I dozed off on the train, only to be pulled into a dream.
Flashes of images, faces, names, and voices swirled together. Some I recognized. Some I didn't. And then—memories began to take shape.
A boy. Five years old. Digging through stacks of old books in a dusty study. That boy was me—and not me—Dean Mayfest.
He searched frantically until he found what he wanted: Magic Theory and Accumulation.
With that book, he thought he could awaken his magic. He was desperate to learn, to wield power, to provide for his family. In the Nebula Kingdom, magic meant money. And for a boy from the borderlands, money meant survival.
That's when she appeared—his mother. She crept up behind him, scooped him into her arms, and asked what he was doing in the study.
He held the book to his chest and grinned. "I'll study magic! If not magic, then I'll be strong like a warrior. I'll earn money for us!"
She smiled, warm and gentle, hugging him tight. She told him not to rush, not to chase after money as if it were everything. They had a roof, they had each other—that was enough.
But he pouted, insisting. "Are you really happy here?"
The borderlands were no place for a family. Scarce food, little water, and roaming magic beasts. Danger lurked everywhere.
Her smile never faded. She stroked his hair, promising that she would be the breadwinner. That all she wanted was for him to grow up strong, to dream his own dreams.
Still, he hugged the book close, stubborn. "I'll become a mage. I'll become someone great."
But that dream shattered on his sixth birthday.
A physician told him he had no magical affinity. None. No connection to magic at all. A cripple.
The words crushed him.
And three days later, everything else was crushed too. His village fell to a horde of demonic and magical beasts. Almost everyone was slaughtered—including his mother.
That was the end of his childhood.
——
The train's intercom jolted me awake.
"We will be arriving at Yuraveil shortly."
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and stretched. The dream still clung to me—not a dream, a memory. Dean's memory. But sitting here in his body, they felt like my memories too.
I stared at my reflection in the train window. "…Who are you really, Dean Mayfest?"
Sure, in NOTFH, Dean was just an extra—character filler. But a letter of recommendation from a professor at Arcadia Academy? That didn't add up.
Then I realized—I'd never checked his stats or skills since waking up here.
"Status."
[Stats: STR 0.2, AGI 0.4, END 0.5, WIS 0.8, CHA 0.6]
[Skills:
— Evade: The ability to dodge an enemy's attack and control one's movement.
— Sexond Sight: Allows the user to sense what the eyes cannot—magic, bloodlust, emotions.]
My eyes lingered on Sexond Sight. I hadn't expected that. But it explained why Dean could perceive magic and spiritual things despite being powerless. His senses were sharper than most humans'.
Scrolling further, I froze.
[Trait: Prideful]
I cursed under my breath. Traits in NOTFH were rare. Unique. And Prideful was one of the worst.
It boosted your stats under pressure—when insulted, humiliated, or antagonized. But the cost? It twisted you. Made you arrogant, reckless, predictable. It was a high-risk, high-reward curse. Villain territory.
But Dean? Why him? I'd played his character for years and never once saw this trait in the game.
Still… maybe it didn't matter. Dean didn't have much to be prideful about. At least, not yet.
For now, his pitiful stats were the bigger issue. If I wanted to survive, I needed agility and stamina—both to fuel Evade. I dumped my saved EXP into agility.
[AGI: 0.4 → 0.6.]
Not much, but it was something.
The train screeched as it pulled into Yuraveil Station. I gathered myself, stepping out into the crowd.
——
The station was packed. Nobles flaunted jewelry and fine robes while commoners blended in with rougher clothes. Status was on display everywhere. Just like the game—players would always dress to show off. I guessed the people of this world do the same.
A memory of a few players mocking me for my lack of aesthetics popped up in my mind. A bit of irritation flared, but I immediately quelled the anger.
"Don't get mad over something that stupid," I muttered to myself.
I pushed through the crowd until I emerged into the streets of Yuraveil. And what streets they were—grandiose architecture, glowing shops, floating airships above.
And higher still, dominating the sky, was a floating island.
Arcadia Academy.
My destination.
I laughed nervously, staring up. "Great. Now all I need is a flying ship… and 100 more silver than I have."
I had 380 coins. A ride cost 480.
Still, I lined up at the docks, surrounded by kids my age in fine clothes. Nobles. Lucky brats with families footing the bill. A flash of resentment surged in me—but it wasn't mine.
I shook it off. But still wary and insure where it came from.
When my turn came, the guide sneered at my shabby clothes and asked for my reason for flying today. "I'm going to enroll into Arcadia Academy." The guide looked up and down at me with a unsure look, then asked for proof of my claim.
I sighed, then showed him the letter of recommendation . His eyes went wide at the royal crest. He bowed slightly, apologizing before ushering me aboard.
The nobles muttered. Disgust, confusion, whispers of "commoner." I ignored them and leaned against the railing as the ship lifted into the skies.
——
The flight was… boring. Like a long-haul plane ride. Beautiful views, sure, but the nobles' whispers grated on me.
Eventually, one group approached. Their leader sneered. "Just being near you makes my skin crawl. Arcadia, allowing peasants aboard? Disgraceful."
I stared blankly at him, then sighed and turned away. That only pissed him off more.
But before he could touch me, the air shifted.
"P-Princess Rumia!" someone stammered.
I glanced over.
She walked past like a storm cloud—black hair flowing, golden eyes gleaming, her mere presence silencing the ship. Nobles bowed their heads under her cold stare.
Rumia Von Yuraveil.
Third princess of the house of Yuraveil. Mistress of shadow magic. And in the game—one of its most infamous characters. A rival, a villainess, a tragic figure destined to die in every route.
Players had loved her. And the devs had destroyed her.
As she passed me, we ignored each other. Still, I muttered inwardly, Damn… she's even prettier in person.
My grip tightened on the railing. This world wasn't going to make anything easy.
My stomach growled. Loudly. I groaned. "Great. If the nobles don't kill me, hunger will."
I searched the ship until I found the dining hall. Tables overflowed with cakes, meats, sweets—my mouth watered.
Then I saw the price tags.
"…Yeah. Nope." I turned right back around. "One thousand gold for a slice of cake? You've gotta be kidding me."
Hunger could wait.
The intercom chimed. "Attention: We will be arriving at Arcadia in twenty minutes."
Finally.
I stretched, grinning faintly. "Alright then. Let's get this story going."