WebNovels

Wednesday: That Delinquent Heir Has a Thing for Enid

Captain_Lag
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
James dreamed of becoming a singer… but his voice sucked. Instead, he died pathetically—slipping in a bathtub, leaving behind nothing but regrets and two parents he never got the chance to repay. When he opens his eyes again, it’s not the world he knew. It’s the world of Wednesday. Born to a father from a forgotten warrior bloodline and a siren for a mother, Valen inherits a heritage mocked and dismissed by outcasts. Standing between obscurity and greatness, his only weapon is the memory of a wasted life. No system. Yeah, sheeeet. Just grit, songs stolen from another world, and a burning promise: this time, I’ll make it count. As the shadows of Nevermore loom, Valen begins a journey to revive his family’s name, awaken the lost strength of his bloodline, and carve his place in a world that never stops testing outcasts. But will it be that easy—when every step forward puts him against outcasts just as broken, desperate, and dangerous as himself? A second life. A forgotten legacy. A delinquent heart that refuses to kneel.
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Chapter 1 - Meme Before Death

James refreshed Netflix for the tenth time in five minutes.

The countdown for Wednesday Season Two glared at him: 00:17:04.

He fist-pumped the air. "Let's gooo!"

His dorm room was a battlefield of chaos. Instant noodle packets on the desk, half-dead energy drink cans standing like little soldiers, socks that hadn't seen sunlight in weeks. If his mom walked in right now, she'd probably commit a homicide with the broom.

But she wasn't here. And tonight, none of that mattered. Tonight was about him, his laptop, and Wednesday Addams.

James pulled his phone closer and opened Instagram. Memes flooded his feed.

POV: you studied for 3 hours and still failed the exam

Hehehe relatable AF.

He scrolled.

Wednesday smirking: "I don't believe in happy endings."

Caption: Me, failing math for the 3rd time.

James chuckled, double-tapping it. "Facts."

The laugh felt good. Real. Like he wasn't just another twenty-year-old with zero clue about life.

The truth? He'd always been different. Not in the cool anime-protagonist way. More like the teachers hate you because you don't memorize garbage but you're actually smart kind of way.

School was hell. Rote learning. Copy. Paste. Repeat. Sheep mentality.James hated it with his whole chest.

He wanted creativity. He wanted music. He wanted to write lyrics that could punch people in the heart.

But life laughed in his face. His voice cracked every time he tried singing. His classmates roasted him so hard that he quit. Teachers crushed whatever spark he had left.

So what did James do? Easy. He went full delinquent-lite. Skipped classes. Hung with the kids teachers gave up on. Smirked when scolded. Acted tough.

But that was surface-level. Inside, he was still the kid who sang in the bathroom at 2 a.m., badly, laughing at his own voice cracks. Still the boy who wanted—just once—to stand under a spotlight.

He shook his head. "Man, imagine me in the entertainment industry. Audience would sue for emotional damage."

The clock ticked closer: 00:12:28.

James sat up, rubbing his face. His reflection in the laptop screen was tragic. Hair messy like he'd lost a fight with a crow, eyebags deep enough to hold water, hoodie from last week's laundry pile.

"damn… I look like a background NPC."

He snorted at his own insult. Then grabbed his towel. "Alright, main character arc begins. Gotta freshen up for this."

The dorm corridor was quiet. The overhead light flickered like it was auditioning for a horror movie. James padded toward the bathroom, humming an old tune he wrote but never finished. His voice cracked again.

He rolled his eyes. "Auto-Tune, where art thou?"

The bathroom was cold. Steam fogged the cracked mirror as he ran the tap. His reflection stared back: hoodie too big, hair sticking everywhere, the face of a guy who still didn't know what he wanted to do with life.

James splashed water on his face, wiping it with the towel. Droplets ran down his cheeks. The icy sting cleared his head.

For a second, he grinned at himself. "Ok, bet. Fresh. Now... What do i sing? hehe."

But then… something shifted.

The grin faded.

He looked at his reflection again. Really looked.

And the thought hit him like a truck.

What the f** am I doing with my life?*

He froze, hands on the sink.

He was smart, yeah. Smarter than he let people think. But what had he done with it? Nothing. Creativity? Crushed. Singing? Mocked out of him. Dreams? Buried under other people's laughter.

Now here he was. A twenty-year-old waiting for a Netflix show like it was his salvation.

The emptiness hollowed out his chest. His parents. Their sacrifices. Would they be proud of this version of him? The kid who wasted potential?

The tap kept running. The sound of water was the only answer.

James shook his head violently. "Nah nah, not tonight. Tonight's for Enid! Existential crisis tomorrow."

He chuckled weakly, stepping back from the sink. The tiles beneath his feet were slick with water. He didn't notice.

The slip was instant.

His foot skidded, his body lurched sideways. His arms flailed for balance. The porcelain sink was inches away.

Crack.

His skull hit the edge. A white flash exploded behind his eyes. Then he was on the ground, breath ripped from him, water soaking into his hoodie.

For a second, he just lay there, stunned. Then warmth trickled down his temple. Sticky. Wet.

His trembling fingers touched it. Came back red.

"Blood…?"

His voice was thin, almost lost in the hiss of the tap.

Panic clawed at him. He tried to push himself up, but his body felt heavy. The cold tile pressed against his cheek. The buzzing light above blurred in and out.

Water swirled around the drain, tinted pink now.

He thought of his parents. His mom's soft smile. His dad's strict-but-loving lectures. Would they cry when they saw him like this?

Shit....I never repaid them for the things they did for me…

He thought of the classmates who laughed at him. Of the songs he never finished. Of the spotlight he never reached.

And then he thought of Wednesday. The show he'd waited for. Minutes away.

His lips twitched, halfway between a laugh and a sob. Figures. Life trolling till the end.

His vision tunneled. Darkness bled into the corners. His chest rattled with each breath, shallower every time.

The bathroom light flickered again, buzzing like it was mocking him.

And James, the boy who wanted to sing but never could, the dreamer who hated being a sheep but couldn't escape the herd, bled out on the floor.

Alone.

The laptop in the other room struck 00:00:00.

The show had started.

James never saw it.