Cold water dripped from Charles's fingers, and the rough scrape of the rag against the surface left his hands red and raw.
"By all the gods, Rian! What's wrong with you today? Did you forget how to clean?" the man said, crossing his arms. "Look at that! You're leaving more grime than you're wiping off. Keep this up, and we'll be here until the sun comes up."
Charles frowned but didn't reply.
He had no idea how to defend himself.
In real life, the closest he'd ever come to cleaning was wiping down his keyboard, so scrubbing dirty walls with a soaked rag was not his thing.
He kept moving his hand, at least trying to look like he knew what he was doing, but the man wouldn't let up.
"No, no, no! Not like that! You've gotta scrub harder, you useless lump. What, you're done being a slacker and now you're just plain incompetent?"
The man stomped over and snatched the rag from Charles's hands to demonstrate.
"Look, this is how it's done. Scrub like a man, not like you're petting a daisy!"
Charles pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to fire back something snarky.
But before he could try again, a shout echoed from the elevated platform.
"Attention, attention! It seems one of the fighters couldn't make it tonight," a deep-voiced announcer declared, cutting through the crowd's murmurs. "We're looking for a replacement. Anyone dare to step into the arena?"
The crowd in the stands erupted in complaints. Some whistled, others hurled insults, and a few tossed coins onto the ground in protest.
Charles looked up, intrigued.
'A replacement…?'
That sounded like a chance to get a closer look at what was going on.
He glanced at the scrawny man, who was too busy grumbling while scrubbing a spot on the wall.
This was his shot.
Without a second thought, Charles dropped the rag into the bucket and slipped toward the stone stairs. He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest.
When he reached the edge of the platform, he peeked out cautiously and was floored by what he saw.
The arena was a wide circle, surrounded by stands packed with people shouting and betting. In the center, two figures were manipulating the ground with their hands. One moved their fingers, and the earth flattened as if an invisible machine was smoothing it out. The other raised a hand, and raised patches of dirt sank with a dry crunch.
Charles blinked, dumbfounded.
'Are those superpowers? It's like magic…'
He tried to recall…
What game or novel he'd played or read used powers like this?
As his mind raced, a voice snapped him out of it.
"Rian Cole!"
Charles was slow to react. The voice was sharp, feminine, and clearly pissed off.
"Rian Cole, I'm talking to you!"
He turned slowly and saw a girl approaching. She was tall, with jet-black hair falling in messy strands over her shoulders and piercing blue eyes that glared at him.
She wore a black tunic with blue trim that seemed to signal some kind of rank.
Charles swallowed hard.
"What the hell are you doing up here gawking at the arena?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Shouldn't you be cleaning?"
Charles hesitated.
Her hostility was obvious. He had no clue who she was, but he figured he'd better come up with something fast.
"Uh… I heard the fighter was a no-show," he said, shrugging. "I wanted to see what was up."
The girl let out a dry, mocking laugh.
"What? Seriously? You, a powerless nobody, think you could step in?"
She took a step closer, sizing him up.
"What are you gonna do? Scrub the arena floor with your rag until the enemy surrenders?"
Charles opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, another figure appeared beside him.
It was a guy, slightly taller than the girl, with the same black hair and sharp blue eyes. Their features were so similar Charles immediately pegged them as siblings.
The guy nodded slightly at the girl.
"Hey, Lira," he said, then turned his gaze to Charles. "What's this loser doing here?"
Lira smirked.
"Apparently, our dear Rian was playing peeping Tom. Wanted to watch the fight, like he's got any business in the arena."
The guy, whose name Charles still didn't know, looked him up and down with disdain.
"Get lost, Rian, before I beat your ass and tell our father, Kraus Cole, you're slacking off."
A twitch pulsed in Charles's head. He closed his eyes for a second.
'Kraus Cole!' he thought.
That name rang a bell. It was from a game he'd played a while back, one he'd nearly dropped because the story felt too clichéd, except for one epic boss fight.
Kraus Cole was the leader of the Storm Clan, a ruthless man who trained powerful warriors to conquer lands and expand his influence.
In the game, the protagonist—a generic light-wielding hero—thwarted his plans and took him down in a wild, frenetic battle.
'That was a pretty fun boss…' Charles thought, a brief smile flickering as he tried to recall the game's protagonist.
But when he did, a sharp pain stabbed through his head.
Charles groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead, stumbling slightly.
Lira and the guy stared at him, then burst out laughing.
"Look at that, Kain!" Lira said, pointing. "What's wrong now, Rian? Head hurt from thinking about how useless you are?"
Kain, the guy, crossed his arms and grinned smugly.
"Probably remembering what a pathetic failure he is. Can't even clean right, let alone fight."
Charles took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain.
As their laughter echoed in his ears, the pieces started falling into place.
Lira and Kain were his half-siblings.
In the game, they were minor antagonists the protagonist faced before taking on Kraus Cole.
And Rian…
Rian Cole was a tragic character.
He'd killed his mother at birth due to his uncontrollable powers, an accident that earned him the hatred of the entire clan.
In the story, Rian died miserably, sacrificing himself to buy his father, the final boss, time to recover before the second phase of the fight.
'Damn it!' Charles thought, clenching his fists.
He was trapped in the body of a character doomed to die as cannon fodder.
And worse, Lira and Kain were looking at him like he was garbage, just like everyone in the clan.
Kain stepped forward and shoved him hard. Caught off guard, Charles stumbled back and hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Get out of here, Rian," Lira said, wiping a tear from laughing so hard. "Do it before we change our minds and teach you a lesson."
Charles got up slowly, his head still buzzing with pain and anger. He didn't know how to use Rian's powers.
In the game, there was a line from Kraus Cole, right before he died to the protagonist, mentioning that Rian could control lightning.
But with no details on how to awaken or use it, it was just a vague lore tidbit.
Charles glared at Lira and Kain, still laughing.
He couldn't take them on—not yet.
With his teeth gritted, Charles turned and started walking back toward the hallway.
He needed time.
Time to think, to remember, to figure out how to awaken that power. Because if he didn't, he was doomed to repeat Rian Cole's miserable fate.
And that wasn't going to happen.
Not if he could help it.