"Finally, I'm done with this novel," a young man muttered, stretching his aching body after spending half the day reading. He stood up, sighed, and glanced at an anime poster on his wall. It featured an incredibly charming and elegant girl beneath a bold, stylized title: 'The Academy of Magus'.
"Hehe, you're as breathtaking as ever, Alise, my wife," he chuckled admiringly. Moving over to the mirror, he struck a chunibyo pose, flashing a smug, cynical smirk at his reflection. His hair was a disheveled mess, and he was still wearing his untidy pajamas. His pale blue eyes looked back at him, exhausted yet stubbornly fighting off sleep.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
A sudden rap on the door startled him, instantly snapping him out of his pose as his head whipped toward the sound.
"Akira, how long do you plan on lounging around in that room? It's already noon, and you're still holed up inside. You're not a sheltered young maiden to be locking yourself away like this," a gentle yet stern voice called out from the other side, reprimanding the young man.
"Just a moment, Mom. I just woke up," Akira replied, his tone laced with irritation.
There was no immediate response, only a heavy, deeply disappointed sigh from outside the door.
"I'm heading out. I've prepared some food for you, so make sure to eat later," the woman behind the door said, her voice heavy yet tender. "Call me if you need anything."
With that, her footsteps faded, and the room fell silent once more. Ignoring her words, Akira headed straight into the bathroom to clean himself up.
Night fell.
Akira sat on the living room sofa, his eyes glued to the television screen. However, anxiety gnawed at him; his mother had not yet returned. Every now and then, his gaze flicked toward the window, desperately hoping to see headlamps pierce through the curtains. He swallowed hard, his throat tight with worry.
Trembling, he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. The contact name 'Mom' stared back at him. His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating to place the call.
Sighing, he tapped the screen and opened a message his mother had sent five hours prior, one he had already read:
He already knew this, yet an inexplicable dread gripped his heart. He checked the time on his phone. It was 11:38 PM. He had been staring blankly at the screen for God knows how long, his mind spiraling into a vortex of worst-case scenarios.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated and rang in his palm.
Akira's eyes widened in sheer panic when he saw the caller ID, a number he knew all too well. Biting his lip anxiously, a wave of unease washed over him. After a moment of hesitation, he answered.
"Hey, Akira! You played me, didn't you?! You said you'd give me the money, but you never showed up!!!" a man's voice roared furiously from the other end.
"I'm sorry... I wanted to, but I was... a bit busy today," Akira stammered, his voice trembling with fear.
"Screw you! Just you wait until tomorrow!" the man barked before slamming the phone down.
Akira went numb. His hand slowly dropped from his ear. He looked around wildly, desperately searching for a solution, but deep down, he knew there was nothing he could do. He slumped back onto the sofa, staring blankly at the television while waiting for his mother. His body felt completely drained.
As his intrusive thoughts worsened, his eyelids grew heavy. Exhausted from staying up since the previous morning, he finally succumbed to fatigue, closing his eyes as the television screen flickered in the dark. He fell into a deep sleep.
Not long after, his phone vibrated on the cushion. The screen illuminated with a message:
< Aunt Iris: Akira... Your mother met with an->
~~~
Bright sunlight pierced through the room, forcing Akira to wake up. Blinking against the harsh glare, he stumbled out of bed, his vision still blurry, and tightly drew the curtains shut. He let out a wide yawn, and as his vision finally cleared, he looked around the room.
"!?"
He rubbed his eyes repeatedly, but the scenery remained unchanged.
"No way..." he muttered, completely bewildered.
He was standing in a lavishly decorated room, furnished with the distinct opulence of medieval European nobility. He was supposed to be in his living room, falling asleep in front of the TV, yet now, he was in a completely foreign environment.
"What on earth..."
Hoping this was all just some elaborate prank, he rushed to the mirror. But the reflection staring back at him brought nothing but despair. The mirror revealed a harsh, painful reality. Piercing blue eyes flashing with arrogance, messy pitch-black hair, and a face he absolutely loathed: Chester Kerl.
"No way. No way. No way. No way!"
He pinched his cheeks hard and clawed at his face, hoping it was just a hyper-realistic mask. But the sharp sting of pain confirmed the truth.
"Why... Why did I become him?" he whispered, his voice cracking with despair.
He collapsed weakly onto the mattress, touching his cheek once more. Yes, this was reality. He had transmigrated into the body of one of his most hated characters from the novel, Chester Kerl, the incredibly annoying character who constantly harassed his favorite heroine, Alise Antoinette Seraphim, earning the absolute disdain of both Alise and the rest of the cast.
Clutching his pounding head, he felt a massive headache coming on. He had just endured a restless night in his past life, and now, he had to wake up facing the very face he despised.
"Aarggh!" he shrieked in sheer frustration.
Suddenly, a firm knock rattled the door, followed by a voice from outside.
"Chester, what is wrong with you?" a deep, charismatic man's voice demanded.
"Oh, it's nothing! Just stretching!" Chester replied, scratching his head. He had completely forgotten that he was currently in 'someone's' house, meaning he wasn't alone.
"If that is the case, get yourself ready. We are leaving shortly," the man commanded sternly. The heavy thud of his footsteps gradually faded down the hallway.
Chester breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed back onto the bed to clear his chaotic mind.
"If this is reality, then I guess I just have to survive it," he muttered, bracing himself as he stood up to get dressed. Catching one last glimpse of himself in the mirror, he could only resign himself to his new fate.
"Well, it is what it is."
He was now riding inside a horse-drawn carriage driven by a family servant. From his knowledge of the novel, the beasts of this world possessed unique traits and abilities. For instance, these carriage horses possessed not only incredible speed but also immense muscle density, capable of pulling up to three carriages at once depending on their dietary intake.
"Chester, I want you to stop harassing the daughter of the Turner family. Do you have any idea how humiliating your behavior is to me? As both the headmaster of the academy and your father, your foolish antics bring shame upon our name," the old man spoke, his voice heavy with disappointment.
He wore a crisp white shirt beneath a black coat, tied together with a sharp red necktie. Though his hair was streaked with silver, it was meticulously combed, exuding an elegant and commanding aura befitting a prestigious headmaster.
Chester didn't look at his father. He merely rested his chin on his palm, staring blankly out the window.
Chester, or rather, Akira, was trying his best to act like the real Chester Kerl based on the fragments of personality he remembered. He knew that the relationship between Chester and his father, Kerl Ormund, was incredibly strained. Therefore, Akira chose to maintain Chester's trademark arrogant and dismissive front to avoid suspicion.
Seeing Chester's silent, stubborn reaction, Kerl Ormund let out a defeated sigh.
Deep down, Akira felt a pang of guilt. In his previous life, he had occasionally argued with his mother, but he had never crossed the line. In his current predicament, however, playing the part of a rebellious son was his only safe bet.
An oppressive silence filled the carriage until they finally arrived at the institution. Chester and his father parted ways at the academy gates without exchanging so much as a "see you later."
Chester exhaled a long breath. He wasn't used to this kind of cold detachment.
*(Note: From this point onward, the name Akira will no longer be used; he will be referred to as Chester, and his character will be recognized by his full name, Chester Kerl.)*
'Alright, what happens next?' Chester thought to himself, stepping toward the grand academy building.
"Look, there's that scumbag."
"Just drop dead already, loser!"
Quiet sneers and insults rippled through the surrounding crowds of students. They loved talking behind his back, yet none of them possessed the courage to say it to his face.
'Great, I have to deal with this high school drama all over again,' Chester grumbled internally.
A moment later, his footsteps ground to a halt as three girls blocked his path.
"Tch, look who actually showed up, the parasite!" one of them sneered. She had short, fiery-red hair tied back into a high ponytail, and her pale blue eyes glared at Chester with utter disgust.
"Indeed," another chimed in. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. She didn't even deign to look at Chester, but her tone was sharp enough to cut like glass.
"Don't waste your breath on him," the final girl standing in the center commanded, crossing her arms. Her voice was harsh and unyielding.
'It's her...' Chester gasped inwardly.
Standing right before him was the heroine he adored: Alise Antoinette Seraphim. She possessed a strikingly beautiful face, with long blonde hair tied immaculately, and emerald-green eyes that locked onto Chester with cold intensity.
Alise was the eldest daughter of the prestigious Turner ducal family. Her family was among the most influential nobility, deeply involved in politics and famed for their pivotal role in the great war between humans and demi-humans. The most prominent figure of her household was her grandfather, Lelouch Turner, famously known as the "White Fang." He was a legendary swordsman possessing a highly unique, agile sword style utilizing a silver blade that could reportedly summon razor-sharp fangs from beneath the earth to trap his enemies. Thanks to his intervention, the great war had been won in a staggering four days.
That was everything Chester could recall regarding Alise's background.
"What are you staring at?!" Marcia's harsh bark snapped Chester out of his trance.
Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Chester let out a sinister, mocking smirk. "Heh, I am truly flattered by your glowing compliments. My utmost thanks!" he replied, intentionally sounding overly optimistic and borderline masochistic.
"What a psycho," the red-haired girl scoffed.
That girl was Marcia Redhaertt, Alise's closest confidante and the eldest daughter of another noble house. Marcia possessed one of the fiercest and coldest personalities in the entire academy.
Lastly, there was Liane Margaux, a mysterious and aloof girl who was also a close friend of Alise. Born into a powerful merchant family with deep ties to the Turners, her family frequently exchanged vital intelligence and high-grade equipment with Alise's house whenever the need arose.
"Disgusting!" the trio spat before brushing past Chester, heading straight into the academy main building.
Chester could only shake his head in wry amusement before following the same path. He paused briefly to admire the architecture. The structure looked slightly weathered by time, but its foundational stonework remained immaculate due to frequent maintenance and structural reinforcements funded by the academy and external donors.
With slow, deliberate steps, Chester walked through the corridors, ignoring the students who continued to gossip and sneer at him. After climbing two flights of stairs, he walked down to the very end of the hallway where his lecture hall was located. He stepped inside without looking around and headed straight for his usual seat, the third row from the back, right next to the window.
"Hmm... I thought he kicked the bucket after that battle," a male student whispered maliciously among a group of gossiping classmates.
As they mentioned, 'that battle' referred to a major villain assault that took place right before the novel's ending. Naturally, Chester Kerl had been the one who sustained the most brutal, near-fatal injuries among the students.
Resting his chin on his hand, a sudden realization struck Chester. His eyes widened in shock as he stared out the window.
'If that battle has already taken place, then that means...' Chester dropped his hand, his teeth gritting hard against his lip. 'I'm... I'm in the after-story!' his heart pounded.
He covered his face with his hands, utterly dumbfounded by the revelation. Not only was he stuck in a body he despised, but he also had to navigate a future that had never been written in the original novel. He buried his head on his desk, thoroughly frustrated by the daunting road ahead.
A few moments later, an elderly professor clad in a white coat walked into the lecture hall with measured steps, holding a thick white reference book. His silver hair was neatly combed, but the dark circles beneath his eyes spoke volumes of his chronic sleep deprivation, likely from rushing to meet academic deadlines, Chester surmised.
"Alright, settling down. Following the recent incident, I will be fast-tracking our curriculum to advanced and specialized magic applications starting next week," the professor announced, his voice carrying the deep, authoritative resonance of a seasoned educator. "This measure is to ensure that all of you, especially the elite class, are fully capable of protecting others and responding effectively to sudden crises. We cannot afford mass casualties due to a lack of combat readiness ever again."
"Therefore, today's lesson will focus on advanced mana manipulation so you can properly execute high-tier spells," he added, his sharp gaze suddenly locking onto Chester. "And that applies especially to you... Chester," he emphasized, his tone dropping into a cold, pointed drawl.
"Now, we will be using the indoor training grounds for today's practical application. Let's move!" he rallied enthusiastically, gesturing for the students to follow him.
The dismissal bell rang, signaling the end of the day's classes. The majority of the students flooded out of the academy gates, eager to head home.
Chester, however, maintained his usual leisurely pace. His mind was an absolute mess, struggling to process the flood of magical theory he had been bombarded with. Even though he possessed Chester's physical body, he had absolutely no access to the original owner's muscle memory or knowledge, leaving him completely clueless about how to wield magic in this world. Consequently, he had borne the brunt of the professor's wrath during the practical exam.
'Ugh, what's the point of throwing me into someone else's body if I don't even get a single memory flash?' he grumbled in frustration.
The afternoon sun cast a warm, golden hue across the landscape, throwing long, shifting shadows across the academy grounds. It was a picturesque view, but Chester's mood remained somber as he walked down the lone pathway connecting the academy to his residence. His driver had been unable to pick him up due to urgent family matters, and his father had already granted him permission to take a leave of absence until tomorrow.
To get home, Chester had to pass through the nearest urban hub: Fert City. It was a renowned commercial center within the continent, celebrated for its diverse facilities and premium-grade commodities. Furthermore, many legendary figures were known to frequent the city due to an ancient myth claiming that visiting the city bestowed immense luck. While modern scholars dismissed it as a mere superstition, a bizarrely high number of visitors did indeed achieve monumental success in their respective fields, whether in unlocking latent potential, accumulating wealth, or shifting political tides. Coincidence or not, the city remained a famous talisman of prosperity in the eyes of the public.
"Hmm... I should probably go buy a few things. It might help me adapt to this world faster," he muttered to himself, quickening his pace toward the city gates.
Upon entering, Chester was instantly enveloped by the bustling clamor of merchants calling out their wares, the rich aroma of exotic spices wafting through the air, and the joyful laughter of children playing by the streets.
"Whoa..." Chester gaped in awe, thoroughly captivated by the sheer beauty of the city. The buildings looked like something straight out of a medieval European historical archive. Seeing it manifested in reality was a breathtaking experience for someone who originated from the modern era.
"This really is a fantasy world," he whispered, his chest swelling with genuine admiration.
Invigorated, Chester began exploring the marketplace. He absorbed everything around him. First, he stopped by a bookstore, browsing through the fictional works produced in this world.
"No kidding, even a magical world has a fairy tale about a girl in a red cloak and a wolf," Chester chuckled, flipping through a leather-bound book titled "The Girl in the Red Hood". The book featured intricate black-ink illustrations that brought the narrative to life for its readers.
Next, he visited a street-side stall specializing in magic crystals. Each crystal possessed a distinct, mesmerizing shape. According to the merchant, the physical form dictated the magical output: star-shaped crystals channeled fire magic; diamond cuts produced ice magic; cubes acted as tracking matrices; and spheres healed minor physical injuries. There were even abstract, non-geometric shapes on display.
Finally, Chester wandered into a blacksmith's forge. Inside, he observed the blacksmith glowing iron with absolute focus. Turning his attention to the finished weapons lining the walls, his eyes locked onto a collection of mastercrafted swords. The engravings on the blades looked almost alive, and the hilts were adorned with brilliant rubies that glowed like a dragon's eye. The edges were razor-sharp and gleamed under the forge fire, showcasing the incredible craftsmanship of the smiths.
"Do you have an eye for swords, young man?" an elderly voice asked, catching Chester off guard.
Startled, Chester turned to see an old man approaching him. "Oh, you could say that," Chester replied, offering a polite, slightly embarrassed smile.
The old man chuckled softly and gestured for Chester to follow him to the back of the shop. Though initially hesitant, Chester sensed no malice from the elderly smith and decided to follow.
As they walked through the corridor, the old man struck up a conversation. "Have you ever wielded a sword before?"
Chester glanced at him. "I've trained in swordsmanship... but not with the types of swords I saw out front." In his previous world, Chester had been a dedicated member of his school's Kendo club, exceptionally proficient in utilizing a foil. He had always been drawn to elegant, artistic sword styles, and had secretly always wanted to try wielding a proper katana.
The old man merely grunted in response. Finally, they arrived at a private vault.
Chester's eyes widened. The room was filled with swords far larger and more exotic than the standard models outside. Some possessed serrated edges, others were incredibly flexible, and a few were massive enough to crush shields.
"Every weapon in this room requires a completely different combat style, but they are devastatingly effective in a real battle," the old man explained, stepping into a side room to search for something. Chester listened to his echoing voice from within the room.
"Take that flexible one, for instance. That is a Gulong sword, though the people of the Gathur Kingdom call it an Urumi. The warriors there are exceptionally lethal with it, and mastering it is considered a sacred tradition passed down through generations," the old man explained.
"As for those serrated swords, they are more about the user's personal flair. There is no ancient tradition behind them."
Chester merely nodded in understanding, moving closer to inspect the exotic weapons with meticulous care.
"Ah, here it is!" the old man shouted from the back room, stepping out while carrying a peculiar object.
Chester turned his attention toward him. His eyes instantly locked onto the weapon in the blacksmith's hands, thoroughly captivated. The scabbard was unpretentious, crafted from an ancient wood covered in dried moss and marred by the scratches of history. It lacked any luxurious gemstones, yet the sheer aura radiating from it made the surrounding air feel heavy and freezing cold, a silent warning to anyone who dared to unsheath it carelessly.
"This is Excalibur. A sword of legendary renown throughout the ages. Myth has it that it can sever abstract concepts such as light, authority, and the very laws of nature itself. However... this is merely a near-identical replica, so it is ultimately just an ordinary sword forged in the likeness of Excalibur."
Chester absorbed the information, deeply intrigued. He had never expected to lay his eyes upon a weapon so famously celebrated in fiction. Even though its description differed slightly from the legends he knew, seeing it in person felt like an unwritten yet priceless achievement.
"Have you ever seen the real Excalibur with your own eyes, sir?" Chester inquired, his attention entirely focused on the old man.
"Hmm, I have never witnessed that legendary existence myself. The true Excalibur vanished over five hundred years ago, along with its final wielder. Since then, no one has ever seen that blade dance upon the battlefield," the blacksmith explained, resting his hands on his hips.
Chester bit his lip. He had just stumbled upon a piece of lore that was never mentioned in the novel. This was a brand-new mystery he would have to unravel.
"Thank you, sir, for sharing the history of that sword and for showing me these unique weapon designs," Chester said softly, a genuine sense of contentment in his voice.
"You are very welcome," the old man replied, placing the replica back into its original rack.
Before Chester could step out of the shop, the blacksmith called after him, "Hey, if you want that sword, I can let you have it for free."
Chester froze. The old man's offer sounded entirely genuine and sincere.
"Umm... I don't think I am worthy of wielding a sword modeled after Excalibur just yet. Besides, I am only proficient in using a foil, so it feels wrong for me to carry a weapon like this," Chester replied humbly.
"Fair enough. Do come again," the old man said with a warm smile.
Chester returned the smile and took his leave.
The sun was now dipping below the horizon, signaling that twilight would soon give way to darkness. Yet, the city remained alive with the bustling noise of its residents going about their business. Chester walked at a leisurely pace, navigating through the endless commotion with heavy, exhausted steps.
"I should probably head home. It's getting dark," Chester muttered to himself.
With that decision made, he retraced his steps toward the city gates. 'At least my house isn't too far from here,' he whispered, glancing around.
On his way back, he noticed a young boy crying by the roadside. Initially, Chester intended to mind his own business, but his conscience won over, and he decided to offer his help if needed.
Chester approached the child, trying to soothe him. "Hey there, little guy. Why are you crying?" he asked gently.
"My ball... my ball..." the boy sobbed, pointing toward a secluded, narrow alleyway. "The ball... went in there... and I'm too scared to get it."
The boy's frantic whimpering left Chester with no desire to press for further details. "Alright, don't worry. I'll go get it for you," Chester replied with a reassuring smile.
Chester immediately hurried into the alley. Behind him, the young boy tried to call out to him, but Chester didn't hear him. The boy's expression shifted into one of absolute terror and anxiety.
Inside, the alleyway was suffocatingly quiet and pitch-black, devoid of any streetlamps to illuminate the path.
"Are you kidding me? A famous city like this, and they still have alleyways that haven't been renovated? Does the city council not care about public safety at all?" Chester grumbled in bewilderment. The alley was profoundly dark; from Chester's vantage point, only a faint glimmer of light from the far end was visible.
Scanning the ground, Chester finally spotted the toy. "Ah, here it is."
Suddenly, a violent thrust pierced through his abdomen. Chester gasped, instantly paralyzed by shock and panic. Crimson blood erupted from the wound, bringing with it a sickeningly vivid sensation of agonizing pain. Before he could react, the culprit behind him brutally ripped the blade out and plunged it straight into Chester's eye.
Chester shrieked in unadulterated agony, clutching his bleeding eye and his ruptured stomach.
"Arrghh! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!"
His desperate screams were entirely drowned out by the bustling noise of the main street just meters away.
"Somebody help me! Please!"
"Help me!" Chester writhed on the ground. The world spun rapidly around him, leaving him completely disoriented and helpless. A horrific, unprecedented agony pulsed through his entire body. With his remaining eye, he desperately tried to scan the darkness, but it was far too black to identify his assailant.
Squelch!
Another deep stab tore into his stomach, causing him to wail in unbearable torment.
"It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!"
The blade was then ruthlessly dragged across his flesh, carving into his body. Chester could feel every single agonizing laceration in excruciating reality.
"I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I-"
A final, brutal thrust into his eye plunged Chester's world into absolute darkness.
~~~
> Even if you deny it, I know that you are the one who always comes for me.<
~~~
Chester snapped awake on a mattress. His eyes flew open, his heart hammering against his ribs as the vivid memory of the stabs flashed through his mind. He frantically rubbed his head, quickly pulling his legs up into a defensive, cross-legged position.
His gaze darted around the space he was in. He froze in utter shock. The room was incredibly familiar, it was his own bedroom.
"How did I..." Chester inspected every corner of the room. It was true; he was in his room. But how was this possible?
Chester scrambled out of bed and rushed to the mirror. The reflection remained unchanged: Chester Kerl. However, there were no scars, no wounds, and his eyes were completely perfectly fine.
The revelation left Chester thoroughly bewildered. He bit his thumb, trying to logically piece together what was happening.
"Was that... just a nightmare?" he questioned himself.
"But..." Chester touched the exact spots on his body where the blade had penetrated. The phantom pain he felt was far too visceral, too authentic. It felt entirely as though he had just endured a gruesome ordeal that ended in his actual death.
"If that was a premonition or a dream, then I just need to avoid that alleyway at all costs," Chester murmured, exhaling a deep breath to stabilize his erratic breathing. "Yeah, it must have just been a horrific nightmare," he told himself, shaking off the dread as he stood up to prepare for the day.
The morning sun beamed through the window, bringing warmth and renewed vitality to the world. Yet, beneath that very same sky, an identical morning was beginning to unfold.