The morning light filtered through the drawn curtains, washing the room in an almost sickly pallor. I had barely slept two hours, my forehead pressed against the pages scribbled in the night. When I straightened up, my fingers sticky with dried ink, a wave of panic hit me: what if it had all disappeared?
I swept the pages with a trembling glance. The names, the dates, the faces… everything was there. Fragments of the novel, torn from my memory and thrown hastily onto paper. My hand had raced like a hunted beast, but at least, I hadn't lost anything. Every line reminded me of one certainty: Élios had to die. Not as a hero, not as a flamboyant rival. Just… off-screen. Like a wine stain covered by a tablecloth.
My throat tightened.
— "No way… not like that."
The reflection in the mirror, still frozen in my memory, haunted me: that foreign face, noble and vain, destined to disappear. And me, trapped inside it.
I closed my eyes, desperately searching for a way out. And suddenly, it struck me. A scene from the novel. Not spectacular, not bloody. Just a line I had mocked at the time: "The hero, through discipline, forged his strength in daily repetition."
Back then, I had found it cliché. A cheap shōnen trope. But now…
I jumped to my feet, feverish.
— "The routine. That's it."
In the novel, the hero received hidden notifications, invisible to the other characters, every time he trained regularly. Exercises, an hour of study, meditation at sunrise… and the stats rose. Slowly, but surely.
I clenched my fists.
— "If he could do it, why not me?"
Silence answered, heavy and suffocating. My body, still sore from the day before, already protested at the thought of effort. But the alternative? Ending up sprawled in a mass grave, forgotten like a useless extra.
So I exhaled slowly, letting fear turn into cold rage.
— "Alright, system. I'll wear you down."
My bare feet struck the icy floor. Each step toward the open space of the room resounded like a declaration of war. The curtains were yanked open in a brutal gesture, the sun flooding the room with its raw glare. I inhaled deeply.
Push-ups. Sit-ups. Stretches. The body trembled, the muscles screamed, but I forced myself. My breath grew ragged, beads of sweat rolling down my neck. I could almost hear the lines of the novel whispering behind me, like a ghost: "It's not talent that makes the hero. It's repetition."
Then came study: I opened a dusty treatise on imperial politics. The words blurred before my still-foggy eyes, but I forced myself to retain them. Every paragraph, every court rule became a weapon against oblivion.
Finally, I sat cross-legged, closing my eyes. My breathing slowed, painful. I searched for that invisible flow the mages wielded in the novel. A faint warmth, deep in my chest. I dove into it, clumsily, like a child thrown into the sea.
A chime rang in my head. Clear, metallic.
[System Activated]Daily routine detected.
+0.1 Strength | +0.1 Endurance | +0.1 Willpower | +0.1 Intelligence
I froze, panting, my heart about to burst. It was real. Holy shit, it worked.
A broken, almost hysterical laugh escaped me.
— "Ha… ha… I did it."
My hands trembled, not from fatigue, but from excitement. For the first time since this nightmare began, a door had cracked open. I had a chance. A fucking chance.
The system's chime still echoed in my skull when a translucent interface spread before my eyes. Numbers, words… just like in the novel, except this time, it was me.
[Status — Élios De Veyrault]
Level: 11
Strength: 32.1
Endurance: 34.1
Intelligence: 36.1
Willpower: 38.1
Mana: 18
Luck: 29
Charm: 47
I stood there stunned. Not weak… not strong either. Average numbers for a noble heir. Nothing that made me a hero. My gaze slid to the bottom of the chart, and my jaw tightened.
Skills:
[Aristocratic Charm – Rank B]: Aristocratic aura. Subtle influence over emotions, facilitates social ease. The more devoted the target is to you, the stronger the effect.
[Step Through Shadows – Rank B]: Allows teleportation up to 5 meters by briefly passing through darkness. Requires the presence of at least two distinct shadows. Cost: 5 mana.
[Secret of the World – Rank S]: Anomaly. Skill not originating from this world. Source unknown.
I swallowed hard, my palms clammy. The numbers confirmed what I already knew: I wasn't a fighter. My mana, pathetic, barely capped at eighteen. With a cost of five per use, my teleportation skill only gave me three shadow steps, no more. Three chances to escape death, and then… nothing.
A joker, yes, but a pitiful one, fragile, one I couldn't afford to waste.
Then, that damned anomaly…
— "Secret of the World…" I muttered.
The system didn't even dare define it. But I knew. It was my memories. My knowledge. My intrusion into this world. And the system, unable to classify it, had stamped it with an "S" like a warning label.
Another chime cracked before my eyes.
[Secret Quest Completed: Activate your system]
Reward: [Spatial Briefcase – Rank S]
Special item: Can contain an infinite number of objects in an extradimensional space, accessible only by the owner. The creator advises you to store your notes here, so no one can read them.
My heart stopped. This wasn't an automatic notification. Someone had written this. A "creator." The one who had thrown me here.
My gaze instantly fell on the desk. Piles of scribbled pages, filled with my memories of the novel, of every tragedy, every foretold death. If anyone found them, I was done for.
I reached out. The briefcase appeared silently: a dark leather box, plain, almost worn. But when I slid the first page inside, it vanished in a luminous sigh. Swallowed. Dissolved. And the interior remained empty.
A shiver ran through me.
— "It's real…"
I didn't hesitate for a second. One by one, I slipped in all my notes until the desk was bare again, as if nothing had ever existed. I closed the briefcase, the leather creaking under my fingers. The object vibrated faintly, as if it already recognized me as its master.
I hugged it against me, squeezing so tightly my arms trembled. It wasn't just a tool. It was a message. Proof that I wasn't alone. Someone was watching me. Someone expected me to survive.
My lips whispered, barely audible:
— "Alright… I'll play your game. But I'll win."
Then I was interrupted by the door creaking softly open.
A familiar face appeared in the gap: my assigned maid. Her black-and-white uniform, perfectly fitted, struggled to contain the generous curve of her breasts; each movement threatened to undo the buttons straining on her bodice. Her slim waist was trapped by the tight apron, and the skirt, too narrow for her full hips, swayed with every step.
Her brown hair was tied in a strict braid, a contrast almost cruel with the overflow of flesh her disciplined outfit tried to conceal. Her cheeks, though, were already red — as if she had run, or as if an inner fire consumed her.
She bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, her voice low and trembling.
— "Young master Élios… it is time. Preparations for the Academy are ready."
I straightened my shoulders, unconsciously mimicking the noble posture that came with this body. My voice came out grave, composed, dignified.
— "Very well. Come closer."
Her fingers trembled slightly on the tray she carried. When her eyes dared meet mine, they widened for an instant, as if hypnotized. She immediately looked away, her cheeks flushing deeper.
Internally, I grimaced.
Damn it… that damned skill again. I just want to talk normally, and it looks like I'm flirting.
She stepped closer to set down the prepared outfit. Her gestures were precise, but her reddened ears betrayed her turmoil.
She opened her mouth, hesitated, then whispered:
— "Y-you are… different this morning."
I almost burst out laughing, but held it back. Different? Of course I am, idiot. I'm trying to survive, not court you.
I took on a calm, almost professorial tone, hoping to break the tension.
— "The Academy… tell me what awaits me there."
She timidly raised her eyes, and her breath caught for a second when she met my gaze. Her lips trembled as if I had just whispered an indecent promise. Yet my words had been purely pragmatic.
— "The Academy is… formidable, young master. The sons and daughters of the greatest families… all will seek to shine, to crush the weak."
Her voice cracked slightly. I listened carefully, but each time I nodded, she turned away, her fingers tightening on her apron.
Goddammit… what kind of shitty skill is this?! I thought, gritting my teeth. I just want information, and she acts like I've invited her into my bed.
I finally reached out for the outfit, without thinking. Our fingers brushed. She jolted, nearly dropping the fabric, her face turning crimson. Her lips parted as if to stifle a moan.
I froze, stunned.
— "…"
She stumbled back, hands pressed to her chest.
— "F-forgive me, young master!"
I ran a hand over my face, sighing inwardly.
Perfect. I wanted a serious conversation about the Academy, and here I am looking like some inveterate seducer. Seriously, who the hell put this stupid skill in my kit?!
Yet, despite myself, I kept a dignified mask. My lips curved into a calculated smile — or at least, that's how she perceived it. Her eyes suddenly gleamed feverishly, her breath growing shorter.
— "Let's go," I said simply.
She nodded silently, but her scarlet cheeks spoke for her.
I stood and donned my outfit. And as I prepared to leave the room, a single thought obsessed me:
At this rate, I'll go insane: how do you live with a skill like this?
I pushed open the heavy door, and the morning light struck me full in the face. Before me stretched the D'Arkan estate. I had read these descriptions in the novel, I knew them by heart… but seeing them with my own eyes was something else. Two words burst instantly in my mind, brutal, implacable:
HUGE. LUXURY.
The manor dominated the hill like a marble fortress, its white facades bathed in sunlight, its hand-carved stained glass scattering rainbows on the stones. The gardens stretched endlessly, lining up their statues and fountains like an army frozen in stone. Every corner reeked of wealth, arrogance, grandeur. And me, tiny, I was nothing but an extra lost in the middle of this excess.
At my sight, half a dozen maids and valets rushed immediately. Their ballet was precise, almost military. Some loaded suitcases into a gaudy gilded carriage, others polishing the handles as if the steel wasn't already gleaming. An elderly butler bowed in impeccable reverence, while a young maid flushed to her ears when I passed by, the briefcase clenched in my hand.
That damned Charm again. Even in a simple departure, it turned every glance into discomfort. Infernal… this skill is infernal.
I climbed into the carriage. The interior was just as extravagant: embroidered cushions, silk curtains, coats of arms carved into the wood. Every detail screamed privilege. Yet, leaning against the velvet, I felt only a cold emptiness. This sumptuous shell wasn't mine. It belonged to a character doomed to disappear.
~
The journey lasted an entire day. The landscapes passed by: green fields, deep forests, villages shrinking in on themselves as we neared the capital. Each milestone dragged me closer to the wolf's jaws. At night, I barely slept, rocked by the wheels' roll and the weight of the briefcase pressed against my chest like a talisman.
And then, around a pass, it appeared.
The Academy.
I was left speechless. It wasn't a building. It was a city in itself. Walls as high as cliffs, crenelated towers bristling with glowing runes, paved squares already swarming with students and carriages. Inn signs, makeshift markets, forges and magic workshops. The Academy wasn't just a school: it was a living city, a hive of nobility and power.
I swallowed hard. Cold sweat ran down my back. And that's when the chime rang.
The carriage finally passed through the monumental gates. The cobblestones vibrated under the horses' hooves, the rune-bristling towers dominating the horizon. The Academy… a city in itself. A hive of nobility and power.
I was still soaking in the grandeur of the place when the chime echoed. Clear. Icy.
[Main Quest: Maintain yourself in Class A]
Failure Condition: Demotion → removal from the scenario.
Failure Penalty: Death.
I froze, mouth dry.
Class A… of course. In the novel, Élios had been demoted after the first trimester evaluations. Erased from the list, swept away like a useless extra. That was why he disappeared without explanation.
A bitter laugh rose in my throat.
— "So that's it, huh? Not just survive… shine."
The briefcase weighed heavily in my hand. One false step, and I'd go back to being what I was supposed to be: a shadow without importance.