Chapter 11 — Sylan Kyle Von Noctis, End
The chamber felt smaller now, its opulent walls closing in like a gilded cage. Sylan Kyle Von Noctis stood motionless, his breath steady but his mind a storm. The air carried the faint scent of wax and roses, cloying, almost suffocating, as if the room itself conspired to smother him. Virelle Thren had left moments ago, her trembling form slipping through the door like a shadow, her new role as his personal attendant sealed with his command. It was a calculated move, a soldier's tactic to secure a foothold in this treacherous world. But the weight of what came next pressed harder than any strategy.
Jin Soowhi—still Jin, beneath the aristocratic mask of Sylan—clenched his fists, his smooth, unscarred hands foreign to him. The mirror across the room reflected a boy too beautiful to be real, with crimson eyes that burned with an otherworldly intensity. He avoided its gaze. He didn't need another reminder of the body that wasn't his, the life that wasn't his. Not yet.
His thoughts churned, circling back to the question that had haunted him since he woke in this world: Why am I here? The Plague Doctor, that masked enigma from the void between his death and this cursed rebirth, had said nothing. No cryptic riddles, no grand proclamations—just a silent, looming presence and a shove into this glittering nightmare. Jin had fought on battlefields, survived betrayal, and faced death head-on, but this game, Love & Chains: Eternal Hearts, was a different kind of war. It was a script designed to break him, to reduce Sylan to a sneering footnote in someone else's story. Yet the Plague Doctor had chosen him, a soldier with no patience for games, to wear this doomed boy's face. Why?
He paced the room, his bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, each step a rebellion against the fragility of Sylan's body. The memories—his and Sylan's—clashed like swords in his skull. Jin's life of blood and mud, of comrades lost and a lover's betrayal, warred with Sylan's gilded upbringing, his arrogance, his petty cruelties. The overwrite had failed to erase him, but it had left him with fragments of a boy he despised. A boy who was meant to die.
The Plague Doctor's purpose eluded him. Was it to punish him? To test him? To force him to rewrite the story? Jin's jaw tightened. He didn't care for cosmic games or divine machinations. He was a soldier. He survived. That was enough.
Or it would have been, if the air hadn't shifted.
A faint hum, like the buzz of a distant swarm, filled the room. The candles flickered, their flames bending as if caught in a draft that didn't exist. Sylan froze, his instincts screaming. The hair on his neck prickled, and his hand twitched, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. The hum grew louder, sharper, until it coalesced into a single, crystalline ping—like a glass struck with a knife.
And then it appeared.
In the center of the room, hovering inches above the floor, was a translucent panel, its edges shimmering with an unnatural light. It was rectangular, sleek, like a screen from a sci-fi game Jin had played in another life. Words glowed on its surface, stark white against a backdrop of shifting blue.
[Welcome, Sylan Kyle Von Noctis. System initializing.]
Sylan's breath caught. His crimson eyes narrowed, studying the panel as it floated, unmoored by any physical anchor. It was a system—like the ones he'd seen in games, in novels, in stories about reincarnated heroes and doomed villains. But this was no story. This was real.
[You have been selected for transmigration. Objective: Survive.]
"Survive," Sylan muttered, his voice low, edged with disbelief. "That's it?"
The panel pulsed, new words forming as if in response.
[Primary objective: Alter the narrative trajectory of Love & Chains: Eternal Hearts. Secondary objective: Uncover the anomaly disrupting the script. Failure results in permanent termination.]
Jin's mind raced. The words were clinical, detached, but they carried a weight that made his stomach twist. Alter the narrative. Uncover the anomaly. The game's script was already fraying—Virelle's quiet resilience, the way the world felt wrong. But permanent termination? That wasn't just death in the game. It was erasure. Oblivion.
"Who sent you?" Sylan demanded, stepping closer to the panel. His voice was steady, but his heart pounded, Jin's soldier instincts overriding Sylan's aristocratic poise. "The Plague Doctor? Why me?"
The panel flickered, its light dimming briefly before new text appeared.
[Administrator identity classified. Purpose: To correct deviations in the narrative structure. You were chosen for your resilience and adaptability. Do you accept the objectives?]
Sylan's lips curled into a sneer, a mix of Jin's defiance and Sylan's arrogance. "Do I have a choice?"
[Acceptance is optional. Refusal results in immediate termination.]
He barked a laugh, short and bitter. "Some choice." His mind flashed to the truck, the headlights, the crunch of metal. He'd already died once. He wasn't eager to do it again. But accepting meant playing by rules he didn't understand, in a world that wanted him dead.
The panel waited, its text glowing patiently. Sylan's eyes flicked to the mirror, catching his reflection—those crimson eyes, that flawless face. He hated it, hated the role he'd been forced into. But he wasn't a coward. He'd fought on battlefields, faced betrayal, and walked away from a woman who'd torn his heart out. He could fight this, too.
"Fine," he said, his voice hard. "I accept."
The panel flared, its light washing over the room like a wave. New text appeared, faster now, as if the system had been waiting for his answer.
[Objectives accepted. System binding complete. You are now the primary agent of narrative correction. Warning: Anomalous entity detected. Proceed with caution.]
"Anomalous entity?" Sylan's brow furrowed. His thoughts went to the ex-girlfriend, her smile that didn't fit the script, her eyes that lingered too long. Was she the anomaly? Or was it something—someone—else?
[Further information restricted until progress is made. System will provide guidance as needed. First task: Establish dominance in the Noctis household. Current status: Minor antagonist. Objective: Elevate to key player.]
Sylan's fists clenched. "Key player," he muttered. "You mean survive without getting my head chopped off."
The panel didn't respond, its light dimming until it vanished entirely, leaving the room in silence. The candles steadied, their flames burning straight once more. But the air felt heavier, charged with the weight of what had just happened.
Jin—no, Sylan—stood alone, his mind a battlefield of its own. The Plague Doctor had sent him here, and now a system had bound him to a purpose he barely understood. Survive. Alter the narrative. Uncover the anomaly. It was a mission, not unlike the ones he'd been given in the military. But this time, the enemy wasn't flesh and blood. It was a story, a script, a world designed to crush him.
He moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy velvet curtains. Outside, the Noctis estate sprawled under a twilight sky, its gardens manicured, its towers sharp against the horizon. Somewhere out there, the heroine glowed, the male leads schemed, and the ex-girlfriend watched with that unsettling smile. The system's warning echoed in his mind: Anomalous entity detected.
Sylan's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't know what the Plague Doctor wanted, or why this system had chosen him. But he knew one thing: he wasn't going to die for someone else's story. Not again.
He turned from the window, his crimson eyes catching the candlelight. Virelle would return tomorrow, his first ally in this twisted game. The system would guide him, or so it claimed. And the anomaly—whatever it was—wouldn't catch him off guard.
Jin Soowhi had survived war. Sylan Kyle Von Noctis would survive this.