The silver mirror reflected a stranger's face back at me. Handsome, yes—the kind of aristocratic features that belonged on a portrait in some grand hall. Sharp jawline, symmetrical features, the sort of bone structure that would make artists weep. But the eyes... those grey eyes held something broken. Haunted. Like someone had spent years grinding away at whatever spirit once lived there.
This is really happening.
I reached up to touch the glass, watching Kaelen's pale fingers mirror the movement. The face in the reflection moved when I moved, breathed when I breathed. It wasn't some elaborate dream or hallucination. I was trapped inside this body, inside this story, inside this life that was destined to end in humiliation and pain.
The reality of my situation crashed down like a collapsing building. This wasn't a game where I could respawn or reload a save file. This wasn't even a typical isekai where some benevolent goddess would hand me cheat abilities and send me on my way. I was genuinely, completely screwed.
Focus. Think. What do I actually know?
I closed my eyes and forced myself to reach deeper into this borrowed mind. Somewhere in Kaelen's memories lay the roadmap to my survival. The process felt like diving through murky water—fragments of experiences that belonged to someone else, emotions I'd never felt, conversations I'd never had.
There. The first memory surfaced like a bubble breaking the surface of a dark pond.
Age seven. Standing in the grand hall while Father introduced Lucius, his new stepson, to the household. The way Father's hand rested on Lucius's shoulder—proud, warm. The way his eyes skated past me like I was furniture.
The memory stung with an intensity that caught me off guard. Not my pain, but it lived in this body, carved into these neural pathways. I pushed deeper.
Age ten. Magic lessons with the family tutor. Lucius conjuring flames that danced between his fingers while I could barely manage a spark. The tutor's barely concealed disgust. "Perhaps Young Master Kaelen would be better suited to... administrative pursuits."
Age twelve. Overhearing servants gossip about the "disappointing third son." The way they went quiet when I entered rooms, then resumed their whispered conversations the moment I left.
Age Seventeen. The incident with the kitchen maid that had led to today's confrontation. Cornering her in the pantry, hands grabbing, mouth moving with words that tasted like poison. The look of terror in her eyes. The self-loathing that followed, the way it curdled in my stomach for days after.
I jerked back from that particular memory, bile rising in my throat. The original Kaelen had been a genuinely awful human being. Not evil in some grandiose way—just petty, cruel, pathetic. The kind of person who hurt others because he couldn't bear the weight of his own inadequacy.
No wonder everyone despises him. No wonder Leo felt justified in what he planned to do.
But I wasn't the original Kaelen. I was Alex Chen, twenty-one-year-old engineering student who'd never so much as raised his voice at a cashier. The memories belonged to this body, but they didn't define me.
What matters now is the future. And according to the novel, Kaelen's future is short and unpleasant.
I forced myself to recall the plot points I'd read in Heirs of the Azure Orb. The story followed Leo and his party through their academy years, building toward a climactic battle against an ancient evil threatening the kingdom. Kaelen appeared sporadically as a minor antagonist—always losing, always humiliated, gradually becoming more desperate and pathetic.
His death came in the second year. A stupid, pointless end that served only to motivate Leo's character development. Kaelen would attempt to poison Leo during a academy tournament, get caught, and be executed for treason.
That's what my entire existence amounts to in this world—a brief interruption in someone else's story.
The injustice of it made my hands clench into fists. I hadn't chosen this. I hadn't asked to be dropped into a failing narrative as a disposable character. But here I was, and the cosmic forces that governed this reality seemed determined to push me toward that scripted ending.
Unless...
A memory surfaced—not Kaelen's this time, but my own. Late nights on fan forums, dissecting every aspect of the novel with other readers who had way too much time on their hands. Most of the discussions were standard fare: shipping debates, power scaling arguments, wish fulfillment fantasies about being transported into the world.
But there had been one thread that caught my attention. A user named PlotDeviceHunter had compiled a list of what he called "Chekhov's Guns"—seemingly minor details that never paid off in the story. Items mentioned once and forgotten, characters introduced and abandoned, plot threads that went nowhere.
The [Rune of Diminishment] had been on that list.
A cursed artifact mentioned in passing during one of Kaelen's early scenes. The original Kaelen had found it in the estate's old wing, felt its malevolent aura, and immediately discarded it as worthless junk. The incident was described in maybe two sentences, then never referenced again.
PlotDeviceHunter had theorized that the author originally planned to use the rune as a plot device but forgot about it. Classic web novel problem—too many ideas, not enough organization. But what if it wasn't forgotten? What if it was exactly what I needed?
"The Rune of Diminishment sounds like it reduces stats or abilities. But what if it works both ways? What if 'diminishment' doesn't mean weakening—what if it means hiding? Making something appear less than it actually is?"
The idea was fascinating. A cursed item that could mask someone's true capabilities, making them appear weaker than they were. For most people, that would be useless or actively harmful. But for someone like me, trapped in the role of a pathetic villain...
It could be perfect.
I stood up abruptly, pacing to the window. The Leone estate sprawled out below me—manicured gardens, elegant courtyards, and in the distance, the crumbling towers of the old wing. The family's ancestral seat had been built over centuries, each generation adding their own touches. The oldest sections were now mostly abandoned, too expensive to maintain and too historically significant to tear down.
That's where Kaelen had found the rune, according to the novel. Somewhere in those forgotten rooms and dusty corridors lay my potential salvation.
Or my death. Cursed items aren't called cursed for fun.
But what choice did I have? Continue playing the role of designated punching bag until the story decided I'd outlived my usefulness? Wait for the inevitable scene where Leo's righteousness demanded my permanent removal from the narrative?
No. I'd rather die on my own terms than live on someone else's script.
The plan was insane, dangerous, and probably suicidal. But it was mine. The first choice I'd made in this world that wasn't dictated by the original Kaelen's memories or the story's expectations.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. "Young Master? Your meal is ready."
I turned toward the door, schooling my expression into something appropriately subdued. "Thank you. I'll be down shortly."
"Actually, Young Master, I've brought it up to your room. I thought... after this morning's events... you might prefer privacy."
The consideration in her voice caught me off guard. This wasn't the same maid from earlier—this one sounded younger, gentler. I opened the door to find a girl about my age carrying a silver tray. She had brown hair pulled back in a simple braid and kind eyes that reminded me achingly of home.
"What's your name?" I asked.
She blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "Mira, Young Master."
"Thank you, Mira. That was thoughtful of you."
She set the tray on my desk—simple fare, bread and soup and fruit. Nothing fancy, but it smelled incredible to my empty stomach. As she turned to leave, I called out again.
"Mira? The old wing of the estate... is it dangerous to explore?"
Her eyes widened slightly. "Young Master, you shouldn't go there alone. The floors are rotted in places, and some of the ceilings have collapsed. Lord Leone forbade anyone from entering without his express permission."
"I see. Thank you for the warning."
She hesitated at the door. "Young Master... if you don't mind me saying... you seem different today. More... thoughtful."
Careful. I couldn't afford to break character too obviously. "Today has been... educational. I've been forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about myself."
"Change is possible, Young Master. People can choose to be better."
The simple faith in her words made something twist in my chest. Here was someone offering genuine encouragement to a person she had every reason to despise. The original Kaelen had probably never shown her a moment's kindness.
"I hope you're right, Mira."
After she left, the door clicking shut behind her, I ate. Mechanically. The simple bread and soup were fuel, nothing more. Her kindness was a bitter counterpoint to the cold calculations solidifying in my mind. The old wing was forbidden. Unwatched. A perfect shadow to hide in.
There was no backing out. The choice wasn't between safety and danger. It was between dying on my knees as Kaelen Leone, or dying on my feet as... myself.
My hunt begins tonight.
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