The first days passed like a blur. I opened my eyes to a world I couldn't understand, yet one that felt oddly familiar. Slowly, the haze lifted. Fragments of memory sharpened, and the truth hit me like a hammer.
I wasn't just reborn.
I was reborn inside a novel.
The very one I had been reading before my death.
At first, I thought it was a cruel joke. Maybe I was dreaming, maybe my mind was breaking. But no—the details lined up too perfectly. The names, the clan, the timing.
And then came the realization that nearly crushed me.
I wasn't just in the novel.
I was an extra.
---
The story I remembered had been strange from the beginning. Unlike other webnovels where some random student became a hero, this one was darker. Gods existed—beings who meddled in mortal lives like chess pieces. One god in particular obsessed over fate. He rewrote destinies, twisted stories, and even descended to interfere directly when the threads didn't please him.
The novel's central character was supposed to be Razeal Verian, the scion of one of the three strongest clans in the world, second only to the Imperial Clan. He was destined to become a villain—the ultimate calamity who would stain the world in blood.
But the twist was that his body was possessed by a soul from Earth.
That transmigrator—someone like me—became the true protagonist. The whole plot revolved around him defying fate, fighting against the role of villain, clawing for freedom against the god obsessed with destiny.
That was the story.
And I… wasn't in it.
I had no place, no role, no mention in the novel I read.
Because in the original book, Razeal was never supposed to have a twin.
---
When that truth sank in, I almost couldn't breathe.
I wasn't just an extra. I was a mistake. A deviation.
An existence outside the script.
And in a world where gods obsessed over fates and anomalies, that made me something far worse than useless—
it made me a target.
What would that insane god do if he noticed me? Would he erase me? Twist me into something I couldn't resist? Or maybe he'd use me as a tool to push Razeal's fate further into despair?
The possibilities made my tiny body tremble at night, even as a baby.
---
And as if the universe wanted to hammer in my insignificance, it happened.
One morning, when sunlight spilled across the vast marble floors of our estate, I sensed something. A ripple in the air, an energy so profound it made my infant skin prickle.
Razeal stirred in his cradle beside me. His small hands clenched, and his breathing slowed, too calm for a child. Then—light. A glow shimmered around him, invisible to everyone else but glaring to my eyes.
A system.
God damn it.
I knew exactly what it was. The very cheat the transmigrator had in the story. The system that allowed him to connect with villains across the multiverse, to borrow their power, to learn their methods. The ultimate tool to defy destiny.
And he had it.
Razeal had it.
Not me.
I wasn't even supposed to be here, and now I was forced to watch the script play out exactly as I had read it. Only this time, I wasn't just a reader. I was trapped inside the nightmare.
---
Our mother's arms were warm, though. That was the one comfort I had. She was breathtakingly beautiful—long silver hair that fell like a river, eyes as bright as stars. Her voice was soft, even when her words were sharp to the servants. When she held me, I felt safe, if only for a moment.
And then there was my sister. A little older, perhaps six or seven, with a fierce spark in her eyes. She doted on us both, poking my cheeks, humming little songs while she sat by the cradle. She adored us—but even I noticed her eyes lingered longer on Razeal.
Everyone's did.
Of course. He radiated something I couldn't. Even as a baby, people sensed the difference. They whispered about his calmness, his noble bearing. Meanwhile, I was just… me.
Atticus Verian.
A name that didn't exist in the story.
---
"I don't know how, but I can understand their language," I thought one day, after listening to our sister chatter endlessly. "At least that's good."
It was strange, knowing their words though I had never learned them. Maybe it was a blessing from fate, or maybe the god was mocking me with scraps. Whatever the case, it made surviving here easier.
But the more I observed Razeal, the more bitterness built inside me.
He wasn't acting like a child at all. His silence, his controlled expressions—it was exactly what I remembered from the story. The transmigrator had already taken hold.
And my pride couldn't allow it.
If you're going to act like a man in a baby's body, then I'll never let myself be seen as lesser, I swore. Even if I have no system. Even if I wasn't supposed to exist. I won't lower myself to crawling behind you.
But deep down, I already knew the truth.
In this clan of monsters, in this world where gods meddled and systems chose their champions…
I was nothing.
Not a hero.
Not a villain.
Not even a character.
Just Atticus Verian.
The twin who wasn't supposed to be born.
---