Morning light spilled through the infirmary windows, warm against my face. It couldn't have been more than a few minutes since I first woke, yet the room already felt different.
I flexed my fingers; the skin was rougher than I remembered, tiny calluses on the tips as though I'd spent a summer learning the violin or practicing. The hands I knew from my desk job were gone.
How unfamiliar.
A small metal mirror sat in the bedside cabinet. I angled it toward my face and blinked.
Black hair—the back was long, reaching all the way to my waist—framed sharper cheekbones than I'd ever owned. My eyes, once a dull brown, now held dark flecks that absorbed all the light.
A faint scar traced the hollow above my collarbone, and as my finger ran along it, I tried to recall where I had earned it, yet no such memory came.
When I closed my eyes, flashes of a life not mine seeped in. Remina waving at a pair of laughing classmates beside a fountain. Remina taking the test to join the academy because of her father's demand. Remina barely passing the exams, barely showing her wind capabilities. Remina standing breathless before the academy gates, happy she had gotten in.
Each image felt like a postcard left in the sun too long: the colors vivid, the edges blurred.
Real-world memories stayed cloudy. I recalled caffeine jitters, red-pen stains, and the hum of an old office printer—work; all of it was work. Everything else remained locked behind static.
It seemed a stray smell or fragment of conversation could trigger either set of memories at random; it was disorienting. I couldn't figure out what was mine and what was Remina's.
A soft chime drew my gaze to the floating window.
[STATUS]Name: Remina SolaceRank: F-HP: 110 / 120MP: 30 / 50Strength: F-Agility: F+Vitality: F+Affinity: Wind (Unstable)Traits: Quick Thinker, Editor's Insight
A gaming panel?
I couldn't help but think of all those various novels I had read before when researching work material; even this novel had such a thing. However, it was reserved for the MC—only he could see the panel before me.
And to him, it was called Eye of the World.
The difference between his stats and the ones before me now? Mine were pathetically low. Even from the start, his stats were at least D-Rank—maybe his lowest were E-Rank—but mine?
F-Rank.
But putting aside the bad stats, I had two traits, and even just one trait could be considered good. After all, most people aren't born with traits, and the MC only had one at the start.
Editor's Insight? I tapped the phrase. A tooltip unfolded.
Editor's Insight - View subtle flaws in text, objects, or events and perform micro edits. Each edit comes with a cost.
Simple enough, but definitely one that could be extraordinarily useful.
Everything else looked mercifully straightforward. No branching menus, no quest system, nothing that really stood out or forced an outcome.
I decided to experiment. A frayed thread dangled from the blanket hem. I focused on it until faint blue brackets framed the word Thread. In my mind, I replaced frayed with tightened.
The panel closed, and a gentle tug, like someone plucking a single strand of hair, brushed the base of my skull. The thread wove itself neatly into the fabric.
Stamina -1.
On the table sat a clay pitcher labeled lukewarm water. I didn't want lukewarm anything. The tag appeared, brackets ready; lukewarm became cold. Another pulse, another strand-plucking sensation, and condensation misted the pitcher's surface.
Stamina -1.
Not painful, but as I did multiple edits, I felt a slight fog at the edges of my vision. Edits clearly drained me faster than I'd like, even such small ones.
The curtain parted, but this time it was a different person—a young student, it seemed; maybe an intern.
"Good morning, Miss Solace. Vital signs look steadier."
They pressed two fingers to the inside of my wrist, smiled softly, then spoke again.
"Discharge papers. Sign here and you're free. Dorm E-Three should be ready for you. You do know your room number, right?"
I reached for the quill and signed the dotted line—as they would say—Remina Solace, in tidy cursive.
"Well, that's all. Feel free to leave whenever you want."
They left with a reminder to rest. As their footsteps faded, I eyed the pitcher once more; it was still cold, the thread stayed tight—at least the edits didn't undo themselves right away.
For now, I decided to leave. From what I could remember, the main story starts on the first day of classes, and it just so happens that tomorrow will be the first day of classes.
So I had to prepare for the story. I had to try and remember as much of the storyline as possible so that I could avoid dying. I had no interest in being some hero that changes or saves this world; that was the job of the MC. All I wanted to do was avoid my own death and live a comfortable life.
And I would do anything it takes to achieve that.