"Scott… Scott…"
A voice echoed softly in my head, dragging me out of darkness. My eyes fluttered open, only to find a ceiling I didn't recognize — polished marble beams and golden chandeliers shimmering with mana-light.
Where the hell am I? Heaven?
For a second, I wondered if I had died and somehow ended up in the afterlife. I didn't think I was a bad guy. Sure, I was no saint, but I hadn't done anything that would land me in hell.
"Scott, you have one month to prepare."
I sat up with a start. A girl stood beside the bed, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders, her violet eyes sharp and confident. My breath caught in my throat.
Wait… Emilia Broustlin? One of the main characters from Celestial Descent?
I almost laughed, but the words stuck in my throat. "Prepare for what?" I asked, keeping my tone cautious.
She tilted her head slightly, as though my question was absurd. "For the first examination of the Imperium Academy, of course."
Before I could respond, a deep, gravelly voice interrupted.
"You had better not disappoint the Broustlin family, boy."
An old man stood near the door, his posture ramrod straight, his hawk-like eyes piercing through me. He wore a butler's uniform trimmed with gold, but the aura around him screamed authority and power.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Great. Even in another world, I get nagged.
"Fine," I muttered, waving my hand dismissively. "I'm full. Have a maid show me to my room."
The maid bowed and led me down long, ornate corridors lined with red carpets and portraits of grim-looking nobles. The walls themselves seemed to breathe with mana.
Then it hit me.
A sudden torrent of images crashed into my mind — memories that weren't mine. A boy training with wooden swords at dawn. Endless etiquette lessons under watchful eyes. Banquets filled with stares heavy with expectation. Pain. Pressure. Duty.
I staggered, clutching my head. These… are Scott Broustlin's memories.
By the time I reached my room — a chamber larger than my old apartment — the truth had sunk in.
I wasn't Brandon Smith anymore.
I was Scott Broustlin, son of Duke Charles Broustlin. A villain fiancé. The character destined to lose everything.
I sat heavily on the edge of the bed, my chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
"One month until the Imperium exams…" I muttered. Then a grin tugged at the corner of my lips. "Good. That gives me time to prepare."
But books, knowledge — those were my weapons first.
"Take me to the library," I ordered the maid.
Within the hour, I was standing inside a vast hall of shelves that stretched so high I could barely see the ceiling. Dust and parchment scented the air. Magical lamps floated silently, casting warm light across rows of tomes.
I began pulling books at random — histories of the Sendric Empire, treatises on mana, dueling tactics, even etiquette manuals. To my relief, my mind absorbed the knowledge easily, blending Scott's memories with my own modern perspective.
Every page turned, every fact memorized, pushed away the weight of doom.
"This is good," I whispered, my eyes sharp as I closed another tome. "I have time. I have knowledge. And this time… the villain won't kneel."