Chapter 1: grade five
The first thing Azek noticed was the heat in his throat.
Hot.
Hot water rushed down, burning just enough to make him choke back a cough. He froze, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The face didn't belong to him.
"Young Master, please take your time."
The mellow voice came from behind him—calm, familiar, yet completely unknown.
A towel was placed into his hands. Warm. Freshly folded. His fingers tightened around it instinctively, rubbing moisture from skin that felt far too solid to belong to a dream.
If this was a dream, it was alarmingly detailed.
He straightened slowly and turned.
A man in a black tailcoat stood nearby, posture straight, eyes sharp with a depth that spoke of experience rather than servitude.
Chhhhhh.
He poured tea into the cup and served it in front of him on the table.
He drank it slowly.
Bitter.
The cup met the saucer with a soft clink, the sound echoing faintly in the spacious room.
Outside the tall window, voices rose in unison.
Shouts.
Orders.
The sound of swords clashing.
He stepped closer to the glass and parted the curtains. Below, men moved in disciplined formations, swords flashing as they clashed again and again. Not wooden practice blades—real weapons.
This wasn't a lucid dream.
On the desk behind him lay an envelope, already opened. Thick parchment. A crimson seal stamped with unfamiliar sigils.
Official notice.
Azek picked it up.
His eyes scanned the contents.
Azek Willowheart has been officially admitted to the Royal Magic Academy.
Magic grade classification
GRADE FIVE MAGICIAN.
Bold words in red ink stood out.
A cool breeze drifted through the window, lifting the curtains and brushing against his face. He closed his eyes, letting it wash over him.
"Young Master Azek?"
He didn't respond.
"Young Master?"
A gentle pressure nudged his shoulder.
"Hm?"
He turned, his voice rough and unfamiliar—young.
"What were you saying just now?" he asked.
The woman beside the table—slender, neatly dressed, eyes kind—smiled patiently. "Your measurements. After the riding lesson, if it pleases you."
Riding lesson.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't a hallucination.
He had read this world.
Azek Willowheart—the only magician in a family of knights. A supporting character. A Grade Five magician. A mediocre talent introduced for the sole purpose of helping the main character shine brighter in the earlier storyline.
The Royal Magic Academy.
This was the novel he had been reading before he fell asleep.
And now—
He was him.
Azek Willowheart.
Somewhere in another world, a PhD thesis sat unfinished on a desk. Instant noodles had probably burned dry on a stove. And the man who had escaped reality through web novels had woken up inside one.
"Haaaaaaaaaaaa."
He sighed softly.
"Breakfast will be served shortly in the dining hall, Young Master," the man in the black tailcoat whispered softly as the servants withdrew quietly.
Azek exhaled and approached the mirror.
Sharp features. Pale skin. A thin frame—no more than fifteen years old.
A young master from knight family with no magical legacy, in an academy filled with prodigies.
Let's see.
This world was a magic fantasy, and Azek Willowheart was a mediocre supporting character in it.
It was good up to this point, but—
He gets into an accident while helping the main characters and exits the academy afterward.
There is no other account of this character after that.
So the only information available is up until that point.
The shouts outside continued. The sun kept shining.
He sat down slowly in the chair and fell into deep thought.
...
Clunk.
The cutlery sound was the only thing heard at the dining table as the Willowheart family ate their morning meal.
Azek quietly ate, and the more he ate, the more relaxed he became, as it was a quiet luxury he had enjoyed in his previously busy life.
Plates were cleared as soon as they became empty.
"Azek, you seem to be eating more than usual today…"
His mother asked cautiously.
He lifted his gaze toward the source of the voice.
Marin Willowheart—a gentle but resolute woman, a descendant of a noble knight family, with a body that spoke volumes about the training she had undergone and the battles she had fought.
Azek stopped his sudden train of thought and replied,
"Yes, it is delicious."
A simple, calm answer.
"I see."
A kind smile spread across his mother's lips, and she subtly flicked her finger—something Azek didn't notice as he returned his focus to breakfast.
The servants immediately turned their attention to their youngest young master.