It was noon when a knock came at my door—polite but persistent.
"Lord Rayan, lunch is ready," the maid announced from the other side. "Everyone in the dining room is waiting for you."
Ugh. Right. Reality.
I cleared my throat and replied, "Tell them I'll be there in five minutes." My voice came out a little rougher than I'd intended—blame the mental chaos, not the attitude.
"Yes, Young Lord," she answered with that same robotic-yet-polite tone all trained maids seemed to master. The door closed with a soft click, leaving me alone once again.
I stood there for a moment, motionless. Just me, my cluttered mind, and the faint hum of the aether stabilizer beneath the floor. Outside, the world kept spinning. People moving. Surviving. Fighting. And here I was—heir to one of the most powerful families in the world—still trapped in an existential spiral like some angsty protagonist from a discount fantasy novel.
(Yes, I know. The irony is suffocating. Please hold your tweets.)
I started getting dressed, slipping into my usual attire: a dark coat with silver embroidery that shimmered in the light, tailored with aether-thread stitching to regulate body temperature. Functional and fabulous. You're welcome, fashion gods.
I glanced at the mirror and groaned. I looked like I hadn't slept in days. Splashing cold water on my face, I stared into my reflection. Still me. Still Rayan Aryan, son of Asher Aryan. Still stuck somewhere between a migraine and a world-threatening crisis.
Serena had left earlier—my twin, my rival, my sometimes-unpaid therapist depending on the day. I couldn't stop thinking about specialized training. Not your average "swing-a-sword" boot camp, but something tougher. Something real.
The world wasn't just crumbling—it was imploding. The Asuras were just the appetizers. Then there were the rifts—literal tears in reality puking out monsters like some cosmic horror buffet. Yeah. It wasn't great. And I wasn't about to sit around sipping vintage mana tea while everything burned down.
The guilds? An option. Technically. They were filled with aether-awakened adventurers—part-time heroes, full-time chaos machines—chasing riches and clout. But the guilds were messy. Too political. Too full of people who'd stab you in the back for a promotion.
No. I didn't want to be another name on their scrolls. I didn't need a guild. I needed a mission.
And that's where the mercenary corps came in. They were like guilds... but meaner. Less rules. More danger. Three times the chance of losing a limb. They took on missions the military couldn't—or wouldn't—handle. And among them, one name stood above the rest:
Crimson Eye.
An elite unit under House Aryan. Legends. The kind of people who didn't just survive battles—they ended them. A little rough, a little unhinged. Naturally, I loved them already.
But I didn't just want to join Crimson Eye.
I wanted to lead it.
Call it ambition. Call it madness. Call it textbook shonen protagonist syndrome. But I had a vision—to rebuild Crimson Eye into something even the World Union would hesitate to command. And for that, I needed training. Real training. And—ugh—Father's approval.
Which, by the way, is about as easy as convincing a dragon to pay taxes.
But first... lunch.
(No, seriously. Skip a noble lunch? You'd die of etiquette violation before the monsters even found you.)
Just as I opened the door, I heard soft footsteps behind me. Not the usual servant shuffle. These were graceful, rhythmic—like the wind brushing through leaves.
I turned instinctively.
And there she was.
Cirilla Arayan.
Elven beauty dialed up to eleven. Emerald-green eyes. Porcelain skin. Soft pink lips curled in gentle curiosity. Her long silver hair flowed like a waterfall over her shoulders, framing her delicate face and those unmistakable pointed ears. She practically floated when she walked.
My brain, being the absolute traitor it is, took a second too long to remember who she was.
Oh. Right. Cirilla. My cousin. Technically.
She was the daughter of Aziel Aryan—my uncle, Father's younger brother. Her mother? A divinear-blooded high elf—one of the most revered healers our family had ever produced. Both her parents died when she was an infant, sacrificing themselves during the first major rift incident. Back then, nobody really understood what those monsters were. Aziel and his wife led the mission that turned the tide—and paid the ultimate price.
Cirilla was just six months old when they were buried as heroes.
She's the same age as me and Serena. Just four months younger. But she's always felt... older. Wiser. Like she knew something the rest of us didn't.
"Are you going to lunch, Rayan?" she asked softly, her voice like a harp string.
"Yeah. Just heading there now," I replied, suddenly very aware of how sleep-deprived I probably looked.
"Is your headache better?"
"It's fine now." I waved it off with a weak smile. "Just… overthinking."
She tilted her head slightly, examining me with that unnervingly perceptive look of hers. "Something's changed," she said, her gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "Your aura… it feels different. Warmer. Brighter. Like a flickering flame finally catching fire."
I blinked. "…Uh. Thanks? I think?"
She smiled knowingly. You know that smile. The "I know something you don't" kind.
I said nothing. We walked together in a comfortable silence.
When we reached the dining hall, the heavy oak doors swung open. The smell of roasted meat, warm bread, and spiced vegetables hit me like a spell. Bless whoever handles noble cuisine. Seriously.
Everyone was seated, waiting. Father at the head. Serena shooting me a look that screamed, You're late, drama king.
I took my seat beside Cirilla, putting on my "prince" face.
The world could wait another hour. Right now? Lunch.
(Not gonna lie—there was never this much food in my past life. Damn, I really am rich as hell.)
I started eating, letting the flavors briefly distract me from the chaos brewing in my head. That's when Serena leaned over.
"So?" she asked casually. "Did you plan anything for specialized training? Are you coming with me or not?"
I paused mid-bite. "Actually, I've got my own plan," I replied coolly. "You can go with your little squad, Serena."
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Then why were you playing drama queen earlier?"
I sighed. "If you're here to eat, then eat. Don't bang drums on my head, you annoying brat."
"Rayan!" Mom's voice cut in sharply. Selena glared at me across the table. "If you speak like that again, I will throw you outside. Serena, please—no fighting at the table. We'll discuss this after lunch."
I set down my fork and cleared my throat. "Actually, Mother, Father—I've decided." I took a deep breath. "I'm going to do my specialized training in Crimson Eye."
Dead silence.
…Did I just drop a plot bomb? Yeah, I did.
In the original novel, Rayan went with Serena. That's where he met the hero—and the hero's love interest. Even before the academy, they had issues. But not this time. Not in this timeline. I had a different plan. A different path.
I needed to get stronger—fast.
So I'd go with the mercenary corps. Real missions. Real monsters. Real danger.
I wasn't just a random side character. I was Rayan Aryan. Third-ranked at the academy. Prodigy. Villain or not, I wasn't going to play background fodder.
Just as I finished, Cirilla spoke quietly. "Uncle… I'd like to attend Crimson Eye for my specialized training as well."
I froze.
Serena's eyes lit up with mischief. "Ohhh… I knew it," she said, grinning like a cat. "You're going because he's going, right? I overheard Marshal talking to Father yesterday. Ruh's joining Crimson Eye too."
Cirilla's cheeks flushed deep red. "S-so what if he is…?" she mumbled under her breath.
Selena smiled warmly. "Aw, Cirilla, honey. You're so cute."
"…Okay, hold up." I frowned. "What are you all whispering about? Focus. I'm here to talk about something important."
I turned to Serena. "Other than me, who else is joining Crimson Eye?"
Serena gave me a mock-serious stare. "Did yesterday's tantrum damage your brain? I mean, I knew you didn't have much to start with, but seriously."
"Stop spouting nonsense and just answer," I growled.
She sighed dramatically. "Ruh. Ruh's also attending Crimson Eye."
I blinked. "Wait. Ruh? Ruh? He's joining?"
Selena nodded. "Yes, Rayan. He's going too."
…Ruh. That name hit me like a cold wave.
In the novel, not much was said about him. Just whispers. Mentions of an oracle calling him the Living Anomaly. After the fourth arc, he disappeared. Gone. Poof. Maybe the author planned a last-arc reveal—or maybe they just gave up.
What intrigued me wasn't just who he was. It was whose son he was.
Marshal's adopted son.
And now Cirilla—whose role in the novel was minimal at best—was blushing at the mention of his name.
Where were we in the story right now?
"…Dad," I said firmly. "I really want to attend Crimson Eye."
Cirilla added, "Uncle, I'd like to go too."
Father stroked his chin thoughtfully. "I'll approve," he said slowly. "But you both must understand—mercenary corps missions are dangerous. Rift clearing is no joke. You'll face monsters of every level. This won't be academy training."
He leaned forward. "You're both still weak. Think it over carefully. Then meet me again with your decision."
And just like that, lunch wasn't just lunch anymore.
It was the prelude to something bigger.
Something terrifying.
Something… awesome.
(Also? I really need to stop breaking the fourth wall so much. But hey, it's coping or screaming. Pick your poison.)