I died long before my heart stopped beating.
Not on stage. Not on camera. Just in the shadows, where no one clapped, and no one watched. A slow fade to black, a final, unceremonious cut.
I used to be called a prodigy. A child actor with perfect tears, perfect smiles, perfect pain. My face was a canvas, my emotions a palette I could manipulate at will. I was praised as a genius, a natural. I believed them. I thought my talent was a gift.
But all of that ended the day they destroyed my sister.
She was my everything anchor, my light, my only reason for staying in that hellhole of an industry. We had started together, dreamed together. We were a team, two kids against a world of vultures. But the world only had room for one rising star.
They chose me.
And so, they framed her.
Said she cheated. Lied. Slept her way into roles. She was fourteen. A child, still. Her dreams were just beginning to form, fragile and pure, and they stomped on them until nothing was left but dust.
The press, a pack of hungry wolves, devoured her alive. Every headline was a new wound, every article a fresh lie. Sponsors pulled out. The studio, the very one that had promised us a future, dropped her like she was a disease. Our family, already strained by the pressures of fame, collapsed under the weight of the scandal.
She never blamed me.
That's what made it worse.
She saw the guilt in my eyes, the silent plea for forgiveness, and she just hugged me. She told me it was okay, that we would find a way to start over. She was my sister, my best friend, and she sacrificed her career, her reputation, her innocence, for me.
I tried to fix it. I gathered proof. Leaked footage. Internal messages. I burned bridges and scorched the stage behind me.
"If I can't save her, I'll end them all."
I used every trick I had learned, every connection I had made, to expose the truth. I acted a part, but this time, it was real. This wasn't for an award; it was for justice.
And I did.
For a moment, I thought we'd won. But the industry doesn't die from truth it just hides. It sheds its skin and reforms, a new monster with the same old face. The people responsible were never truly held accountable. They moved on, their careers untouched, their consciences clean.
She couldn't move on. The wounds were too deep, the scars too visible. I received a call one morning, a cold, clinical voice on the other end of the line, that she was dead. She had taken her own life.
The world, the same world that had destroyed her, couldn't believe it. They wrote articles about her tragic end, about the "promising young star" who had been "lost too soon." They mourned her, but their tears were fake.
Neither could I.
After that, I couldn't act anymore. Every scene, every line felt fake. The words of the script tasted like ash in my mouth. Even my face in the mirror stopped looking like me. It was a stranger's face, a face that had betrayed my sister.
So I stopped eating. Stopped caring. Until my body followed. My heart, a loyal friend, beat its last rhythm, a final, weary drumroll.
I don't remember dying.
Only the feeling of cold. Like the world forgot me mid-sentence, leaving me in a state of suspended animation, frozen in time and space.
Then came the light.
Not the warm, peaceful kind. No. This light burned. Too white. Too loud. Too real. It was a sterile, impersonal light, the kind that exists in places where life and death are a daily transaction.
I woke up to machines beeping, IV lines in my arms, and a strange tightness in my chest.
My mouth was dry. My skin pale. And everything hurt.
"...Nurse! He is awake!" He is awake!"
The voice was soft, trembling. A girl?
I turned my head. Slowly. Every muscle in my neck creaked like rusted metal.
She was standing near the door. Maybe ten. Same age as this body.
She had short, messy hair and puffy eyes like she'd cried for hours. A hospital blanket draped over her shoulders. She was small, fragile, and utterly alone.
But her eyes…
They lit up the second I looked at her. It was a light I hadn't seen since my sister's. It was a light of hope, of love, of a desperate, unwavering loyalty.
"Eli?" she whispered, voice cracking. "You're awake… You're really awake…"
Eli?
The name echoed strangely in my head. Familiar, but not mine.
Not yet.
[Stage System initializing… Loading Persona Core...] Assigned Identity: Elias Vale (Deceased) Synchronization: 2% Status: Reincarnated Soul Detected System Reboot Complete
I was… reborn.
But not in a fantasy world. Not with a sword or magic.
I was lying in a hospital bed in another modern world a mirror of my own, yet not quite the same.
I didn't know who Elias Vale was. Not fully. But I knew this body. I was in it now. A new role, a new script, a new life.
And that girl…
She ran forward and hugged me so tightly I almost lost breath.
"I'm I'm your sister. Eva. Don't scare me like that again. Please... don't leave me too…"
I froze.
Sister.
The word hit me like a blow to the chest. A ghost from my past, a memory I had tried so hard to bury, suddenly standing before me, alive and breathing.
She wasn't my sister. Not the one I lost.
But the way she clung to me like I was the last thing in the world keeping her from falling apart it broke me all over again. Her body was trembling, her tears soaking the thin hospital gown. Her fear was palpable, a physical weight in the room.
I let her cry. I didn't say anything.
Because for now, I didn't have the right to speak. I was an imposter in her brother's body, and the thought of her trusting me, of her relying on me, was a burden I didn't know if I could carry.
A few minutes later, a woman entered the room.
She looked exhausted black sunglasses pushing back into her long hair, a tailored coat, and a sharp jawline that said she didn't suffer fools.
Her presence filled the room like an agent walking onto a set. She was a professional, a force of nature, and she was here to clean up the mess.
"...So the rumors were true," she said, her voice low. "You really woke up."
She walked to the side of my bed and stared at me like I was some ancient artifact. She was studying me, analyzing me, trying to figure out if I was truly the same boy who had been lying in that bed for six months.
"I'm Mira. I was your mom's manager and best friend. I paid your medical bills. You don't remember me, do you?"
I shook my head slowly. The words felt foreign on my tongue.
She sighed and looked away for a second. A brief flash of pain crossed her face, a glimpse of the grief she was trying so hard to hide. Then back.
"Celestine Vale… your mother. She was a star. My brightest client. She died in that crash six months ago. You were in the back seat. No one thought you'd wake up."
Crash?
So not murder. No trauma scene. No villain to chase.
Just an accident. A cruel, random twist of fate.
A mother and son… both lost.
Until I came. A soul without a home, a boy without a future, now inhabiting a life that was not his own.
Eva wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
"Can we go home, Aunt Mira? He's awake now. I don't wanna stay here anymore…"
Mira hesitated. Her eyes lingered on me, a silent question in their depths.
Then nodded.
"Yes. We'll leave tomorrow."
She turned to me.
"Elias, I don't know how much of your memory you'll get back. But for now, just rest. You're safe."
Safe.
That word felt heavier than anything else.
In my past life, I had everything fame, awards, followers—and still never felt safe. The industry was a predator, always lurking, always waiting to strike.
Now?
I had nothing. Not even my name.
But I had a sister again. And a new role. A new script, a new life, a new chance.
[New Role Assigned: Forgotten Son] Skill Unlocked: Passive Empathy Detection Performance Trait: Emotional Absorption
As Eva held my hand and Mira dimmed the lights, I stared at the ceiling.
This wasn't the stage I trained for. But it was mine now.
And this time…
I wouldn't let it all end in silence.
Even if I had to fake every smile I would survive this script. I would play this part until my last breath. And I would protect my new sister, no matter the cost.