Chapter 2: Prologue: An Extra's Awakening (2)
Sitting upright on the bed, a blank expression painted my face as I turned toward the window on my left.
Dark raven hair.
Pale skin.
Cold, steel-gray eyes.
The reflection was not mine at least, not the one I remembered. The features belonged to a stranger. Attractive, perhaps, but not striking enough to make anyone shout,
"He's so handsome!"
Aside from the eyes, the face was forgettable. The sort you'd struggle to recall after a few days.
His body, too, was thin and wiry. There was a hint of muscle, but it lacked the heft I knew axes demanded.
And yet this was my body. Every time I touched my cheek, the boy in the glass did the same.
I looked down at my legs skinny, agile. Legs I hadn't seen since high school.
Standing up—
"Guh…"
A sharp migraine surged through me, vertigo dragging me sideways until I had to brace against the wall.
Pain…pain…
It was unlike anything I had ever endured. A storm of knives twisting in my skull, my vision fracturing into shards of white.
"Huff…huff…"
What felt like hours were seconds. Finally, it faded, leaving me heaving for breath on the floor.
Ten minutes later, I managed to rise again.
The room was modest. A clean white bed, an old wooden desk, a tall wardrobe, and a cramped bathroom. Nothing more.
On the desk, however, sat a strange slate-like device.
Desperate for answers, I staggered toward it. My movements felt…wrong. Disjointed. Like there was a lag between thought and motion.
Perhaps my soul wasn't yet in sync with this body?
Either way, I had to confirm my suspicion. And this device was my only lead.
I tapped the screen.
Wham!
Streams of holographic text erupted before me, glowing blue.
I steadied my breathing, then read:
---
User ID: Kael Arden
Age: 16
Image: (Hologram of myself)
Program: New Generation Era – Year 1
Academy Rank: 2017 / 2044
Potential: D-rank
Profession: Axeman
---
"I see…"
A bitter laugh slipped from me.
"I've reincarnated into my favourite webnovel I have read. Not as the protagonist, but as some nobody with no role in the story at all."
Kael Arden. Who the hell was that? I never read about such a character.
A bitter laugh escaped my throat, raw and humorless. Of course. Why would it be me? Even fate, it seemed, had a sense of irony. It wasn't enough to kill me once. Now it had shoved me into a body that was just as pitiful.
I turned away, unable to bear the reflection any longer. My gaze landed on the corner of the room, where a weapon leaned against the wall.
An axe.
It wasn't impressive—its blade dull, its handle splintered with use. A beginner's tool, not a warrior's weapon. I crossed the room and picked it up, the wood rough beneath my palms. Lifting it, I expected power, but instead, the weight dragged down on me. My arms trembled. The axe sagged.
"Fitting," I muttered. "Even here, I'm weak."
The words stung, but they were true. The memories had made it clear: Kael had trained for years, yet he had never improved. He had no spark, no talent. Just empty effort that never bore fruit.
I leaned the axe back against the wall and sank onto the bed, burying my face in my hands.
What now?
The question echoed, louder than any scream. What the hell was I supposed to do with this second chance? Live Kael's life? Fail like he did, vanish into obscurity while the true hero—the protagonist of this world—rose to glory?
I remembered the story. The Hero Returns. It wasn't about people like Kael. It was about the chosen one, the golden figure destined to stand against demons and darkness. Around him, allies would gather, rivals would sharpen him, and enemies would fall before him.
But me? I wasn't even a name in the credits.
I exhaled slowly, pressing my palms harder into my face until my skull ached.
I thought back to my first life. All those years of clawing for a chance, of working harder than anyone around me, only to be outshined, discarded, forgotten. I'd swallowed that pain, convinced myself that effort would save me. That if I tried just one more time, one more night, one more sacrifice, maybe the world would finally reward me.
It hadn't.
And now I was here, given a fresh start… but in the body of another loser.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up, escaping before I could stop it. My voice cracked in the empty room.
"Why? Why not the hero? Why not someone who mattered?"
The walls swallowed my question whole. There was no answer. There never would be.
I leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My heart pounded too loudly in my chest. I tried to slow it down, focusing on the rhythm, but the memories of Kael pressed in again. His failures. His small humiliations. The ache of swinging an axe until his arms gave out, only for others to surpass him effortlessly.
I wanted to reject those memories. To tear them out of me. But I couldn't. They were part of me now, stitched into the seams of my soul.
Slowly, I sat up again. My eyes drifted to the desk. On its surface lay a thin leather-bound notebook. I reached for it, flipping it open. Inside, scrawled handwriting filled the pages: messy, uneven, the words of a boy struggling to leave something of himself behind.
They weren't grand revelations, just notes. Training schedules. Lists of failed techniques. Snippets of self-motivation that reeked of desperation.
Tomorrow I'll swing five hundred times without stopping.
If I can't be fast, I'll at least be strong.
I have to keep trying. Someone will notice me one day.
I closed the notebook, my chest tight. He had believed it too. That poisonous mantra: effort never betrays you. Kael had lived and died by it, same as me.
And it had betrayed us both.
I set the notebook down gently. My hands shook, but not from weakness. From something else. Something darker.
"Then I won't waste effort anymore," I muttered. The words tasted bitter, but freeing. "Not the way he did. Not the way I did."
If this world wanted me to be an extra, then fine. I'd play the extra. I'd stay in the shadows, where no one would expect anything of me. But that didn't mean I had to accept insignificance.
Knowledge was my weapon now. I knew this world. I knew the story, the timeline, the dangers lurking in the cracks of the narrative.
And unlike Kael, unlike my old self, I wasn't going to waste years chasing recognition that would never come.
I stood, grabbing the axe again. My grip steadied this time. The weapon still felt heavy, awkward, but I forced myself to hold it upright.
"This body might be weak," I said softly. "But it's mine now. And I'll use it however I damn well please."
I stepped back toward the mirror, meeting the dull eyes of the stranger staring back at me. Slowly, I raised the axe, resting it against my shoulder.
The reflection wasn't impressive. It wasn't heroic. It was forgettable.
But maybe that was an advantage. Heroes attracted enemies, fate, suffering. Extras were ignored. Forgotten. Overlooked.
And in being overlooked, maybe I could carve my own path.
I bared my teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile.
"If the world won't remember me," I whispered to the glass, "then I'll make sure it regrets ignoring me."
The words hung in the room, heavy and cold.
For the first time since I woke up, I felt a spark—not hope, not joy, but something sharper. A sliver of resolve, born not from dreams but from bitterness.
Kael Arden had lived as a shadow. But I wasn't Kael Arden. Not really.
I was something else. Something the world hadn't planned for.
And I would make damn sure that when the pages of this story turned, I wouldn't be left out of them.
Which meant this wasn't just a story anymore. This was real.
Oddly enough, I felt calm. Maybe because I hated my previous life.
Honestly? Who would want that role anyway?
The so-called hero was just a justice-obsessed fool who stumbled into danger at every turn. Me? I wasn't about to risk my new life for strangers.
Although yes, I was jealous of his harem. I had created those beauties, after all. But so what? I lived thirty-two years a virgin. Another thirty won't kill me.
What excited me was something else.
Magic. Skills. Weapons.
This world had them all. My grin widened. I could already imagine hefting a massive axe, flames spiraling from its blade.
But then…
"…D-rank potential?"
That stung. That meant my growth ceiling was low. Survival through the coming Cataclysms would be nearly impossible.
I rubbed my chin. Planning began immediately.
"Yes, with D-rank talent I can still live comfortably. But if I can get the [Limitless]… then my growth will no longer be shackled."
It would mess with the protagonist's growth, sure. But his talent was already rated SSS. He didn't need it.
And besides why should I care? I read about him having an overpowered cheat in the first place.
Now that I was here, I saw it clearly: the readers were right. He was unfairly strong. Time to…rebalance.
Not because I wanted the loot for myself, of course. Definitely not.
Pulling on my boots and pocketing the room keys left by the door, I left.
"Even without the [Limitless], he has dozens of cheat items. He'll manage. But me? I need that seed."
From the start, I had resolved to live freely.
Screw noble ideals. Screw "hard work never fails."
Only someone with knowledge of future events and the location of hidden items could truly thrive.
…
Outside, a cool breeze washed over me.
"Fuuu… refreshing."
Stretching, I walked toward the train station. Classes at HERO Academy began in a week. That gave me seven days to raise my stats.
By this point, the protagonist was already rank E, nearly D. Me? A pathetic rank G. The gap was massive.
That meant one thing: the [Limitless] had to be mine.
The artifact was hidden in Craven Ridge, just outside Ashtair City, humanity's capital.
After the first Cataclysm, Earth's geography had twisted. Continents merged into one massive landmass.
The second Cataclysm shrank humanity's dominion to a sliver. Demons, Elves,Drawf, Faries, and mankind divided the land 3/8, 3/8, 2/8. Humanity clung to the east, where Asia once stood.
From the ashes, five strongholds rose: Bastion City, Drosmere City, Lorrick City, Prynn City, and Ashtair City. Humanity's last bulwarks.
Each stood guard against outside threats. Bastion faced orcs of the north. Drosmere and Lorrick withstood demonic sieges from west and south. Prynn kept watch over the endless sea and its warped beasts.
And Ashtair , the jewel of humanity shielded the heart. Home of HERO Academy, where the New Generation Era was forged.
The Academy sprawled for kilometers. Twenty thousand dorms. A thousand classrooms. Eight hundred training halls. And two thousand instructors forging heroes.
Being a student came with privileges. Like free transport.
"Here's my card."
The ticket clerk glanced at it, then at me. Her brows rose.
"Oh? A student of HERO Academy?"
"Yes."
"Destination?"
"Station 24, near Craven Ridge."
She blinked, then smiled knowingly.
"I see. Have a safe trip, young hero."
"Thank you."
Moments later, I boarded the air-train bound for Craven Ridge toward the [Limitless], and the first step of my new life.