The rough branch was pressing against the side of my neck.
Every time I moved, the tiny fibers dug deeper into my shirt and scratched my skin.
I lifted my hand, trying to raise my body just enough to shift the fabric, but every movement only increased the pain.
I tried placing my foot on the side trunk to lessen the pressure. But it was smooth and covered in some moss, so my foot slipped.
I took a deep breath despite the pain and began to rock my body slightly back and forth.
Once… twice… three times… and on the fourth attempt, I felt one of the twisted fibers in the bundle snap completely. A small cracking sound reached my ear.
I shifted my weight onto my arms and pushed myself up just enough to free my neck from the branch.
I landed on my feet, but my legs trembled from the strain, and I had to put my hands on my knees for a couple of minutes just to regain my balance.
I was catching my breath, the smell of early rain still lingering on the wet leaves around me… when I heard a soft laugh behind me.
Not a loud one—just enough to convey mockery, and whoever it came from was clearly enjoying the scene.
"Hah… I didn't expect our little Eugene to fall like that."
I froze.
The voice was elegant, with a faint hint of sarcasm, but deep enough to sound confident.
I turned slowly. She was standing a few meters away, arms crossed over her chest.
She wore a short gray jacket over a simple white shirt, dark blue jeans, and her long brown hair was tied into a high ponytail. A pair of sunglasses rested on top of her head.
Her features resembled mine… or rather, resembled the original Eugene.
I stared in shock and said:
· "Why? Who are you?" The words came out before I even thought. · She smiled sideways. · "Surprised?" · … Yes? · "Do you recognize me… or are you pretending?" · I stepped back slightly, feeling the cold air brush the spot on my neck where the branch had been. · "I… don't know you."
She tilted her head a little, laughing lightly:
· "True, I only came back from my trip yesterday… but how could you forget your older sister, Eugene?"
It felt like the world stopped spinning beneath my feet.
Eugene's older sister.
In the original story… she died at the very beginning of the catastrophe. Only mentioned in a few lines. Yet here she was, alive, looking at me as if we had never been apart.
I spoke carefully:
· "My… sister?"
"Oh, looks like that hit to your head made you even dumber than before," she stepped closer, pointing at my torn shirt:
· "Who did this to you?" · I turned my face away to avoid answering. · "It's not important." · She raised her brow and placed her hands on her hips: · "To me, it is. Because anyone who lays a hand on my brother… lays a hand on the family." · I quickly changed the subject: · "Why did you return so suddenly?" · She smiled as if recalling something amusing: · "Yesterday." · And why? · "Some family business abroad. It's settled now. I decided to come back before the new semester starts… but it seems I came at the perfect time." · She stepped closer until she was just one step away and reached out, holding the torn collar of my shirt. Her fingers traced the rough fabric: · "They hung you here, didn't they?" · "Almost," I answered quickly. · She laughed mockingly:
"Childish."
She stepped back, looking me over from head to toe:
· "Don't worry… I won't ask anything more for now. But remember—I'm different. If I find out who did this to you, they won't get away with it."
She turned and began walking away. After three steps, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder:
· "And also… change your shirt before you go back to class. You look like you just lost a fight with a tree."
Then she walked off toward the building, leaving me staring at the branch that had been choking me moments ago, thinking:
If Eugene's sister tries to attack Clyde… I might not be able to forgive myself.
I need to change my clothes.
---
After removing the torn shirt, I put on clean clothes. A neatly ironed white shirt, dark gray pants, and polished shoes, though not exactly new.
I looked at myself briefly in the mirror… My face hadn't changed, but something inside me had. A sense of awareness—of lines that must not be crossed.
I opened the classroom door quietly.
The first thing I saw was Clyde, lounging in his chair as if he lived in a world different from mine. His head tilted to the side, one arm dangling lazily, breathing slow and steady—like he was napping in his bedroom, not a classroom.
Beside him, two others were half-asleep. One resting his head on his desk, holding a pen without using it. The other staring at the wall with half-lidded eyes.
But the moment I took two steps inside, everything shifted.
The whispers died down, replaced by short, muffled snickers.
A student in the corner raised his eyebrow at me, then leaned to whisper something to his friend, who smiled.
Others didn't laugh, but they stared at me before pretending to be busy with their notebooks.
All this… and I hadn't said a single word.
A prickling pain bloomed in my chest.
In the end, no matter what I do… I'm just an ordinary person.
I don't have the overwhelming strength to stand up to someone like Clyde.
How could I?
He's someone who lived through over 1100 attempts to save the world—trained in the harshest conditions, fought monsters and beings beyond human comprehension, and survived them all.
Meanwhile, I just woke up in the body of another person—someone disliked by everyone, with no training, no power, no allies.
But there is one thing I do have.
Knowledge.
I read the story.
I know what's coming.
I know who will live and who will die.
I know when the catastrophe begins.
Priority number one: Survive.
After that… dignity.
I sat in the last row, set my bag beside me, and pulled out a textbook.
I opened the page we were supposed to study, but the words were just meaningless black lines to me.
Every few seconds, there was a laugh or whisper… I knew it was about me. But I ignored it.
I stared at the page, pretending to read—while my mind planned.
How to avoid an early conflict with Clyde…
How to gather key people before he drew them in…
The clock on the wall ticked slowly.
Tick… Tick… Tick…
The cold breeze from the slightly open window brushed my face.
My eyelids felt heavy.
The world around me faded like distant noise.
My head rested on my arms.
And the last sound I heard before sleep claimed me…
Was a faint laugh. I couldn't tell if it was from the classroom… or from something inside me.
---
When I opened my eyes, the light had changed.
The sun's rays were now warm and orange, covering the wooden desks gently.
But what caught my attention first… was the silence.
I lifted my head.
The classroom was empty.
No voices.
No footsteps.
No laughter.
The door was closed.
The clock indicated that two hours had passed since school ended.
Two hours… and no one bothered to wake me.
I smiled bitterly.
"It's fine… I'm used to this."
Even in my previous life, no one really cared.
I stood, grabbed my bag, and opened the door. The hallway was nearly empty except for scattered papers blown by the wind.
Outside, the sunset greeted me.
Warm orange, soft pink, streaks of purple across the sky.
Life moved on around me—students chatting, cars passing, motorcycles groaning through traffic.
But I… felt like a stranger in this world.
A shadow with no place to belong.
My chest tightened.
A quiet kind of sadness—the kind that gets stuck in your throat.
I inhaled slowly and steadied myself.
"Enough. Get it together."
I stepped down the stairs.
Took out my phone—not expecting messages, just something to look at.
Suddenly—it rang.
A familiar number.
I answered:
A calm, respectful male voice spoke:
· "Young master… Where are you? I've been waiting."
I froze for a moment, then exhaled softly:
· "Ah… Sorry. I just wanted to take a walk. I wanted to clear my head." A pause. Then a hint of concern: · "Really? Then… where are you now? I'll pick you up." · "It's alright… I'm close to the manor." · "Very well. But if you wish to go somewhere, call me anytime." · "I will."
I hung up and stared at the screen for a moment before slipping the phone away.
It wasn't a long conversation… but it left a strange warmth inside me.
I continued walking. The air was cool, streets smelled of gasoline mixed with cooking oil from a small food stall.
I took the quiet back streets instead of the main road.
The walls were stained, graffiti everywhere, garbage bags piled in corners, the smell of mold mixing with burnt engine oil.
Then I stopped.
About twenty meters ahead—there he was.
Clyde.
Yes, that Clyde.
He was holding a large man by the collar, punching him hard in the stomach. Two more were on the ground nearby, groaning in pain.
The air was charged.
Muted hits. Labored breaths. Bodies collapsing.
Seeing him like this, I couldn't help but think:
"Is this… the hero I admired?"
In the novel, Clyde was the strong, stoic protector of others—a warrior with a soft core.
I once imagined he might protect me.
Maybe even… we'd be friends.
But the Clyde in front of me—
A man beating others mercilessly, eyes cold, movements precise and brutal—
He looked more like a criminal.
I almost turned away, pretending I hadn't seen anything…
Until I noticed something.
One of the men behind him slowly reached into his waistband—
And pulled out a knife.
He lowered himself, ready to strike Clyde from behind.
My thoughts flipped in an instant:
If this happens… he'll die.
I didn't think. I didn't hesitate.
My feet moved before my mind did.
I ran.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
My breath sharp and quick.
My hand stretched out toward the man with the knife—