Arzen turned slowly, his eyes locking onto a tall young man with neat black hair that hung just past his ears. The black-haired guy approached, his warm brown eyes sparkling with playful energy that seemed to brighten the room. The sight of him made Arzen’s heart skip a beat. He quickly pushed his notes under a pile of books, trying to steady his trembling hands.

'Great. Just what I need right now.'

The name Hanjun Lan surfaced in Arzen’s mind, accompanied by memories that felt both familiar and foreign. In this world, Hanjun had been Arzen’s closest friend since childhood—someone who knew him inside and out. That thought sent a spike of fear through Arzen’s chest. 

‘What if Hanjun noticed something was off?’ 

Arzen forced his face into a calm expression, though it took everything in him to suppress the rising panic. He had to act like this world’s Arzen, had to be convincing, or Hanjun would see right through him.

Hanjun Lan, oblivious to Arzen's internal struggle, approached with the confidence of someone who had spent years knowing exactly how to get under his friend's skin. He had always been the kind of friend who could read Arzen like a book, picking up on his moods even before Arzen himself realized what was wrong. Today, however, something felt off to Hanjun. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a subtle shift in Arzen’s demeanor—something he hadn’t seen before. Still, Hanjun dismissed it as just another one of Arzen’s moods, though a small part of him remained curious and a bit concerned.

"A transmigration novel, huh? Did you even finish that other one, or did you leave it hanging like you always do?"

'Oh, crap.' 

Arzen panicked internally. His memories felt scattered, like a bookshelf knocked over with everything in disarray. He needed to respond in a way that wouldn’t raise suspicion. He had to play along, even if every word felt like it was coming from someone else’s script.

"Still working on it."

Arzen replied automatically, his eyes flicking away from Hanjun’s intense gaze. He hoped Hanjun wouldn’t notice the slight tremble in his hands. 

Hanjun noticed, of course—he noticed everything about Arzen, even the little things. The slight shake in Arzen’s hands was unusual, but Hanjun decided not to push. He could tell something was off, but he didn’t want to press too hard. Instead, he continued his teasing, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sure, sure. Like that one with the magical academy? What was it called? 'The Chronicles of the Half-Finished Plot'?"

Arzen almost sighed in relief as a memory clicked into place.

"The Chronicles of the Fallen Star."

Arzen corrected softly, trying to keep his voice steady. It felt strange to say the title aloud, like he was pulling it from a distant place in his mind that didn’t quite belong to him.

Hanjun grinned, but there was a hint of something deeper in his eyes—concern, perhaps? He couldn’t shake the feeling that Arzen wasn’t entirely himself today.

"Well, maybe you should transmigrate into that one and finish it from the inside."

'Haha, if only you knew…'

Arzen thought, managing a small, sheepish smile. His fingers tapped nervously against his thigh—a habit that had followed him even into this new world.

As Hanjun’s teasing continued, Arzen’s mind drifted back to the unsettling similarities between himself and this world’s Arzen. The more he thought about it, the creepier it became. Both were headstrong and quiet, both kept others at arm’s length. This world’s Arzen had his own set of boundaries, avoided getting involved in others' business, and wasn’t exactly keen on accepting kindness, just like him. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror—everything was just slightly off.

Arzen knew he couldn’t afford to dwell on his thoughts. This wasn’t his life, and these weren’t his friends. If he didn’t stick to the script, someone might notice the cracks, and his chances of getting back to his real world would vanish.

‘No matter what, I need to keep it together long enough to figure out how to get back. And I sure as hell don’t want to be locked up in a mental hospital.'

Just as Arzen was starting to calm down, the bathroom door swung open, and Elden burst in, freshly showered and humming the latest pop tune. Elden, with his relentless energy and magnetic presence, was the kind of person who could make even the most mundane day feel like an adventure. His enthusiasm was infectious, though sometimes overwhelming, especially for someone like Arzen who preferred the quiet. Elden’s mere presence could fill a room with a warmth that drew people in, and he had a way of making everyone feel like they were the center of his attention.

"Hey, Hanjun! Perfect timing. Let's grab some food—I'm starving!" 

Elden exclaimed, rubbing his stomach for emphasis.

Hanjun straightened up, his gaze lingering on Arzen just a little too long. He knew Arzen better than anyone, and while he didn’t want to pry, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was different today. Still, he decided to let it slide for now—Arzen had his moods, and Hanjun had learned to navigate them with a mix of teasing and silent support.

"Well, I guess I’ll go if Zenzen is coming along."

Hanjun said, his tone light, though his eyes flicked to Arzen with a hint of concern.

Arzen’s heart sank. The thought of joining them for dinner filled him with dread. More interactions meant more chances to mess up. The idea of sitting through a meal while pretending to be okay with this bizarre situation was about as appealing as eating glass.

"I... I don’t think I’ll join you guys for dinner." 

Arzen stammered, his voice doing that annoying wobbly thing. Smooth, real smooth, he chided himself internally.

And then, because the universe clearly had a sense of humor, Arzen’s stomach let out a loud, dramatic growl. He froze, cheeks burning, as Hanjun and Elden burst into laughter.

"Pfft… Hahaha… Come on, Zenzen," Elden managed between laughs.

"Just join us before the monster in your stomach stages a rebellion!" Elden continued, his eyes shining with the kind of carefree joy that made it impossible to say no.

"Yeah, you wouldn’t want us to have to rescue you from yourself, right?" Hanjun added, grinning like a Cheshire cat, his earlier concern momentarily forgotten in the face of Arzen’s obvious need for food.

‘Arghh!! Seriously? Could you be any louder?!’ 

Arzen thought, mentally scolding his own stomach for betraying him at the worst possible moment.

Feeling defeated and outnumbered, Arzen nodded and followed along, each step feeling like a march to his doom. He tried to keep it together, telling himself that it would be fine as long as he played his part well. Hanjun and Elden seemed to be buying it for now, but how long could he keep up the act? The thought made his stomach churn with anxiety.

Meanwhile, Hanjun and Elden exchanged a quick look as they led the way to the cafeteria. They both knew Arzen better than anyone, as long as they could get some food in him, everything would be back to normal—or so they hoped.

Near dinner time, the cafeteria buzzed with students wrapping up their clubs or extra classes. The place was impressive—spacious, with polished floors that gleamed underfoot, reflecting the sleek, modern design that practically screamed luxury. Posters for the upcoming school festival were plastered on the walls, adding pops of color and excitement to the scene. It was nothing like the worn-down cafeteria Arzen was used to in his old world, yet everything here felt unsettlingly familiar to him. 

As Arzen grabbed a tray, his hands moved on autopilot. He knew exactly where the utensils were, how to weave through the food line, and where to find the condiments. It was as if his body was on cruise control, guided by muscle memory from a life he hadn’t actually lived. 

A chill ran down his spine as he realized how natural it all felt. 

Hanjun and Elden led the way to a table, with Arzen trailing behind like a well-trained puppy. As he plopped down into his seat, his gaze immediately landed on a bird outside the window. The little feathered show-off was hopping around without a care in the world, probably planning its next gourmet feast of discarded crumbs. 

Meanwhile, Arzen was stuck in this twisted reality, struggling to figure out who he was supposed to be. For a split second, he seriously envied that bird—no weird realities, no confusing identities, just living the simple life of pecking at crumbs and flying free.

As Arzen’s gaze drifted back to the cafeteria, he noticed a growing crowd in the middle of the room. At the center of it all was a girl with long, wavy hair, her face flushed with anger, and a guy who looked like he should have been starring in some overly glamorous ad—if not for the current state he was in. The scene might have been amusing if it weren’t for the prick of recognition that slammed into Arzen when he noticed the mole under the guy’s eye. Of course, it had to be him—because why wouldn’t fate throw more nonsense his way today?

Carsel. 

Arzen’s eyes took in Carsel’s current predicament—a far cry from the image of perfection he usually has. Carsel stood there, drenched from head to toe in what looked like seaweed soup. His once perfectly tousled hair was now plastered to his head, strands of seaweed tangled within it, and the greenish-brown liquid dripped down his face and uniform, creating a small puddle at his feet. 

Arzen’s mind scrambled to remember the details from that extra chapter he vaguely recalled.

'The incident where this world’s Arzen was supposed to be involved in is not in the cafeteria. I’m sure of it.' 

Arzen wasn’t certain about the flow of the story beyond that specific incident, and frankly, getting involved in whatever drama was unfolding now seemed like a terrible idea.

'Yeah, better to just stay the hell out of it.'

Arzen resolved himself, quickly looking away and focusing on the food in front of him, though his appetite had vanished. He tried to tune out the scene, but the girl’s voice rose even more, sharp and angry, making it impossible to ignore. Despite himself, Arzen’s eyes kept drifting back to the chaos, sneaking glances at the situation spiraling out of control.

The girl’s hands clenched into fists, she was clearly not in the mood for subtleties. 

“Stop pretending, Carsel! Everyone knows how fake you are!” 

Her voice sliced through the cafeteria chatter like a knife.

Carsel, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but there, tried to defend himself. 

“Mila, please! I don't ... W-Why are you doing this to me?”

“You always act like the victim, but I see through your act!” 

Mila’s hands tightened even more, her knuckles turning white.

“You think you can fool everyone, but not me.”

Carsel looked around, his slender frame seeming even more fragile under Mila’s intense glare.

“I’m not pretending, I swear. I don’t know why you hate me so much.”

“Because you’re always trying to slander me! I know it’s you spreading those rumors about me!”

Mila’s words dripped with venom.

Just as the tension hit a breaking point, a guy with messy black hair and piercing blue eyes stepped forward, placing himself protectively in front of Carsel. His tall, lean frame radiated confidence, and the casual way he rolled up his sleeves suggested he was no stranger to confrontations.

“Mila! You’re a young lady from a respectable family. How can you act like this over a bit of gossip?”

The guy’s tone was calm, but there was a firmness to it that made it clear he wasn’t backing down. Mila’s gaze shifted to the black-haired guy. 

“Stay out of this, Alex. This is between me and him.”

Alex didn’t budge.  

“Just because you don’t like someone doesn’t mean you can treat them like sh*t!”

“Do you think I would act like this if he hadn't started it first?!”

Mila’s face contorted with anger, her eyes widening.

“Stop bothering Carsel! Why would he do that to you? Do you even have proof?”

Carsel, looking both confused and embarrassed, tugged at Alex’s sleeve.

“Alex, please stop. And Mila, I apologize if I’ve done anything to upset you.”

At that moment, there was someone who had been quietly watching the scene from a distance, and decided enough was enough.