"Click!"
The final keystroke echoed like a victory bell in the office dungeon, signaling the end of another thrilling spreadsheet saga.
Caius leaned back in his chair, cracked his knuckles with dramatic flair, and let out a sigh that sounded like it had been aging in his lungs for twenty years.
"All right, folks! Take five!" called out the manager from across the room, his voice nasal and tired, like a man who had long ago accepted that his dreams had been filed away under "miscellaneous."
Caius didn't need to be told twice.
He slammed the power button on his computer with the urgency of someone defusing a bomb.
His chair screeched as it skidded backward — straight into the knees of his poor coworker, Darren.
"Whoa! Sorry!" Caius blurted, spinning around to check on the human speed bump he'd just created.
Darren winced, waving it off like he was used to this kind of office warfare.
"No worries, man. It's not break time unless someone gets minor whiplash, right?"
Caius ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and chuckled, "Tell that to HR. Again."
Bag slung over his shoulder, Caius made his way toward the door like a man escaping prison — if prison had coffee breath, malfunctioning printers, and Jeff from accounting.
A few coworkers waved at him along the way, and he returned each gesture with his signature finger guns, as if he were firing joy directly into their tired, overworked souls.
Then came the final boss of the office — Alice the Receptionist.
She sat at the front desk like an RPG character who'd seen it all and was simply waiting for the next plot twist.
Hair in a messy bun, pen tucked behind her ear like a concealed weapon, she raised her hand without even looking up.
Crisp slap.
High five achieved. Morale +10.
"You're still the best part of this place," Caius grinned.
"Obviously," Alice replied, not missing a beat.
With that, he pushed through the glass doors and stepped out into the world — air slightly polluted, sky a modest gray, but compared to the fluorescent lighting inside? Paradise.
He took two steps forward.
Then got hit by a truck.
Not just a truck. The truck.
The legendary, mythical, "oh no" kind of truck.
It came out of nowhere — possibly from another dimension — and clapped him so hard it looked like someone hit Ctrl+Alt+Delete on his entire existence.
One moment, he was breathing in slightly burnt city air. The next, blackness.
…
When Caius opened his eyes, he didn't see a hospital.
Or pearly gates.
Or a roadside crowd gasping dramatically. No, what he saw was —
"Are those… chandeliers?"
He blinked again.
Yup. Chandeliers.
At least six of them. Floating above him like fancy alien spaceships.
He was lying on marble.
Real marble.
Like, the kind that cost more than his rent.
All around him, people in frilly clothes and glittering masks waltzed around as if he hadn't just suffered an isekai-by-truck.
Caius sat up slowly.
The pounding in his head was matched only by the pounding of a nearby orchestra.
Either he was hallucinating, or he'd just woken up at a ball.
A full-on, powdered-wig, opera-glove, swan-sculpture-on-the-buffet-table ball.
A noblewoman in an emerald dress drifted by, fanning herself and barely sparing him a glance.
Caius blinked. "Okay. Either this is a coma dream, or I got sent into the wrong Netflix drama."
And then, as if summoned by his confusion, a glowing blue window popped up in front of his face.
Transparent. Magical. And incredibly rude.
[Welcome, Caius Everhart.]
[You have been reincarnated into the world of "Crimson Oath: The Empire's Fall."]
[May you enjoy your stay. Or not. The author stopped caring around Volume 3.]
Caius stared at it. Then slowly, slowly whispered:
"…I'm in my favorite book."
A long pause.
"I'm in my favorite book?!"
Several fancy nobles turned to look at him, confused by the man sitting on the ballroom floor yelling at invisible windows.
[Welcome, Caius Everhart.]
[You have been reincarnated into the world of "Crimson Oath: The Empire's Fall."]
[May you enjoy your stay. Or not. The author stopped caring around Volume 3.]
Caius stared at it. Then slowly, slowly whispered:
"…I'm in my favorite book."
A long pause.
"I'm in my favorite book?!"
Several fancy nobles turned to look at him, confused by the man sitting on the ballroom floor yelling at invisible windows.
Caius didn't care.
His brain was too busy spiraling. Crimson Oath. The fantasy novel he'd read religiously.
The one with the magic system, the political intrigue, the ridiculously attractive villains… and the horrifyingly cursed bloodlines.
He shot to his feet.
His knees cracked like a dying tree, but it didn't matter.
"This is insane. This is completely—wait. Who am I?"
Another window answered him.
[Name: Caius Everhart]
[Age: 18]
[Lineage: House Everhart (Nobility, Elite Tier)]
[Known For: Crushing dreams, tax fraud, and casually starting blood feuds.]
[Reputation: Majorly detested by at least four major families.]
"…Oh no."
He remembered now. House Everhart. The jerks of the novel.
The royal pain-in-the-backstory family that casually ruined the lives of every major villainess.
Scandals, betrayals, political sabotage, one very questionable incident involving poisoned perfume — it was all coming back.
He, apparently, was now one of them.
The ballroom lights sparkled above him as reality sank in.
"I'm the background noble in a revenge story," he muttered. "The one who exists just to get kicked in the teeth in Volume 2."