The shower gushed before me. I twisted the handle, and the stream cut off, the last drip hitting faintly against the tiles. Then silence swept in.
"Hooo… nothing beats that after a run," I muttered in a low voice.
I reached for the door, but the mirror held me. A reflection stared back. My hair had grown longer. Lars cut it weeks ago, yet now it nearly covered my eyes. White patches crept at the roots, small but noticeable. I twiddled with a strand. It's such a hassle to dye it.
I studied my body. Still frail, but… different. Slightly more flesh, maybe. Moving in a working body was fun. The rush of movement. The freedom in each stride. The simple joy of running. Things I couldn't do before. Weeks had passed since I arrived. Weeks of adapting, adjusting, learning how to exist here. Most importantly: blending in. Which nothing really changed, since no one really notices me here...
I had been observing the protagonist all week. Nothing important had happened yet. And honestly, I'm not sure if I could be of help to them even if I tried. Realistically, all I could do was keep my head down. Prepare for the chaos I knew was coming.
Sure, I could tell them everything. Dump everything I knew into their lap. But the reality was… how much would it matter? What would it change? Would it steer them safely or just set off a butterfly effect that will spiral everything out of control?
There are too many unknowns. Too many variables The heroines. The timeline. The sudden changes around the protagonist. It raises questions. So many what-ifs. Then there's me. This body. An unknown character. No character profile or anything at all. Not even a side character. But there's one thing this guy has: his brother.
His family.
The ties between them and Shin shaped the future. That much was certain. As long as the spirit is with Shin, they were all bound together by fate. And that's where the eldest son of the Belmont family comes in. The heir. The golden boy. He served as the foil for the protagonist in the story.
This week, aside from watching the protagonist, I'd been digging into Claude Belmont life more, understanding his routines, the people tied to him, and his use.
I stepped out of the bathroom with the towel draped over my shoulder, water still sliding down my hair. I sat on the table. On my right, there were the burnt books from the first incident, all warped and darkened along the edges. In the center lay Claude's diary. It was tucked away behind the cabinet books.
It struck me as strange. Someone actually writes a diary. Writing things down about their day.
I never cared for picture, memorabilia, any of it. Diaries especially. I never understood why some people cling to them. What's the point? Wasn't it just unwanted clutter? But Claude's diary had a different problem. The diary itself was practically nothing. Barely qualified as one.
16th Day of the Veyra, Sol 704 of Gaia
Woke early. Ate breakfast. Went to the market. Bought bread. Returned home. Cleaned the study. Study for tomorrow's class. Read a bit before bed. Slept.
That's it. That's the diary. Every entry like this. Each one meticulously cataloging the most boring, trivial scraps of his daily life. Nothing extraordinary. Just… breathing, walking, eating, sleeping, over and over. I flipped the page. Same as before. Nothing. Just another list of a life that didn't need recording.
Then someone knocked on the door. I opened it. Lars was there.
"Hey," Lars said.
"Yo." I greeted him with my towel half-draped over my wet hair.
Lars froze. Then looked up, eyes wide, like he'd just walked into a crime scene. "If someone knocks, they at least get dressed. Or cover… you know. Basic human decency"
"I'm not, naked, naked. What's the deal?" I said, wiping my hair "So… why are you here?"
Lars sighed, eyes closed, avoiding me. "I cannot even say 'loose screw' when he's already screwless."
"…What's that supposed to mean?" I bit back a sarcastic retort, because yes, obviously, it's basic human protocol to dress up. But honestly, it's not a big deal. It's covered.
"Like… what it's supposed to mean." Lars opened one eye, then the other, finally meeting my gaze, still frowning. "Don't you want to dress first?"
"Alright, alright. I don't know what's your problem. You also got one, ain't big of a deal." I slid my thumbs between the towel and my skin before giving the door a casual kick, slamming against him.
"Are you... what—" Before he could finish his sentence, the door closed.
I stepped toward my cabinet and stopped in front of it, staring. And then it hit me. Three pairs of uniforms. Minus one. Two pairs of normal clothing.
I sighed. Should I buy a new one? Seems like a waste of money.
I grabbed a uniform top, ran my fingers over it. Smooth enough. Pulled it over my head. Done. Life would be easier if everything were just a towel and a hat. I opened the door once again. Lars had his back against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for me. "Took you long enough."
"Long enough? Just been a minute,"
Classes felt longer than usual, though nothing new happened. Elemental flux studies greeted us in the morning; I tried to pay attention, but the professor's voice drifted into a static noise, and my notes turned into half-finished shapes. Lars nudged me once, but even he seemed too bored to comment.
Weapon maintenance came next, which took me by surprise. The room carried the blend smell of oil, iron, and warm metal. The instructor lectured on proper technique, moving from station to station with the same stern expression. I did the work without thinking about it.
Basic combat practice didn't help. Everyone moved a little too eagerly, pushing harder than necessary. Probably for stupid reasons. I stayed practical. Slacking off majority of the time. Straight strikes, basic stances. Nothing fancy. The instructor noticed me, but he didn't bother calling me out today. Small mercies.
Lunch passed quietly. A bowl of stew, bread that could break teeth, and Lars complaining about how he wasted so much time yesterday. I ignored most of it.
Then the afternoon settled in. Inscription studies, artifact handling. Everything was slow, repetitive, suffocating in the same way every academic schedule eventually becomes. I followed along because I had to.
By the time the final bell rang, the classroom felt drained of air. Everyone bolted out at once. The corridor was quickly filled with footsteps, voices, and bags rustling. Students scattered toward their dorm wings. Conversations drifted away.
"Ngggghh!" I stretched my back.
I walked at my own pace.
Lars eventually slowed beside me. "My back is killing me." He lurched forward, one hand pressed dramatically against his spine. "I really hate combat practice. I didn't attend this academy to kill my body."
Kind of made sense, though. This was a knight academy. Even if we belonged to different departments, everyone had to take basic self-defense. Tradition and safety, I guess.
I rolled my shoulders. My muscles protested loud enough that I grimaced. "Same," I muttered, "You're not the only one dying. My entire body is screaming."
Lars grumbled something that sounded like agreement or suffering. Both. Then straightened his back with a wince. "Ah—a—aah—aaaaah! Ngggh! No—no! Cramp cramp!"
We kept walking down the hallway. Both of us were dragging our feet more than our body could handle.
Lars stretched again, earning another crack from somewhere in his spine.
"I swear," Lars said, "If they make us do that survival course next month, might as well drop myself out."
"I doubt that."
"I can dream."
We reached the end of the hallway, the evening breeze leaking in through an open window. Cold. A little too cold. It woke me up more than I expected.
Lars leaned on the wall, letting the air hit his face. "I'm going to feel this tomorrow."
"You feel everything tomorrow," I said.
"Why... We're forsaken." Lars kept walking, still complaining under his breath, but his voice faded into the background. Something else caught my eye. A figure slipping between the rows of pillars along the left side of the corridor.
At first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. Perhaps due to the exhaustion, dehydration, whatever the fuck was happening to me. But the shape was clear enough to pull my focus away. My steps slowed, while my eyes followed.
The figure passed behind one pillar, then another, each time becoming a little harder to track as the crowd moved.
And then—gone.
By the time I reached the end of the hallway, there's no one. No footsteps. No lingering presence. Nothing. Nothing indicating someone had even been there.
But I knew what I saw.
Someone who wasn't supposed to be here.