Charles walked down a narrow hallway, hands stuffed in the pockets of his still-damp tunic.
The fountain trick had worked, sure, but it'd been pure luck.
If the electricity hadn't spread like it did, those guys might still be pounding him into the dirt.
But something else was gnawing at him.
His memories as a college student—exams, late nights gaming in front of a screen—were getting hazy.
Charles tried picturing his apartment, the clack of his keyboard, even his friends' faces, but the images slipped away.
Instead, scraps of another life started filling the gaps: Rian stepping into a small room, Rian scrubbing floors, Rian taking hits without fighting back…
"What's happening to me?" Charles muttered, stopping in front of a worn wooden door.
Instinct told him it was his room. He hadn't consciously thought it, but his feet had brought him here.
'So this is that room…' Charles thought as he pushed the door open.
The space was basic. A narrow bed with a threadbare blanket sat in one corner, and a wobbly table leaned against the wall. A tiny window, high up, barely let in any light.
The sun was already dipping below the horizon, its last orange rays fading as night crept in.
Charles plopped onto the bed, the wood creaking under his weight.
'Why couldn't I hit them?' he thought, staring at his hands.
The static had been there, ready to burst, but when he'd tried to throw a punch, his body locked up. It was like Rian—or whatever was left of him—refused to fight.
"Are you still in here, Rian?" Charles murmured, half-expecting an answer.
But… nothing happened.
Charles tried digging up more details about the game—not even its name came to mind.
He knew Kraus Cole was a boss, a brutal leader taken down by a light-wielding hero, but the rest?
What was the protagonist's name?
Who else was in the story?
Was this a martial arts world or something else?
Those details wouldn't come, though this clan felt like it belonged in a warrior saga, with its arenas and fights. Yet the dining hall—with silver cutlery and crystal lamps lit by fire—didn't quite fit.
Suddenly, Charles's stomach growled, cutting through his thoughts.
He gritted his teeth and stood up.
"Great, and the worst part is I can't even eat," he grumbled.
They'd kicked him out of the dining hall again, saying it wasn't time yet—everyone else still had to finish.
Charles was starving, exhausted, and facing a fight tomorrow.
"I should train…" he said aloud, dropping into a push-up stance. It was all he could do right now. But as his hands hit the floor, a doubt stopped him cold.
'Wait. Why am I so into this?' he thought, frowning.
In real life, exercise wasn't his thing. He'd spend hours gaming or studying, not working out.
But since hitting that fountain, something in him had shifted.
He wanted to move, test his strength, get better.
"Is this Rian's habits kicking in?" Charles mumbled, glancing at the ceiling like it might answer.
He'd gone to the fountain at first to check if this body was fit, but now it felt almost natural to keep training.
"Am I turning into… him?"
Charles shook his head, trying to clear the fog.
No computer, no phone here. No guides, no cheats. Just him, this body, and a fight he wasn't sure he could win.
'Don't overthink it. If I'm gonna survive tomorrow, I need to be ready,' he thought, steeling himself.
Charles started doing push-ups, counting under his breath.
"One, two, three…"
His muscles responded smoothly, but his mind kept spinning.
If Rian's memories were overwriting his, how long before he forgot who Charles even was?
And if this body kept resisting… how was he supposed to fight?
◇◆◇
Lira strode down a wide hallway, lit by flickering lamps. Her blue-trimmed tunic swished faintly behind her, her face set in a serious line.
Ahead loomed a massive wooden door, reinforced with metal—the entrance to the Storm Clan leader's chamber. Two guards dipped their heads as she approached and opened it without a word.
Inside, the room was grand. Carved stone pillars held up a high ceiling, and at the far end, a dark wooden throne commanded the space. Sitting there was Kraus Cole, the clan leader. He was a broad, sturdy man with close-cropped gray hair.
His eyes—same piercing blue as Lira's—lifted to her as he gripped a metal goblet in one hand.
The lamplight glinted off his light armor, giving him an imposing air even at rest.
"Lira," Kraus said, his deep voice echoing through the room. He set the goblet on the throne's arm and leaned forward slightly. "What's this about? It's not like you to rush to me like this."
Lira stopped before the throne and gave a short, respectful bow.
"Father," she began, straightening up. "I need to talk to you about Rian Cole."