A voice pulled me from the swirling darkness of my thoughts.
It was deep and stern, the kind of tone that demanded attention. I blinked, slowly lifting my head, and turned toward the source.
The middle-aged man at the front of the classroom.
My tear-blurred eyes focused on him. His posture was firm, authoritative—he was clearly the instructor here. But as soon as he opened his mouth again, I froze.
His voice… his tone… his words—none of it made any sense.
I didn't understand a single thing.
'What the hell…?'
I stared in disbelief, watching his lips move with precise articulation.
Sounds came out—coherent ones, clearly part of some language—but to me, it was like listening to a dog bark.
There was rhythm, even intonation, but no meaning. Nothing clicked. No familiarity. Just gibberish.
It was frustrating in the worst way—like standing in the middle of a crowd, screaming for help, only to be met with polite, smiling faces speaking an entirely different language.
Eventually, the man seemed to wrap up whatever he was saying. He gathered his things and exited the room with confident strides.
I didn't need to be a genius to guess the gist of his final words.
"Class is dismissed. I'm done. You're free to go."
Something along those lines.
I watched as students began to rise from their seats.
Some stretched, others yawned, and a few immediately gravitated toward their friends.
The classroom buzzed with chatter, laughter, and casual conversations.
They moved from desk to desk, greeting one another, nudging each other playfully, teasing and smiling.
A completely normal scene.
Warm. Lively.
How long had it been since I had done the same?
Sat in a room and talked with friends?
Laughed without thinking?
Existed without the burden of constantly looking after someone or worrying about tomorrow?
I tried to recall, but it didn't really matter how long it had been.
Because I'd given up those things willingly.
I had left behind that kind of warmth and normalcy the moment I chose to dedicate myself to something far more important.
To someone far more important.
My brother.
Kenji.
His smile, his laughter, his stubborn tantrums, his quiet determination—that was my treasure. My purpose.
The very axis of my world. Watching him grow, providing for him, being there for him… it gave my life meaning.
It was everything I had ever desired.
But that was then.
The past.
And I knew—Kenji would never have wanted his brother to look like this. Sitting hunched over a desk, eyes puffy from crying, shaking like a scared child.
He'd never forgive me for being so pathetic.
Crying about something I couldn't change. Mourning a fate that was already sealed.
He was stronger than me in so many ways.
So now… I had to be stronger, too.
No more tears.
No more self-pity.
It was time to stand up, take a breath, and figure things out.
First and foremost—assess the situation.
From everything I'd seen and felt, I was in a world far different from the one I had known.
A fantasy-type setting, if the décor and outfits were anything to go by.
Ornate marble ceilings, floating chandeliers, styluses glowing with neon light instead of chalk—that wasn't something you'd find in a modern university back home.
The clothes, too, screamed fantasy.
Every student wore a uniform—a crisp white shirt, black trousers, and a deep blue coat embroidered with a symbol of water splashing.
Some kind of crest, maybe? A faction emblem? A school insignia?
Whatever it was, I matched them.
I was in a classroom, seated among them, wearing the same uniform.
So it stood to reason—I was a student here.
Possibly around eighteen or nineteen, if I judged the others by appearance.
I had likely transmigrated into someone's body. That, or I had been recreated as someone new in this world.
Either way, I had no memories of this identity's past.
No clues, no whispers, not even a flash of insight. Just a blank slate—and my own memories from my previous life.
That… wasn't reassuring.
And the language issue?
Yeah. That was a problem.
A huge problem.
I was in a foreign world, in a body that didn't belong to me, surrounded by strangers who spoke a dialect I couldn't even begin to comprehend.
No understanding of the words. No way to ask questions. No means to communicate.
I was isolated in every sense of the word.
And isolation, in a place like this, was dangerous.
More dangerous than I wanted to admit.
Because without communication, there was no way to ask for help.
No way to learn, to adapt, to find a foothold in this reality.
It wasn't just inconvenient—it was life-threatening.
I closed my eyes briefly, grounding myself. My heart was still racing, but I steadied my breath.
One step at a time. First, survive. Then understand. Then adapt.
That's how it had always been, right?
Even back in the old world.
No matter how impossible something seemed, you just had to take that first step.
No crying. No breaking down.
Just moving forward.
My gaze drifted toward the green board at the front of the classroom, half-hoping—desperately, really—that I could glean something useful from it.
Maybe a word. A diagram. A hint.
But as my eyes adjusted, I realized it was utterly alien.
The surface was scrawled with intricate symbols—lines and shapes woven into complex geometric patterns.
Hexagons, octagons… even some decagonal figures clustered together like some arcane mandala.
Smaller runes and glyphs spiraled inside the larger shapes, forming what I could only assume were formulas or theoretical models.
Magic? It had to be.
This world was definitely not Earth.
That much was certain.
If I wasn't in some advanced simulation, then I had either transmigrated, reincarnated, or something far beyond the realm of logic had occurred.
I'd given up trying to reason with it—now I just had to accept and adapt.
Leaning back on the wooden bench, I rested my forefinger against my lips, my mind brooding over my options.
'How should I deal with this…?'
I couldn't understand the language.
I couldn't read the board.
I didn't even know my name in this world.
But I wasn't completely helpless. Not yet.
The first thought that crossed my mind—and probably the most reasonable—was to find a library.
A place with books. Text. Information. Maybe, if I was lucky, I'd stumble across some beginner's material.
"How to Speak Like a Local: Toddler Edition!" or "Language Guide for Dummies!"
Anything. I wasn't picky.
Step one to survival was communication. And learning their language was non-negotiable.
I nodded to myself, making a silent decision.
Operation: Library Hunt—commence.
I immediately stood up, eager to get moving before I lost the little motivation I had.
However, reality had other plans.
I was seated at the edge of a shared two-person desk, and unfortunately, my side was blocked by the wall.
The only way out was to pass through the girl seated beside me.
So, I stood still for a second, unsure how to proceed.
She hadn't noticed me. Or maybe she had, and just didn't care.
Her face was buried in a thick book, eyes glued to the pages as if the entire universe resided within the text.
She didn't move, didn't even flinch when I stood up. Completely absorbed.
'Such a studious student…' I thought, mildly impressed.
But admiration wasn't going to get me out of this seat.
And I wasn't exactly in the mood to draw attention to myself with unintelligible words or awkward gestures.
So, taking a deep breath, I gently nudged her shoulder.
Her head turned slowly, and that was the first time I saw her face clearly.
Sharp, piercing crimson eyes locked onto mine.
A chill stabbed down my spine. My breath caught.
There was something unnerving about her gaze—not just the color, though the blood-red irises certainly didn't help.
It was the way she looked at me. Cold. Calm. Calculating. As if she could end me with a flick of her wrist if I gave her a reason.
My back instantly drenched in sweat.
'She's terrifying…'
But then, without warning, the intensity in her eyes softened.
A gentle smile curved across her lips—unexpectedly warm and stunningly beautiful.
The shift in her expression was so abrupt it nearly gave me whiplash.
She rose from her seat gracefully and stepped aside, giving me space to move.
I exhaled in relief, then bowed slightly in thanks. Words were still a problem, so gestures would have to do for now.
I moved forward.
But I hadn't taken more than a few steps before something caught the corner of my eye.
A girl was approaching from the side, arms stacked high with a precarious tower of books—so tall that her face was completely obscured.
She was moving quickly, unaware of her surroundings, her balance teetering on the edge of disaster.
She was headed straight for the crimson-eyed girl.
My instincts kicked in.
Without thinking, I stepped between them, intercepting the walking mountain of literature.
My hands shot out, catching the books and steadying the girl before she could fall flat on her face.
The weight was more than I expected—seriously, how many books was she carrying?!
The girl blinked in surprise as I helped her regain her balance.
And then, something strange happened.
A translucent notification appeared before my eyes—glowing softly, hovering in the air like a hologram.
⟨You have escaped your destined death⟩
⟨Congratulations!!!⟩
⟨You have unlocked the System: "Narrative Drift"⟩
'Destined death? What the actual f—?!'
My heart pounded.
I stared at the floating text in shock, unable to process it.
What death?
That collision?
Had the red-eyed girl really been dangerous? Or had something else been meant to happen if I hadn't intervened?
And what the hell was this System?
Narrative Drift?
Was this some kind of RPG element?
Was I inside a game-like world?
My brain was reeling, questions stacking faster than the books in the girl's hands.
But one thing was clear: my life had just taken a turn. Again.