The sound of rain was the first thing he heard.
It wasn't the gentle patter that lulled people to sleep, but a heavy downpour hammering against stone and glass, the kind that seemed to wash entire cities away. His body felt heavy, too heavy, as if weights had been chained to every limb. His head throbbed, and his throat was dry as sand.
"Where am I?"
The voice was his own, but it sounded wrong. Too young. Too fragile.
He opened his eyes.
A cracked ceiling greeted him, the plaster peeling, mold spreading across its surface. It was the ceiling of a cheap dorm room, not the familiar white of his old apartment. His heart skipped a beat as he forced himself upright. His arms trembled, his breath hitched, but he managed to sit on the edge of the bed.
The room was unfamiliar.
A rickety wooden desk stood by the window, littered with yellowed papers and an old ink pen. A uniform—black with faded silver trim—hung from a nail on the wall. Beside the bed lay a worn leather bag, stuffed with books and a single cracked mana crystal. The faint hum of magic buzzed from it, like static before a storm.
None of this should have been real.
His name—no, his old name—was Masato. Twenty-one years old. A university student. He remembered falling asleep at his desk after rereading his favorite novel for the tenth time. Chronicles of the Gate. He had pulled an all-nighter, drinking instant coffee, telling himself he would only read one more chapter. The next memory was a blur of dizziness, a sharp pain in his chest and then nothing.
And now—this.
His hands trembled as he stumbled toward the desk. A cracked mirror rested there, and for the first time, he saw the reflection staring back at him.
It wasn't Masato.
It was a boy, seventeen at most, with messy black hair, dull gray eyes, and a face that screamed "forgettable." There was no sharpness, no heroic light, no villainous edge. Just… average.
"No way."
His breath grew shallow. Memories—both his and not his—poured into his skull like shards of glass.
A name surfaced. Nika Arlen.
A nobody. A background student from Chronicles of the Gate. Someone who had been mentioned once, in a single line, only to die off-screen during the first Gate outbreak. He wasn't a protagonist. He wasn't a villain. He wasn't even a side character. Just cannon fodder. Disposable.
"No. No, no, no"
Nika clutched his head, heart pounding so fast it hurt. He remembered reading that part of the novel. Nika Arlen had been one of the students in the Awakening Ceremony. He had summoned a pathetic beast, a weak creature unworthy of even being called a companion. The crowd had laughed, the teachers had shaken their heads, and then—shortly after—the boy was killed by a stray monster in a Gate. That was it. That was his entire role.
And now he was that boy.
A knock startled him from his spiraling thoughts.
"Hey, Arlen! You awake? Ceremony's in an hour. Don't be late again, or they'll dock your food rations!"
A boy's voice, casual, mocking. Footsteps faded down the hallway.
Nika sat frozen, his mind racing. The Awakening Ceremony. Of course. Today was the day every student at the academy summoned their first beast—the partner that would determine their future. Hunters lived and died by the strength of their beasts. And his fate, according to the novel, was already sealed.
No. I'm not going to die like that.
The thought came unbidden, sharp and cold.
Masato had spent years obsessed with this story. He knew the arcs, the betrayals, the victories, the deaths. He knew every dungeon raid, every artifact, every evolution path. He knew the exact moment the protagonist would shine, when the villains would rise, and when the world would fall into chaos.
And he knew exactly when Nika Arlen was supposed to vanish from the pages of history.
But this time, it would be different.
He dragged himself to the corner where the uniform hung. His fingers brushed against the fabric. It was rough, patched in several places. The silver trim was supposed to represent the academy's prestige, but on his uniform it was so faded it looked gray. Just like him—forgettable.
He put it on anyway. The weight of the fabric settled on his shoulders like chains, but his eyes burned with something new. Determination.
The ceremony grounds were already crowded by the time he arrived. The sky was still gray, the rain reduced to a drizzle, leaving the plaza damp and cold. Dozens of students stood in neat rows, whispering with excitement, their uniforms brighter, their expressions glowing with anticipation.
He remembered this scene vividly from the novel.
The Awakening Ceremony was always described as the "moment of destiny," where seventeen-year-olds formed their first contract with a beast. Some would awaken rare, powerful partners—phoenixes, dire wolves, shadow panthers. Others would receive common but useful creatures—hawks, boars, serpents. But there were always a few unlucky ones who got nothing but shame.
He was supposed to be one of them.
The instructors stood at the altar, their robes fluttering in the breeze. Mana crystals glowed faintly in their hands, ready to channel the summoning. The air itself vibrated with expectation.
"Nika Arlen."
His name was called.
Whispers rose in the crowd. He caught the smirk of one student, the disinterested yawn of another. Nobody expected anything from him.
He stepped forward, heart hammering, palms damp.
This was it. The moment where his life—his second life—would be decided.
He knelt at the altar, placing his hand on the cold surface. The instructor's voice boomed, reciting the incantation. Light flared, searing his vision white. He grit his teeth, refusing to look away.
Then, silence.
The light faded. And in its place—
"What the hell is that?" someone muttered.
At his feet lay a tiny creature. A turtle. Its shell was cracked, its movements sluggish. Its eyes were half-closed, as if it could barely stay awake. Each breath wheezed out of its body like a dying ember.
Laughter erupted around him.
"Hah! He got a sick turtle?"
"Even rats are more useful!"
"Looks like Arlen's cursed. First to die for sure."
Nika stared at the turtle. In the novel, this was the moment where despair crushed him. Where Nika Arlen gave up, discarded the creature, and walked straight toward his doomed fate.
But this time—he smiled.
It was faint, trembling, but it was there.
Because he remembered something the others didn't. Something hidden in the lore of Chronicles of the Gate.
A beast that began as a fragile turtle, mocked and discarded, but evolved into a guardian that could withstand mountains. And if nurtured properly… its final evolution was something even the strongest hunters couldn't dream of.
An Eternal World Turtle.
The crowd kept laughing, but Nika's hand didn't waver as he reached down and touched the creature's cracked shell.
"You're mine," he whispered.
The turtle blinked slowly, its eyes reflecting a faint shimmer of light. For the first time since waking in this unfamiliar world, Nika felt something other than fear.
Hope.