“Oh shoot! I haven’t ordered a new suit for next month's charity event!”

"The Loen family, right? The one for Marcus Loen’s Memorial Charity Gala?"

Yuriel frowned slightly, his brow furrowing as he remembered his own obligations. 

"Yeah! It slipped my mind completely! My father and brother are going to kill me if I don’t attend!"

“Hm, yeah, I also need to attend, mostly because some of the art in the charity gala is from my mother’s private collection.”

Yuriel nodded, setting his utensils aside and dabbing his mouth with a napkin.

Yuriel then glanced at Hanjun, curious. 

“You attending, Hanjun?”

“Maybe. It depends on whether I can find something better to do.”

Hanjun leaned back, his chair creaking as he shrugged casually, a smirk on his lips. Arzen, sitting nearby, took another bite of his food, staring off into space. He poked at his meal with his fork, looking bored as he lost interest in the conversation around him.

After dinner, the group walked back to the dorm, leaving the busy sounds of the cafeteria behind. Elden, ever the storyteller, was recounting a funny incident from his class, his voice animated and full of life. Yuriel walked beside him, nodding along with a small smile, his eyes occasionally flicking to Elden with quiet amusement. 

Hanjun, walking next to Arzen, glanced at him, his usual teasing smirk fading for a moment. Something about Arzen’s silence didn’t sit right with him. He was used to Arzen being reserved, but this was different—more distant. 

Yuriel, ever the observer, noticed the subtle shift in Arzen’s demeanor and Hanjun’s concerned face, but kept his thoughts to himself..

Arzen's steps grew heavier with each passing moment. The laughter and banter that surrounded him—so warm and familiar to the others—felt suffocating to him, like an unwanted spotlight he couldn't escape. This world’s Arzen fit perfectly into the scene: surrounded by friends who cared about him, who shared countless inside jokes and memories. But the Arzen walking with them? He was just a stand-in, trying to keep up with a script he didn't know.

'What is the universe trying to do here?' 

Arzen’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he watched the scene unfold—a bitterness he couldn’t quite shake off.

'Is this some kind of sick joke? Look, here’s another Arzen, but this one has a life a thousand times better than yours. How do you feel?'

Everything about this world was a creepy imitation of his own. It was all just close enough to be recognizable, yet different enough to make his skin crawl. The buildings, the people, even the little details—they were all slightly off, like someone had tried to recreate his life from memory but missed a few crucial bits.

Despite being surrounded by friendly faces, Arzen had never felt more out of place. No matter how hard he tried to play the part, he knew he’d never truly belong here.

Once they reached the dorm, the nightly routine kicked in. Elden hummed a tune as he organized his desk, his energy undiminished despite the late hour. Yuriel, meticulous as ever, folded his clothes with practiced precision, each motion smooth and deliberate. Hanjun lay sprawled on his bed, fingers dancing across his phone screen as if he were handling something of great importance. They all seemed so comfortable, so perfectly at ease in this life, while Arzen felt like he was struggling to keep his head above water.

Arzen moved through the motions—showering, climbing into his bunk, pulling the covers over himself like a shield against the world. The room was alive with the familiar rustling of sheets and the low murmur of conversations, but to him, it all felt distant, like he was an outsider peering into someone else’s life.

He was exhausted, his stomach twisted in knots, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of utter defeat. It hadn’t even been a full day since he’d woken up in that classroom, desperately trying to deny this bizarre new reality. And now here he was, lying in this world’s Arzen’s bed, surrounded by his so-called best friends.

Arzen couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt when it came to Hanjun. From this world’s Arzen’s memories, he knew they had a history—a long, complicated one. Hanjun had been there through it all, the good and the bad. But now, this world’s Arzen was gone, and Arzen was left playing a role he never auditioned for.

The thought gnawed at him as he finally drifted off to sleep, the weight of this bizarre new reality pressing down on him.

Morning came way too fast, with sunlight sneaking through the curtains like it owned the place. Arzen felt like he hadn’t slept at all, his mind still stuck on yesterday’s chaos. Yuriel was already up and about, moving around like the morning person he always was. 

Unlike Arzen, Yuriel had probably slept like a baby, though his sharp eyes did catch the tired look on Arzen’s face. He wondered if Arzen was okay but figured it wasn’t the time to start playing therapist.

Elden, of course, was still out cold, sprawled across his bed like a dead starfish. The guy could probably sleep through an earthquake. Arzen couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous—at least Elden wasn’t waking up with a head full of existential dread.

Hanjun, the early riser, was just starting to wake up, his brain already running through the day’s to-do list before his eyes were even open. When he noticed Arzen getting dressed, he gave him a quick once-over, his eyes narrowing slightly. Hanjun had a knack for noticing when things were off, and he was definitely filing this away for later.

Arzen slipped out of bed carefully, heading to the bathroom. Maybe a cold shower would make him feel like less of a zombie. The water was freezing, but it did little to shake off the exhaustion clinging to him. As the water poured over him, his thoughts drifted to more pressing matters: Carsel and Raizel—the big shots from that extra chapter—were definitely best avoided like the plague. The last thing he needed was to get sucked into whatever drama this world had planned. He’d read enough transmigration novels to know that getting too involved usually ended in disaster. And let’s be real, he wasn’t exactly the lucky type or some hidden genius. He was just a regular guy, an orphan with no special skills or talents. The thought made him sigh as the cold water continued to pour over him.

Frustration bubbled up, making him clench his fists under the stream. But really, what was the point? No one back in his old world would miss him, and no one here really cared for him either. The care and concern his new "friends" showed weren’t for him—they were meant for someone else, and that reality twisted his gut in knots.

With no clear way out, Arzen felt stuck. His only option was to play his part and wait for that scene from the extra chapter where he was supposed to show up. Until then, he had to be careful—really careful. Maybe, just maybe, a solution would pop up out of nowhere. But until then, he was stuck in this weird, twisted reality, playing a role in a life that didn’t belong to him.

Meanwhile, back in the room, Yuriel kept an eye on the bathroom door, his concern for Arzen growing. He wasn’t about to start an interrogation, but he’d definitely be watching Arzen more closely today.

As Arzen stepped out of the bathroom, still toweling off his hair, he moved through the dorm room with an ease that surprised even him. Every detail of this unfamiliar yet familiar place, every step he took, came automatically. His body knew the layout, the exact spot where his clothes were, even where he usually tossed his towel. It was like he was on autopilot, his movements so ingrained that he didn’t have to think twice. It was unsettling, deeply so.

Yuriel’s calm, observing gaze caught his eye. Of course, Yuriel would be the one to pick up on something being wrong. The guy had a sixth sense for this stuff. Arzen forced a smile that he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt. Yuriel nodded back, though not entirely convinced.

'Great, the last thing I need is Mr. Perfect playing detective.' 

The thought passed through Arzen’s mind, unaware that Yuriel had already made a mental note to keep closer tabs on him throughout the day.

Elden shifted in his sleep, still blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. Hanjun, now fully awake and alert, observed Arzen as he finished getting dressed. The slight hesitation in Arzen’s movements didn’t go unnoticed, and Hanjun added it to his growing list of things to figure out.

Arzen, feeling the weight of their eyes on him, tried to keep his movements natural, but his mind was racing. He gave a quick nod to his roommates, hoping to avoid any questions. Hanjun’s raised eyebrow signaled he wasn’t fooled, but he stayed silent, for now. Yuriel, still watching Arzen as if trying to solve a puzzle, offered a small wave.

'Perfect. Just what I needed.' 

Arzen could practically feel the weight of their scrutiny as he made his way out, trying to appear casual even though he was anything but. The dorm room faded behind him as he stepped into the hallway, his movements automatic, like his body knew this routine better than he did. It was unsettling as if this world had programmed him to act the part.

The early morning silence in the school was almost eerie, the kind that made everything feel just a bit off. The buildings looked familiar enough, but there was always something slightly different.

When he reached the classroom, a few students were already inside, dragging themselves through the motions of early risers. Raizel was there, predictably, with Carsel leaning in close, talking like his life depended on it. Arzen kept his movements minimal, pulling out his notebook and placing it on the desk in front of him, trying to stay under the radar.

‘Right, of course, Mr. Perfect is already here. Top of the class, top of the grade—why wouldn’t he be early?’

The sarcastic thought echoed in Arzen’s mind as he slid into his seat behind Raizel, deciding then and there not to arrive early again.

"You know, Raizel, I think we should form a study group. The exams are near."

Carsel’s voice was dripping with a mix of determination and desperation. Raizel didn’t even bother to look up, his eyes glued to his book as if Carsel had asked him to sign up for a pyramid scheme.

"I am not interested."

Carsel, not one to take a hint, leaned in closer.

"But, I reaaally... really need your help!!" Fingers tapped lightly on the edge of Raizel’s desk, like that would somehow make his case more compelling.

"I don't have time."

Raizel’s hand hovered over the next page, ready to turn it as if this conversation was barely a blip on his radar.

"Come on, the new café near campus would be perfect for a study group. What do you think?"

The page turned, Raizel’s fingers moving with precise indifference. Silence followed.

"Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!"

"No."

The word was as cold and final as a door slamming shut. Carsel’s lips curled into a pout as he leaned forward, eyes wide with determination.

“I heard they have amazing sweets and pastries!”

“Not interested.”

‘Wow… did the temperature just drop to zero?’ 

Arzen couldn’t help but think as he quietly flipped open his notebook, pretending to be engrossed in his notes, though his attention was completely on the drama unfolding before him.

“But you like sweets! All my friends say they have the best chocolate muffin!”

“Is that so.” Raizel’s response was flat, almost mechanical.

“Let’s go there this Saturday!”

“I am busy.”

Carsel’s frustration was palpable, his brows furrowing and his hands clenching into fists as he struggled to keep the conversation going.

"Hey! At least say that you'll think about it?"

"Hmm." Raizel gave a slight nod, just enough to make Carsel finally sit back in his chair, looking defeated. He kept glancing at Raizel, who seemed perfectly content to act like the conversation had never happened.

Arzen leaned back in his chair, flipping a page in his notebook just for show. He watched as Carsel fidgeted with a pen, occasionally glancing back at Raizel.

‘Wait a minute... Aren’t these two supposed to be childhood friends? And maybe even... more? That extra chapter made it seem like they were practically joined at the hip. But Raizel’s giving Carsel the cold shoulder like Carsel’s some annoying telemarketer. What the hell?’

Arzen’s mind raced with questions as more students entered the classroom. In the extra chapter he had read, Carsel was described as composed and confident, but here he was, acting like a lovesick puppy. None of this matched the narrative Arzen remembered. Something was definitely off.