The Ravenford Arena was packed—walls trembling with chants and cheers. This was it. The National High School Volleyball Championship. East Nova High versus Raikenzan Academy.

I sat near the upper bleachers, leg propped up, a crutch resting by my side. From up here, I could see everything—formations, gaps, momentum shifts. The roar of the crowd faded in my ears. My eyes followed the rhythm of the game.

A kid next to me, probably around ten, tugged at his friend's sleeve.

"East Nova's gonna win. They've got this in the bag!"

I glanced sideways.

Cute. Naïve.

"Raikenzan's running a delayed pipe setup through the back row," I muttered.

The kid blinked at me. "Huh?"

I pointed subtly with my eyes. "Their middle blocker is hesitating just a little. They're baiting your favorite team into chasing the wings. That's how they'll finish the rally."

A moment later, Raikenzan's ace did exactly that—leaping from the back, slamming the ball through an untouched lane.

East Nova's floor defense? Torn apart.

"Whoa..." the kid whispered. "That was lucky."

"Not luck," I said. "Planned. Raikenzan's captain is baiting Nova's libero out of position. He's overextending."

Raikenzan Academy took the final point with a clean spike down the middle.

Match over.

Just like I said.

The crowd roared, students jumped out of their seats, and the gym pulsed with excitement. But not the kid next to me.

He turned slowly, face scrunched up like I'd spoiled his birthday party.

"This is all because of your stupid mouth! They lost!"

I blinked. Huh. Loyal, I'll give him that—blaming my mouth instead of the team.

Before I could respond, he leaned in, squinting suspiciously.

"So what are you, a volleyball psychic or something?"

"Just someone who's played long enough to read the court," I said, offering a small smile.

His friend squinted at me.

"Wait... aren't you Leon? No. 7—East Nova's ace? Why aren't you playing!?"

I stood up slowly, letting my hoodie fall off my shoulder slightly. My right leg was bandaged and braced. I taped adjusting the forearm crutch on my right arm.

"Had a little accident," I said. "Can't jump with a fractured leg."

The kid's eyes widened, suddenly awkward. "Oh... uh—sorry."

"No big deal." I gave him a light nod and made my way downstairs.

Inside the East Nova locker room, the silence was deafening. My teammates sat scattered, heads down, jerseys soaked in sweat and disappointment.

The captain stepped forward, eyes lowered.

"Leon... I'm sorry. We—lost," he muttered, his voice barely holding steady. "This was your dream. Ever since middle school, you never shut up about Nationals. We... we all promised ourselves we'd win this one—for you."

"Come on, Captain. You guys gave it everything out there," I said, my voice steady. "I couldn't have asked for more."

Then came that familiar voice—stern and cold—from the doorway.

"But they still lost."

I turned. Our coach leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

"No sugarcoating it, Leon. A loss is a loss."

My teammates looked down, the sting of his words settling in.

"You saw it, didn't you?" he added, narrowing his eyes. "The holes in our rotation."

Yeah... I saw it all.

The delayed shifts. The early commitment blocks. The empty pockets in coverage.

But I didn't say any of that.

"...Yeah," I admitted. "But they did their best. That's what matters."

I turned to the team, grinning. "You gave them hell. That's enough. I'm heading home. Take care."

As I limped toward the door, Coach muttered under his breath—just loud enough.

"Only if you were there..."

I paused for half a second—but kept walking.

No point in thinking about that now.

The hallway outside was quiet—until I spotted someone leaning against the wall.

Tetsuya Aoi. Raikenzan's captain.

Tall. Stoic. Always looked like he'd just walked out of a warzone, not a volleyball match.

"Yo, Aoi," I said. "What are you doing here? Your team's busy celebrating."

He looked up, expression unreadable.

He didn't even blink. "I'm not happy with this victory."

"...Really?"

He nodded. "How's the leg?"

"Better than before. I can walk, at least."

Aoi reached behind and grabbed a ball, spinning it once in his palm. "You know, I didn't feel anything today. No tension. No thrill."

He pointed the ball at me.

"Because the one I really wanted to defeat wasn't on that court. It was you."

He held my gaze. "I was looking forward to this match for months. But it seems... some things just don't work out."

He started walking off—then glanced over his shoulder.

"Go home, Leon," he said. "It's just pathetic looking at you like this."

Then he walked off.

I stood there for a long moment, ball in hand.

My fingers curled tightly around it.

"...Yeah."

Some things don't work out.

But someday... they will.

Even broken wings remember how to fly.

---

The morning air in Ravenford was crisp as I limped through the quiet streets, volleyball in my hand and my thoughts drifting far from the pain in my leg.

I would be lying if I said I didn't feel any frustration.
We lost the match—I lost everything I'd worked for.

And yeah... I knew I wasn't supposed to show it.
But that ache in my chest wasn't just from the crutch digging into my side.

I gave up so much for volleyball.
Time for Friends. Fun. Even love—I tossed that idea out ages ago.

Now... I had neither.

Before I realized it, I was standing in front of that store again—the one no one ever seemed to enter.

As always, the shopkeeper sat behind the counter, face hidden behind a newspaper, unmoving. I'd never seen what he actually looked like.

Beside him, a black cat with glowing green eyes stared at me. It always did. Like it knew something I didn't.

Trying to shake off the chill crawling up my spine, I stepped inside.

The store smelled like time—dust, old paper, and forgotten stories. I walked to the familiar shelf.

I traced my fingers over the embossed title of the book—Resonance of her Melody.

A small, almost bitter smile tugged at my lips.

Romance. Music. Two things I normally couldn't care less about. I was a volleyball guy, not a hopeless romantic.

But this series... it pulled me in.

Maybe it was Eldoria—the fictional city that felt weirdly familiar.

Or maybe it was how the story overflowed with emotion, like the author wasn't just writing a tale, but building a world. Side characters had arcs. Backgrounds had history. Every note in the story's music felt like it echoed something real.

But thinking back, it all started with that one conversation.

—

"Bro, why do you look so dead?"

Ryan's voice cut through the cafeteria noise as he sat across from Josh, who was slumped over the table like his soul had left his body.

Josh barely lifted his head, sighing heavily. "She broke up with me."

Ryan let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Damn, man. I feel you. My girlfriend broke up with me last year too. I totally get it."

For a moment, they just sat there, looking at each other in complete silence before nodding in unison. A silent agreement. Maybe an understanding. Or maybe... an acceptance of fate itself?

I watched them, utterly baffled. "I don't get why you're both acting like this. There are tons of other girls out there. Why get stuck on someone who left you for someone else?"

At my words, they both turned to look at each other again. Then, as if rehearsed, they let out a deep sigh.

"You wouldn't understand," Ryan said.

Josh nodded. "Yeah... You've never been in love."

I scoffed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ryan smirked. "Tell me this—have you ever even talked to a girl for more than two minutes?"

I opened my mouth to argue. "Of course I—"

Then I stopped.

Memories flashed through my mind—brief conversations with classmates, polite small talk with the volleyball team's manager, the occasional 'thank you' to waitresses.

I mean, come on—I'm an introvert, and for my level, I think it was the best I could do.

...But yeah. None of them lasted more than two minutes.

Josh raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

I let out an awkward cough, looking away.

They sighed again.

—

That conversation stuck with me more than I wanted to admit. And before I knew it, I found myself trying to understand love the only way I could—through fiction.

Movies, novels, series—I went through them all, thinking they might give me some kind of insight. But the more I watched, the less it made sense.

Characters who barely knew each other would coincidentally find themselves in perfect situations to grow close. Every misunderstanding was conveniently resolved. Love confessions always happened at the exact right moment. It all felt too smooth, too scripted—like the universe itself was forcing them together.

And don't even get me started on love at first sight.

Sometimes, I laughed at how absurd it was. Other times, I was just confused.

By the time I had gone through enough stories, I reached my ultimate conclusion—

"Yep. I don't understand a damn thing."

At the end of the day, the only real way to understand love was to experience it myself by talking with girl I like.

But I had a goal—to play in tournaments and win nationals.

Love? That was a luxury I didn't have time for.

But I won't lie... the more I watched those stories, the more I realized how lonely my life was.

I couldn't even say I had one proper female friend. Sure, I talked a lot with volleyball team managers, but those relationships were strictly professional. They had their own jobs to do. Talk when necessary. Stay in their own lanes. No more, no less.

There was no closeness. No warmth. Just... routine..

So, I put the thought away.

--

As I reached for the book, a small realization hit me.

This might actually be the first time my ship wins.

Emilia and the protagonist—it had been building up for volumes now. Hints, subtle moments, little details that made their relationship feel inevitable. The perfect setup.

A quiet chuckle escaped me.

I shook my head, pushing the thought away as I paid for the book and left the store. The shopkeeper barely glanced up from his newspaper, but the cat... those eerie green eyes followed me until I stepped out into the street.

---

Back in my room, I flipped open the book, the soft rustling of pages filling the silence.

As I was reading the book, a thought surfaced.

Whenever I read this around 7 PM, there's always that violin melody coming from somewhere.

It was faint, but unmistakable. A delicate, almost melancholic tune.

I had tried searching for the source a few times—checked the neighboring apartments, walked around the block—but I never found anyone playing.

Maybe the novel's musical descriptions were just that vivid, so much so that my mind started playing the melody on its own.

Yeah...that had to be it.

My heart raced as I reached the final chapters. The heroine, after all the struggles, was finally with the protagonist. My ship was winning.

I reached for my phone, dialing my friend.

"Dude, my ship is actually gonna win! She's almost with him—"

I turned the page.

A truck. Out of nowhere. Crashed into her.

She died.

The phone nearly slipped from my hands.

"What...?" My voice came out in a whisper.

My friend picked up. "Yo?"

"...Did you read the latest volume?"

Silence. Then, a laugh.

"Judging by your voice, you saw her death scene, huh? So what do you think of this ending, Mr. Leon?"

I clenched my fists. "This... This is bullshit! The story was structured so well, but this ending ruined everything! She didn't deserve that!"

"Yeah, I hear ya," he replied casually, like we were talking about the weather. "But I think Emilia didn't have any real chemistry with the protagonist. Everything felt kinda forced, you know? His childhood friend had a way more meaningful connection with him, so honestly... I'm kind of satisfied with this ending."

"...You're satisfied with Emilia getting hit by a truck?" I asked.

I heard him stifle another laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" I couldn't help but ask him.

"Dude, someone already made a meme about it. Apparently, people are saying she got isekai'd."

I could practically hear the smugness in his voice.

I hung up.

Anger simmered within me. How could they write such a beautiful story... only to destroy it with an ending like this?

Frustrated, I tossed the book onto my desk and collapsed onto my bed, shutting my eyes.

---

Sleep came slowly, anger still simmering in my chest.

Then, a voice.

"So, you think I messed up the ending?"

My eyes shot open.

The room was dark, but something felt... off. I looked around, but there was no one.

The voice came again.

From the book.

I scrambled to get out of bed, reaching for the door, but it wouldn't budge.

Then, the book flipped open by itself. The pages of every volume on my shelf began tearing away, flying into the air. They gathered, swirling, merging into a single book.

I took a step back, my breath caught in my throat.

Then, it shined.

A blinding light swallowed me whole.

I was falling.

The world around me burst into a spectrum of colors, a vortex of light pulling me deeper and deeper. The sensation of weightlessness, of being carried through space and time, overtook me.

Ahead, a white light grew larger, consuming everything.

---

A scent—faint but familiar.

The smell of a railway station.

Distant echoes of announcements rang in my ears, blending into the rhythmic clatter of trains.

Slowly, I opened my eyes.

A gentle breeze brushed against my skin, the air fresher than anything I had ever breathed before.

I glanced around.

Few people.

Unfamiliar surroundings.

Then—

My eyes landed on the large stone sign near the station's exit.

Eldoria Station.

My breath caught.

No. That wasn't possible.

I took a step closer, my hands trembling slightly as I traced the engraved letters. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe I was dreaming.

But I needed confirmation.

I turned to a nearby man—an older gentleman with a newspaper tucked under his arm.

"Excuse me, sir," I asked, trying to sound calm. "Where am I?"

He barely glanced at me before replying, "Eldoria Station, of course. You need directions or something?"

Eldoria.

He said it so naturally, as if the name belonged to reality and not the pages of a book.

I staggered back, my heart pounding in my chest.

No matter how many people I asked, the answer remained the same.

The same Eldoria from book.

The same fictional world I had spent hours reading about.

I pressed a hand against my forehead, forcing myself to think. I wasn't dead—at least, I didn't feel dead. So then... how?

Was this a dream? A hallucination? Some ridiculous prank?

As I struggled to process everything, a voice cut through the noise.

"Leon?"

I turned toward the voice and—

A maid.

Her brown hair fell past her shoulders in elegant waves, framing a face that was as sharp as it was expressionless. Her green eyes, cold and calculating, regarded me with a mix of mild recognition and thinly veiled disinterest—like a teacher forced to acknowledge an underperforming student.

More importantly.

She was looking beautiful.

Somehow, that made this whole situation even harder to grasp.

"...Y-Yeah, I'm Leon," I said, my voice slightly unsteady. "May I ask how you know me?"

For a moment, she didn't answer. Instead, she simply looked at me.

Then, in a tone as cool as the evening breeze, she finally spoke.

"You are from Ravenford, correct?"