Evan's POV
I sat on the edge of the bed, wide awake.
Every muscle in my body felt like it had run a marathon, and a dull, throbbing ache pulsed behind my eyes. I didn't want to be awake. My body, however, had other plans. My eyes burned with exhaustion, yet they refused to close. My breathing was shallow, ragged, and my head pounded like someone had thrown a nightclub into my skull and forgotten to turn the music down. The bass-heavy thrum of a techno beat I'd never heard echoed in my temples.
And fuck—
That was the most motherfucking transmigration I'd ever experienced.
Couldn't it have been simple? I don't know, maybe something peaceful—like waking up in silk sheets, sunlight pouring through gauzy, white curtains, a warm breeze fluttering in, and a gentle voice at the door murmuring:
"Young master, it's time to rise."
But no. Of course not. Why have peace when you can have trauma?
It had to be dramatic. There was screaming. Pain. More screaming. Something about two souls trying to cram themselves into one body like drunk roommates fighting over a single futon. The memory of the agony, that violent tug-of-war for a single consciousness, was still too fresh.
I ran a hand through my hair—it was sticky with sweat, probably tangled beyond saving. My scalp still tingled from where I had clawed at it.
So, yeah. It's official. I've reincarnated. Or transmigrated. Potato, potahto. All thanks to that gorgeous little goddess—whose name I completely forgot, by the way. I mean, did she ever even tell me her name? It was probably something beautiful and unpronounceable, like "Xylotheneia, the Divine Weaver of Fates." Good luck trying to get that right after your brain has been scrambled.
Anyway. For those of you wondering—and let's be real, I know I was—yes, I checked.
The equipment is still intact.
That was the first thing I did once the soul-merging nightmare ended. A quick, casual hand-to-crotch systems check, just to be sure. Priorities, you know?
So, no panic just yet.
Now, what do we know?
Let's see. I've landed in a new world—one teeming with magic, nobles, bloodlines, and all the fantasy clichés I used to read about while procrastinating real life. Swords. Castles. Magic academies. Drama. The works.
Sounds fun, right?
And lucky me—I'm in the body of a noble. A young master, no less. Jealous yet?
Well, don't be. Because this world? It's not exactly a fresh start. It's more like a fanfic gone wrong, with me as the main punching bag.
As I rifled through the foggy backlog of this body's memories, things started to click into place. Name: Evan Ravenshade. Age: Teen. Status: Son of a marquis.
And here's the kicker: the guy's name is Evan. Like me. The irony was so perfect, it was cruel. Two Evans, one body. One of them, unfortunately, was doomed.
Because once the last puzzle piece slotted into place, I realized exactly what kind of story I'd been dropped into. A WebNovel world. One I barely remembered. Bits and pieces. Faint impressions of scenes, character names, tropes.
Enough to know I was in deep shit.
You see, in this story, I'm not the protagonist. I'm not the reincarnated genius, the anti-hero, or the mysterious transfer student with OP powers and twelve hidden bloodlines.
No.
I'm a side character. A stepping stone. A third-rate school bully who exists only to make the hero's life miserable in the early chapters. My entire purpose is to provide an obstacle for the true main character to overcome and gain a power-up from.
That's right. My grand role in this world's story? To exist. Annoy. Get my ass beat. And promptly disappear from the narrative once the hero no longer needs my humiliation as a motivational tool.
I don't even get a redemption arc. I'm the kind of character who shows up, causes drama, gets humiliated—and then fades into oblivion.
Just another side villain.
...Great.
But still, I wasn't panicking. Not yet.
Because surely—surely—that sweet, shiny goddess wouldn't just toss me into this dumpster fire without a lifeline. Right? There had to be something. A cheat. A skill. A system. A sword that shoots lasers or something. Anything.
She had to leave me with something.
And I had a hunch. A very hopeful, wishful, borderline desperate hunch.
I straightened up, cleared my throat, and spoke aloud with the confidence of a man begging fate for mercy.
"System," I said, my voice echoing in the grand, silent room.
Silence.
"…System?"
Still nothing. The silence was heavy and mocking.
"…Uh, Jarvis? Cortana? My sweet goddess-sent helpline? Magic menu? Floating HUD? Hello?"
I waited. A full minute stretched out.
No beeps. No glows. No sexy robotic voice welcoming me to my new life.
Now I can panic.
Where the hell was my cheat?
I mean—didn't she say something like, "Oooh, my handsome Evan, I'll give you a life full of gold, lazy mornings, and a few beautiful girls to flirt with over tea"? Okay, maybe not those exact words, but that was the vibe. Right?
Turns out she's just like Ruby from the office—makes promises, then ghosted harder than my job applications.
I was just about to start cussing out the divine when—
Ding.
A glowing screen blinked into existence mid-air. Soft and blue, like a hologram from a sci-fi movie.
「Hello, hello!」
That same sweet, honeyed voice. The one that had convinced me she was a celestial queen with a heart of gold.
I cleared my throat again. Straightened up. Combed imaginary dust off my nonexistent noble robes. A smirk, forced and desperate, pulled at my lips.
"Oooh, hello there, Goddess. Fancy seeing you again. I was just, uh, praying. Thinking about you. In a spiritual way."
The screen flickered.
And then her voice continued, smooth and chipper—like a pre-recorded voicemail from someone who knew damn well they were about to disappoint you.
「Hi Evan! I hope your transmigration was successful! I mean, I did handle it myself, so obviously it was.」
"Yeah, it was a total delight—just a touch of soul agony, no biggie—"
「Anyway, I thought you might recognize this world. You read a few stories like it, right? The usual magical school drama. Aaaand I noticed you don't really like system-type stories, so I figured… eh, no system for you! 😘」
"…Excuse me?" I blurted out.
「Well, I gotta go now! Enjoy your new life properly, Evan. You've got it all—status, youth, good looks. Don't waste it. Bye-bye now~」
The screen vanished with a sparkle and a chime, leaving me standing there. Staring at empty air.
I blinked. Once. Twice.
Then I muttered, "Bitch."
Not proud of it, but it slipped out.
One hand on my hip, the other running through my hair again, I stood there in a mix of existential horror and mild betrayal.
No system.
No cheat.
No power.
Just me.
Evan freaking Ravenshade.
A third-rate villain.
And apparently, a one-way ticket to becoming the academy's future punching bag.
Wonderful.
Just wonderful.
But just before I could dive headfirst into my oh-so-righteous monologue—the kind full of petty complaints, dramatic existential dread, and a colorful vocabulary aimed squarely at that lovely, backstabbing goddess—a soft, deliberate knock interrupted me.
Tap, tap.
"Young master, have you woken up yet?"
The voice was gentle. Polite. Practiced, as if she'd rehearsed the phrase every morning since birth. I barely had time to process the question, let alone answer it, when—
Click.
The door creaked open on its own.
And in stepped a maid.
She looked about my age—sixteen, maybe seventeen—with a neat black-and-white uniform, an apron tied without a wrinkle, and a simple headband keeping her short brown hair in place. Her posture was precise, her movements rehearsed, and her expression was politely unreadable. She moved with a quiet efficiency that made the air around her feel still.
She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous. No blinding halo of anime sparkles or heart-thumping background music followed her in. She was just… calm, competent, with an understated charm that made her easy to look at. The kind of person who made others feel comfortable.
Well—others who weren't me.
Because the moment I saw her, a strange flicker of irritation crept up my spine. An instinctual wave of annoyance.
She hadn't done anything wrong. Not really.
And yet, she had.
She entered without waiting for permission.
And that? That ticked something in me. It made my jaw clench.
Not because I was some spoiled noble with a stick up his ass—though technically I was a noble now. No, it was subtler than that. It was… a reaction. A habit. Something he would've hated, too.
A ghost of the original Evan Ravenshade, surfacing uninvited. That misplaced anger. That instinctual discomfort with being ignored, even in the smallest way. It wasn't mine. Not fully. It was a leftover, a piece of a personality I didn't want but was now stuck with.
She moved quietly, her steps making no sound on the plush carpet, balancing a silver tray in her hands. A steaming teacup sat in the center, along with a folded cloth. Her emerald eyes swept across the room before finally settling on me, where they paused for just a second.
"Ah, young master… you're already awake." Her tone stayed gentle, even. It was the same polite, rehearsed voice from the hallway, but closer now.
I stared at her for a beat, then two, the awkward silence stretching between us. The words I wanted to say came slower than I expected.
"…You didn't wait for my reply. And you still entered?" The question came out sharper than I intended, laced with an echo of the original Evan's arrogance.
Her eyes widened—just slightly. A barely perceptible shift. But she didn't stutter, didn't fumble with the tray.
She bowed her head, the movement fluid and practiced. "I apologize, young master," she said with the same calm politeness. "It wasn't out of ignorance. Today is an important day, and Lady Emilia informed us she'd arrive early. I came to help you prepare."
Lady Emilia.
Right.
The fiancée.
The original Evan's fiancée, to be exact. A noble arrangement he neither fought against nor welcomed. He just… accepted. Another detail from the foggy backlog of memories that felt like someone else's life.
I sighed, waving a hand vaguely toward the ornate chair by the wall. "Put the tray down. I'm not going to bite."
She nodded, her movements efficient and silent as she placed the tray down without a single clatter. Then she stepped back, her hands folded neatly in front of her apron, waiting like a well-trained doll. A beautiful, porcelain doll.
I felt her eyes flick toward me again.
Quietly. Cautiously. Like someone waiting for a ticking bomb to explode—or at least to mutter a curse and throw a pillow.
Was that what she expected? Evan probably used to. Maybe he yelled. Maybe he broke things. Maybe he barked commands the way he was taught to, like some noble brat living out his legacy.
But I wasn't him.
Well… not completely.
And maybe that was what irritated me the most. I wasn't even sure where he ended and I began. This was his body, his life, his emotions. The irritation, the arrogance in my voice… how much of it was mine? How much of it was just an echo?
I ran a hand through my messy hair again and sighed, the sound heavier this time.
"Alright. You can go. I'll be ready in a while," I said, giving her the universal signal to get out before the awkward silence strangled us both.
"As you command, young master."
She bowed—graceful, mechanical—and turned on her heel. A second later, the door clicked shut behind her, leaving a profound and welcoming silence.
Peace. At last.
I let my head fall back against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.
"…Sigh. Let's see where this goes."
Because if I remembered correctly, Lady Emilia was one of the main heroines of this world's original story. The noble, elegant, untouchable fiancée of Evan Ravenshade. Beautiful, refined, flawless—a walking, talking protagonist bait.
A walking cliché, the kind you'd expect to be the pride of her household and the unattainable dream of every teenage hero.
Yeah. Classic cringe setup.
She probably existed just to spark some drama, slap Evan a few times for being a scumbag, and then fall for the real main character later.
Great.
"Fuck," I muttered. "The story's probably already started…"
So now what?
Panic? Make a five-year master plan?
Beg the heavens for help?
No thanks.
I've got a better idea.
Let's do what any smart person in my situation would do—dive in blindly, pray things don't implode, and absolutely not put my trust in that so-called goddess.
Because if she really did send me here with a purpose… she better start showing her work. She had a lot to make up for.