Ashleen had decided: if she ever made it back home, she'd write a formal complaint about not being allowed to sleep in between traumatic world jumps.
The dim room buzzed with tension. It wasn't loud, exactly — more like the sound of held breath and rustling fabric, as if everyone was trying not to disturb something unseen. Around her, ten or so people lingered in clusters, not quite close enough to be allies, but too aware of each other to feel alone.
Her gaze landed on a guy who looked like he'd walked straight out of a period drama — all shining armor and noble posture, the kind of man who should be astride a white horse and talking about honor. He practically screamed *hero.*
Then her eyes flicked to the person beside her.
No armor. No weapon belt. Just a sea-green suit, sharp at the seams and jarringly modern. He looked like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine and into the wrong dimension. The sword in his left hand seemed almost decorative — until you looked closer. He held it too easily. Too naturally. Like he'd already used it before.
"Weird flex," Ashleen muttered under her breath.
Still, the weird elegance worked. He stood like someone who didn't need armor to survive. It made her uneasy.
She realized, belatedly, that she didn't even know his name.
"Hey," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm Ashleen. You?"
He didn't look at her at first. Then, as if it were a chore, he replied, "Anik."
Short. Clipped. Like speaking to her cost energy.
Indian name, maybe? But he looked East Asian. His features were sharp, but unreadable. Cold.
"You're not as quiet as I expected," she tried again. "Your name suits you, though. Kind of cool and distant."
Above his head, a glowing number hovered: 50:00.
"What's that timer?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
"Multiple personality disorder?" she snapped, annoyed. "You spoke once, now nothing?"
He sighed — a long, suffering exhale — and finally turned toward her.
"Do you see a timer on someone else?"
She frowned. "No."
"On yourself?"
"Yeah, it says... fifty too. So?"
He raised an eyebrow. "What do you think that means?"
"…Is this a quiz?"
"You're hopeless."
That shut her up — not because it was harsh, but because it felt like a diagnosis. Delivered clinically. No malice. Just fact.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You've got people skills like a cactus."
But he was already ignoring her again.
What Ashleen didn't know — what she couldn't know — was that Anik had read the web novel this world was based on. Cover to cover. Twice. He'd stumbled upon it during a bad weekend, and it had hooked him like a spell. The story was brutal, brilliant, and terrifyingly real now that he was in it.
He knew this scenario wasn't meant for her. According to the novel, Ashleen had been supposed to enter the battlefield alone — without a partner. Her survival odds? Less than 5%. Which prove to be true as she does die. But something, somewhere, had glitched. And now he was here. Watching her. Calculating.
"I asked you something earlier," Ashleen said, breaking the silence. "Why didn't you join that guy when he spoke to you?"
Anik's expression didn't change, but a shadow flickered in his eyes.
"That guy's off."
"You mean the tall one? He seemed chill. Kind of smiley."
"He's not what he seems."
In the original story, that "smiley" man had murdered Ashleen in the end. Technically, the action was justifiable — but Anik remembered it. And he remembered hating it.
"I think you're just antisocial," she muttered.
He didn't answer. Again.
Another guy approached — tall, tan-skinned, easy grin. "Yo. You two already paired?"
Ashleen turned, relieved for a change in energy. "Yeah. I guess we are."
The guy pointed at Anik. "I tried talking to him. Total weirdo. Ignored me."
Anik didn't even glance at him.
"But you two? You're... interesting."
He shrugged. "If emotion reading has limits, it's you two. The psychopath and the puzzle box."
Ashleen blinked. "Wait. Emotion reading?"
"Yeah. My skill. It's not mind reading, but it's close. I can feel surface-level stuff. Except…" He pointed between her and Anik. "You? Static. Him? Steel wall."
Ashleen frowned. She hadn't felt particularly closed-off lately. If anything, she was too readable. The fact that she wasn't? That unsettled her.
"Anyway," the guy added, "good luck. This scenario's not kind."
Before she could ask more, he drifted away.
Ashleen looked back at Anik. "You know a lot more than you should."
He didn't respond. But she caught him glancing at her timer again. His own read 35:00 now.
She decided to poke the bear. "That creature who summoned us — the mouse thing — it didn't tell us much. Did you get bonus info or something?"
"Some things are obvious if you pay attention."
That evasiveness again.
The next twenty minutes passed in awkward, silent waiting. She sat against the wall, eyes closed, heart too steady for someone trapped in a weird dimension with a time limit and a cold partner. It was always like this for her. The worse things got, the clearer her head became. She used to think it was dissociation. Maybe it was just adaptation.
At the ten-minute mark, Anik finally spoke.
"When we arrive… don't trust kindness. Some NPCs exist to mislead. They'll help the enemy kill you."
"NPCs? Like in a game?"
"No. Like people who aren't real enough to care."
"You make it sound like we'll be separated."
"We will."
Her stomach dropped. "Wait, what?"
"Use your brain and survive."
His tone was steel.
Ashleen clenched her fists. "Why are you even here if you're just going to abandon me?"
"Because your survival messes up the script."
"What script?!"
Anik looked away again. The timer above her head hit zero.
The world shattered. Her head spinned while she felt churning in her stomach.
One blink later, she stood on a street that made no architectural sense — cobbled stone roads wide as highways, crumbling towers beside flickering neon signs, shattered shop windows and broken carriages. A modern-fantasy mashup that felt... broken.
And she wasn't alone.
Twenty people stood nearby, all staring at a battle up ahead — clashing blades, kicks, shouts, and sparks. It looked like a live-action drama mid-fight scene. Beautiful. Terrifying.
"Princess, we'll protect you!" someone shouted.
She turned just as a girl ran toward her — then stopped, squinting.
"Wait... you're the slow girl from earlier!"
"Hi," Ashleen said weakly. "Nice to see you too?"
"What took you so long?!"
Before she could respond, a red warning flashed above their heads.
**Disrespect toward the Princess: -10 points.**
The girl groaned. "Dammit. I forgot. You're *her* now."
"Her?"
"The scenario's princess."
"Oh. Cool. Do I get a tiara?"
"Check your task."
Ashleen blinked and opened her status.
**Task: Survive using your skills.**
No crown. Just survival.
Another person yanked her out of the way — an arrow sliced past her cheek.
"They'll kill you if they can," he said.
"Why?!"
"They win if you die."
"Oh. Fantastic."
As the battle resumed, Ashleen stood back, bringing her breath back to stable from sudden near death experience. Fifty enemies. About twenty allies. No Anik. No help.
But something told her this was just the beginning.
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