.
Why was their young master suddenly so… different?
He was no longer the distant, indifferent noble who spoke only when necessary. Instead, he conversed—openly, casually, even offering to assist with menial tasks in the garden. It unsettled them at first, this stark contrast to the Vryne they had known. But despite their confusion, they couldn't deny one simple truth:
He was changing.
And they didn't know why.
Neither did Dante—no, Vryne.
Not really.
He had spent the past week trying to stabilize himself, to find a balance between who he was and who he had become. The memories of the original Vryne were still there, lingering like a shadow in the back of his mind. They guided his actions, whispered to him when he spoke, molded his gestures. And yet, his own thoughts—Dante's thoughts—remained intact.
It was a precarious line to walk.
If he leaned too far into his old self, he risked exposing the truth. If he leaned too far into Vryne's identity, he feared he might forget himself entirely.
So he compromised.
He blended both personas, adapting where necessary. He maintained Vryne's poised elegance but allowed his own curiosity to flourish. He trained with the sword as expected, but he also delved into studies the original Vryne had ignored. He spoke with the staff, not as a cold superior, but as someone genuinely interested in their lives.
And in doing so, he began laying the foundation for his survival.
Because make no mistake—he was not going to meet the fate Vryne was originally destined for.
No.
He was going to change everything.
As he stared up at the clear azure sky, watching the clouds drift lazily above the vast Drexsic estate, he let out a slow breath.
Three months.
That was how long he had before the story's events truly began.
Three months to prepare.
Three months to carve out a new path.
Three months to escape his impending doom.
This was his second chance-or rather, Vryne's second chance.
And he wasn't going to waste it.