There are moments in life when everything changes — in the flash of a second, in the pause between heartbeats, and sometimes in the instant when you realize you've made a very, very stupid decision.
My moment came when I opened my eyes and saw a chandelier made of floating crystals swirling in a slow, spiraling dance above me.
A chandelier that definitely did not belong in my cramped apartment.
"…Huh?"
The word escaped my lips before I fully understood that my voice sounded… younger. Lighter.
I jolted upright. The sheet slid off my body in a wave of unfamiliar silky fabric, and that was when the real shock hit.
This wasn't my bed.
This wasn't my room.
This wasn't my world.
The room was enormous — grand marble floors, polished to a gleam, elegant furniture carved with dragons and celestial patterns, and a floor-to-ceiling window showing a sunlit garden too perfect to be natural.
But the final realization came when my eyes caught the polished mirror near the wardrobe.
My reflection stared back.
A boy around sixteen, pale skin, messy black hair, grey eyes with faint blue sparkles swirling inside as if reflecting mana itself.
Not me.
Not the person who went to sleep at 2 AM binge-reading a fantasy novel because I wanted to "finish just one more chapter."
Oh god.
The fantasy novel.
The fantasy novel I had been reading — The Rise of the Thunder Hero.
My heart pounded as I stumbled to the mirror and gripped the edges.
"I'm… Aiden Draven."
The realization hit like a hammer.
Aiden Draven — the villain's younger brother, a side character mentioned in barely three pages.
A child who dies early in the original story, whose death becomes part of what pushes the main villain, Damien Draven, toward becoming the feared Sorcerer King.
In the novel, Aiden was described as:
"A kind but talentless younger brother who never awakened his mana core. Died at 17 during a monster attack."
My blood ran cold.
That was me now.
And according to the novel's timeline…
I had maybe one year left to live.
A sudden rush of alien memories pricked the edge of my skull. I gasped as the sensation of drowning in someone else's life swept through me.
Childhood lessons. Sword practice. Running through palace halls. Damien's rare, faint smile when I handed him a flower I found. The cold glares of noble children. The whispers:
"The useless Draven heir."
"The untalented one."
"The shame of the Draven family."
I staggered back, pressing a hand to my temple.
"Damn… everything's merging."
But beneath the pain, beneath the chaos of inherited memories, one truth rang clear:
I wasn't the original Aiden Draven.
I was me — a reader from Earth — thrown into his doomed life.
And if I did nothing, I'd die meaninglessly, and Damien would spiral into the villain he was destined to become.
"Not happening," I whispered to myself.
No way was I going to die in chapter seventeen.
No way was I going to let my brother — my only family in this world — fall into darkness.
If I was here, I would change everything.
But first, I needed to understand this new body.
As my breathing slowed, something strange pulsed in my chest.
A warmth.
Faint, but steady.
"Wait… Aiden never awakened a mana core in the novel."
But I could feel something — a glow, a current, a force swirling inside.
Tentatively, I extended my hand.
A faint blue shimmer sparked at my fingertips.
Magic.
I can use magic?
That was impossible. The novel made it clear: Aiden had zero talent. Zero mana. Zero chance.
Yet here it was — a spark of potential.
A pulse of something far stronger than basic mana.
As if responding to my thought, the spark flared.
A silver-blue aura swirled around my fingers. For a split second, it shaped itself like—a blade?
Then it vanished.
I stared at my hand.
"That… that looked like a sword aura."
Or something even more rare.
My heart hammered.
Did I awaken a Magic Swordsman Core?
An extinct legendary class that hadn't appeared in centuries. A class so rare only myths mentioned them. Warriors who combined sword techniques with spellcasting.
In the original novel, the first Magic Swordsman appeared around chapter 500.
Yet here I was — showing signs of one already.
"Holy—this changes everything."
But I didn't have time to celebrate.
The door slammed open.
Cold mana swept into the room. A shadow fell over me.
I turned.
A tall, imposing young man stepped in — black hair, crimson eyes, aura like a sleeping storm wrapped in darkness. Sharp, elegant features carved with precision.
Damien Draven.
The future Sorcerer King.
My brother.
He stared at me with an emotion I couldn't decipher.
"…You're awake."
His voice was smooth but void of warmth. He walked closer, each step echoing with quiet authority.
In the novel, Damien was already feared at eighteen. Even now, before corruption took root, he radiated an overwhelming presence.
I swallowed and forced a smile.
"Morning… brother."
His brow twitched.
"You collapsed yesterday. I was told fatigue. Are you injured?"
His voice held sharp concern buried beneath layers of icy control.
The original Aiden had been too scared to talk to Damien casually.
But I wasn't the original. I stepped closer and inspected him openly.
He stiffened — probably not used to someone being so casual with him.
"I'm fine. Just… had a weird dream."
His crimson eyes narrowed, scanning me. I could feel him sensing something — perhaps my changed aura.
"You seem… different."
My heart skipped.
If he sensed my awakened mana too early, things could spiral out of control.
I laughed lightly. "Different how? Handsome? Taller?"
Damien blinked once.
Slowly.
"…Annoying."
But the corner of his lips twitched — barely, but it did.
A nearly invisible smile.
My chest warmed.
If I wanted to save him from tragedy, I had to start here — with this fragile bond.
"Well," I said brightly, "if I look fine, I'll get ready for training."
"You." His voice stopped me. "Your sword exam is next month. If you embarrass the Draven name again—"
"I won't."
His eyes widened slightly — my tone had changed. More confident. More determined.
Damn right. Aiden in the original story was bullied, talentless, and constantly anxious.
But I was going to survive.
I was going to rewrite destiny.
Before Damien could question me further, a faint knock came at the door.
"Enter," Damien commanded.
A maid bowed deeply. "Young Masters, breakfast is served. Lord Draven is expecting both of you."
Damien's expression darkened. "Father…"
He turned away, cloak billowing behind him, cold and proud as he walked toward the door.
I followed — even though every memory I inherited screamed that our father despised weakness and favoritism.
But as I walked, something tugged at my mind.
The spark of mana in my core pulsed again.
Almost… guiding me.
Almost… whispering.
Echoes.
Futures.
Possibilities.
I shook my head.
No time for that now.
The Draven dining hall looked like something out of royal paintings — a long table, chandeliers, knights standing guard, servants rushing around silently.
And sitting at the far end was Lord Cedric Draven.
Our father.
Cold. Unyielding. A man whose mere gaze felt like judgment.
Damien bowed lightly. I followed, though my heart thudded. Lord Draven's eyes swept across us — stopping on me with a subtle frown.
"Aiden."
"Yes, Father?"
His gaze sharpened. "I heard you fainted yesterday."
"Temporary exhaustion," I replied calmly. "I'll be ready for all training sessions."
Damien's head snapped toward me, surprised at my unusual confidence.
Lord Draven said nothing. But I noticed something rare — approval flickered briefly in his eyes.
Damien's hands, however, tightened around his utensils.
He wasn't used to me speaking so firmly. In the original story, Aiden avoided speaking entirely.
The air turned heavy — until a sudden buzz crackled near the door.
A tiny flash of lightning burst into the room.
A boy my age wearing a bright grin and messy blond hair skidded in.
"Morning, Draven family! Hope you didn't start without me!"
Kael Stormborn.
The protagonist of the novel.
The future Hero.
As cheerful and chaotic as the rewritten version I asked for.
He waved at me enthusiastically. "Aiden! You okay? Heard you fainted. Don't die before sword exams! I need someone normal to stand with me."
Damien glared at him.
"Stormborn. You're trespassing again."
Kael laughed loudly. "Relax, Damien! You'll get wrinkles before thirty if you keep scowling!"
I snorted before I could stop myself.
Damien turned his glare on me.
I coughed. "Sorry."
Kael grinned and plopped into an empty seat. Lightning crackled around him, but instead of being threatening, it felt… friendly.
This world may be dangerous.
This family may be cursed.
My fate may be doomed.
But…
Looking at Damien's confused frown, Kael's ridiculous smile, and the spark of magic still tingling in my chest…
I whispered to myself:
"I'm not dying in chapter seventeen."
This time—
I will survive.
I will grow stronger.
I will change Damien's destiny.
I will rewrite the entire story.
And somewhere deep inside, the faint blue spark answered me.
A sword-shaped glimmer danced in my vision.
The Magic Swordsman had awakened.