Death was supposed to be quiet.
Lin Yu learned this was a lie when the truck hit.
There was no tunnel of light. No life review. Just the violent sensation of being torn apart, followed by a suffocating stillness—like sinking into cold water while the world continued without him.
Then came heat.
His lungs burned as air forced itself inside them. His heart slammed against his ribs, erratic and weak, like it had forgotten how to beat.
Lin Yu screamed.
Or rather—tried to.
What escaped his throat was a hoarse, broken sound, thin and unfamiliar.
"He's awake!"
The language was not Chinese. Not English. Yet he understood it.
Hands pressed down on his shoulders. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—arched stone etched with symbols that glimmered faintly gold. The smell of herbs, iron, and smoke clogged his nose.
This is a dream, he told himself.
But dreams did not hurt like this.
Memories flooded his mind—not his. A childhood of etiquette lessons. A noble crest marked with a black sun. Cold hallways filled with whispers. Fear. Humiliation.
A name echoed through it all.
Aurelian Vire.
Lin Yu's consciousness buckled under the weight of a life that was not his own.
And then, carved into the air before his eyes, words appeared.
FATE SCRIPT DETECTED
Role: Disposable Antagonist
Status: Terminal
Lin Yu stared at the glowing text, his borrowed heart pounding.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The world had given him a second life.
And it was already scheduled to end.