My chest felt like it had been hollowed out and refilled with fire. I couldn't breathe. The monitors beeped frantically around me, white coats swarmed, voices shouting, the smell of antiseptic clawing at my nose.
And then… nothing.
Ping.
Ping.
Ping.
"I think he's dead."
"I don't think so…"
The voices blurred. My vision went black, and then… suddenly, I could see.
Two figures hovered above me. One radiated heat and sharp mischief — the other glimmered with impossible light. Satan and an angel, I realized with the kind of horror only someone in mortal danger could feel.
I jerked back instinctively. "W-Who… who are you?!"
"You scared him!" the angel exclaimed.
"Excuse me, you're not supposed to do that!" the Satan shot back, both of them glaring at each other for a moment before turning their attention to me.
"For your information, Lorenzo, you are dead," the angel said, his voice firm but not unkind. "And you are about to be reborn as the eldest child of a wealthy family… in a novel."
I blinked. My mouth didn't work.
"And the novel is the one you… disliked!" Satan added, laughing so hard it made the edges of my vision wobble.
"You… you don't mean… it's… The Heart Meant to Heal the World?" My voice cracked.
"Yes!" they said together, vibrating with excitement like two kids who'd just won a contest.
"And now your journey awaits!" the angel said, spreading his hands like he was painting fate itself. "Don't worry, you won't be alone. A system will guide you. Good luck!"
Everything went dark again.
When I opened my eyes, sunlight poured through a rough wooden window. My heart slammed against my ribs as if it had been waiting for this moment for centuries. The blankets were scratchy and tangled around my legs.
Not a hospital.
Not my apartment.
A small, stone-walled room, wooden beams crossing the ceiling, the faint smell of dust and old wood filling my nose.
And then…
"Big brother? Are you awake?"
I froze. My ears strained, my chest tightening. Footsteps padded closer. The door creaked open, and a small, soft-faced boy peeked in.
Bright eyes. Gentle smile. That familiar warmth.
Relief washed over him — over me, somehow. "You overslept again," he said softly.
And then it hit me. Memories — my memories, the novel's memories — smashed into me like falling shelves. Scenes, plot points, everything I knew.
This face.
This was…
Neris Thalorien.
My little brother.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Of all the bodies in all the fictional worlds…
I had woken up as the older brother.
Fenris Thalorien.
The irrelevant one.
The side character.
The one everyone forgets.
And somewhere deep in my chest, my hand burned.
I looked down. The black ring. Luxurious, almost impossibly heavy in design, a band of polished obsidian set with tiny stars of diamond that glimmered like a night sky. It radiated a calm but terrifying power. Every line and curve whispered elegance and danger, as if it were alive.
Of course.
I remembered. My fiancé. The Grim Reaper.
And it was all beginning.