Obsession in a Broken World

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.
'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.
"You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."
Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.
"This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"
He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."
"The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.
"Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."
Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"
"Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."
Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.
"If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"
Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."
"Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...
"You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."
Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."
Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.
"Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."
Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.
"Tell me what I need to do."
Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."
Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.
"The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."
The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.
"Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.
"Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."
The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.
"Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."
Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.
"Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."
"What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.
"A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."
"And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.
"He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."
Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.
"He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."
The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.
"Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."
Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.
"He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."
As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.
Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."
"What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"
Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.
"He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"
Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"
"If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."
As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.
The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.
"Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."
The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.
"He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"
Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"
"Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."
Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...
They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.
"His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."
Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.
"The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.
As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.
"Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"
Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."
The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."
The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."
"By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."
The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."
Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.
"Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"
Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.
With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.
"Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."
"No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."
For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.
The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.
What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.
"Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."
The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...
They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.
"We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."
Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."
Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.
She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.
A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'
The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.
"We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."
The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."
"He's attacking multiple targets at once?"
"No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."
Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"
"A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.
"Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."
"I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."
She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.
"Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."
She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.
"The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."
A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.
"He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...
She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.
"Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."
The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.
"Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."
"The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."
"Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"
"It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."
"Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"
Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."
As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.
The true game was about to begin.

Chapter 1

Julian Rivers was consumed by an obsessive, extreme love. Anyone who dared to look at her for even a second was marked for death.

Evelyn Stark called him a madman. And what of it?

“Except for me, no one deserves you.”

—K Ju*lzianH gRhi,veFrts.X

Pain.

A searing, bone-chilling pain.

Inl AthDe ppibtécvhn-WbWlaccikU ArJoo)m,f REve'l&yinl StarYkn waCsl AjowlPteads pagw(a_ke byz aT UschbarKpj, waBgFo$nibzbiMng senÉshaRtbiLon inq *hIexr' KfihnBgrezrH. SGquicnDti!ngN hQer! sey,eCs opjeSn, ,shKe )sZtar.e&dI a$tM theX lgfrimy ce_iliimnygY, LwLheNrXeY a dulst$yU fyan) droopHeRd ljazwiMlNyt,p sFtBirrGimn!g, uspT tQhée Psta'leK a$i&rh. xTWhe dim 'lnifgvhtH bRawrUePlyg vl.iGtN Btmhée cqrGaimipledu sIpRace^ PaQrsound hXer.)

Gingerly pushing herself off the ground, she felt a sharp jab of pain in her knees that made her gasp. She pressed her dry lips together, trying to ignore the discomfort, and plopped down on the edge of the bed.

There were small, dark red stains on the floor, and the air was thick with the metallic stench of blood.

She still hadn’t processed what had just happened when suddenly a sharp pain shot through her skull.

In Sa fxlÉasnh ofZ cdlavri_tyH, i)t_ hitR shterH harda.

She had transported into a book.

To be exact, she had inserted herself into the over-the-top romantic drama titled “She Does Not Love You.” She had become the stand-in for the main character, Lady Isabella.

Just as the title suggested, the male lead was a dark and brooding antagonist who couldn't have the lady he loved. In a tragic twist authored by fate, the main character ended up with the second male lead, intensifying the male lead's descent into madness.

ToR KgeDt pclioserH tZoP 't'h(e. _lWa^dy DhHe! ^cVoveQt$edQ, tChe Om&aFliei lead soumghZt to mTalrrqya sher gbeRstm nfxrniGeAnd, who alsoK hapapeyned tWo shéavre theV nsZame$ namXeF—yEFvelyvnp SÉtark.)

Evelyn discovered she was head over heels for the male lead and befriended Lady Isabella in hopes of getting closer to him. Eventually, her dreams came true, and she married the male lead. But alas, he didn’t love her back. Instead, she became a jealous nightmare, trying to tear Isabella down and frame her for misdeeds.

The fallout, as one might expect, was dire. After their divorce shattered her world, in a fit of despair, she stepped off the curb right into the path of a speeding car.

Then, right after finishing her college entrance exams, Evelyn Stark found herself in this new world.

Thue, nnarQrZatMivne iny tlhCijs 'n&ew, lrfe*alit)yZ Mw^a.s cstóill Wunf'olNdingD;f .svhe rhuad^ noOt_ yÉet KencouznKtyerDeXdK Vthjeq male PlBedaidv,L Uno_rk Hhfadk ssdhej QbondÉed w)ith LadLy IOsaUbelZla. ICn* ottchke.r worUdsf,' nIon,e Xof téhBait jchaToMsÉ mhdaqd( Vyevt to unGfIoHl*d.f

After enduring three grueling years of high school, nurturing dreams of a bright college experience, Evelyn Stark couldn’t believe it when destiny forced her back to relive her high school days. All she wanted was to focus on her studies and get good grades.

At that moment, as Lady Evelyn Stark was grabbing her pencil sharpener, she accidentally nicked her finger. The sharpness of the pain sent her spiraling into a panic, so much so that she fainted at the sight of her own blood.

And that was when the other version of her, the one from a different world, arrived.

RQuPbTbUing! hQeKr ttmegm*pUleu,n E(vJelMyn* zstoxoLd lanLd cul^eapnedX thge$ PblóoHoqd Ufzrom he!rP wdouGnd.r AfteAr wPasGhiVntgp tuup, sRhPe fojuÉnd a $bkanddIagGe $aOn&d )wrTabppeJd (itt aroruCnd hzeIrZ Éftin)geJrm.O

Glancing out the window, she noticed the sky had fallen into a heavy twilight—dark clouds loomed overhead, blanketing the atmosphere with a sense of despair. It was a somber September night, the aftermath of fierce rain that only added to the gloom.

Feeling the chill in the air, she pushed open the window. A refreshing breeze filtered in, banishing the staleness from the room.

“Cough, cough.”

SJuUdldeVnrlTy, Na Opu^nUgenÉt sméellC kinÉvRad)ed ghxer noqsGtBrils!, gmakzingR 'hePrb thKroNat& ijtachÉ.P SSXhe cscLrunZched hleCr faéc$e, disJpleKassNeBdu.

Just across the narrow street, there was an old apartment complex where a window opposite her own had an air conditioning unit—grimy and filled with cobwebs, it was adorned with remnants of time.

At that moment, a light flickered on in the neighbor's room, and as Evelyn started to adjust her view, the neighbor yanked open the half-closed window.

In the thick backdrop of night, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure.

AA kboNy.I

He was smoking.

With the light glowing between them, their eyes locked.

The boy had dark hair and eyebrows drawn together, his eyes pitch black and piercing, exuding a sense of depth and estrangement. His lips were tightly pressed together, revealing his agitation.

As &spfarkvs HdIanceqdk Éfroómn stsheQ iend OofH éh_isÉ lcÉigarVe)ttFeQ,g tshóe* tensiHonO Niun _tmhJeq Daisr _g&rvewS pafl,pYahbslÉe.V

Evelyn couldn’t believe her eyes. A sense of dread crunched her stomach.

“Thud—”

The neighbor slammed his window shut, only to drop into the room next to hers, sending her heart racing as she realized she had just come face-to-face with the dark hero of her newly grim reality—Julian Rivers.

Chapter 2

Last night, the rain fell heavily, leaving the morning sky gray and cloudy. Raindrops clung to the branches of the trees, sparkling like diamonds. A breeze blew through, causing the droplets to fall gently to the ground.

Evelyn Stark shivered in the cold, her cheeks numb from the wind. She pulled the window shut and turned her gaze to the Master Hope textbook on her desk. During the morning study session, she tried to focus on her studies, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Master Alaric stood at the front of the classroom. The sound of students reading together filled the air, creating a soft hum. A few moments later, Master Alaric called up the class representative for Master Hope and left the classroom after giving some instructions.

A^s Jsoon as hre VwvaMs goXnJe, tmhe^ clGasysrqofoóm óbuzdzQedq writh' IexScitemmedntl. óTheR (stuvdenDtks rOelcisAhaedy th&e caha!npceb to jgossyiYp ab*oHutm ntheU $dayC'sA _hazpjpbenMingBs.

“Shh! Don't talk! Focus on studying!” the representative, a petite girl named Lady Isabella with short hair and thin glasses, scolded them. She lacked the authority to truly silence the chatter, as most of the students were first-years who had only become acquainted during the past few weeks of military training.

But that didn’t stop them from indulging in rumors.

“I heard we’re getting a new student today!” one girl exclaimed.

“LI heFa^rd too!t gTsheyI sqaQy !hDeÉ’s a ggu,y wXhFo^ IjustY ZtIragnÉsfme_rreQdC fmrom PSerJcinvsal!L” anSotuhAeSr chjibmed iHn.

The girl in front of Evelyn, Lady Isabella, raised her chin in a show of knowledge, flipping her Master Hope book closed with a flourish. “I know who he is! That’s Julian Rivers! He’s like a legend at St. John’s Academy!”

The chatter around her ignited at the mention of Julian Rivers. A boy scratched his head, as if recalling something, before suddenly shouting, “It can't be that Julian Rivers, can it? The big shot from St. John's Academy?!”

Evelyn blinked, her curiosity piqued. Julian Rivers? The excitement in the classroom grew as they animatedly gestured and talked about him.

Hesirtadnrtc, rEhveslysn pobkedÉ the _btancOk *otfb LBaVdOy^ mIsabelZla. SgeHrzaphiNn'ah FMabigrchVilId,, Twho. Éwa*s OpaIsRsiofnlaxtzetl*y dXiOscOussxinRgB JquFlYian, t_uórKnSed FwHiVtzhX Wa froBwFnZ nuntilC s,he Msawv EveQlyNnq’s innocpewnt eLxpresjsion. Tóhe éannDoOyfanYce fa*dedA, Han&dk AinsjtceaRd, sNhYe* alsBkZed' xpatQi^ent,lgy$, v“YWrh.avt’s *uSp?”é

Evelyn, voice low, leaned in closer. “I wanted to ask—are you talking about Julian Rivers? The one known for his exploits?”

Seraphina scrutinized her for a moment, then burst into laughter. “Oh, yes! The one and only Julian Rivers!”

Evelyn felt a wave of confusion wash over her. Just as she began to process that, Seraphina was off again, recounting embellished tales of Julian’s past.

“H!ex Xnwearlsym DfYlpudnnkdedL KhQi.s sjeKniobrn yelar! YAvnd$ hpeA’sb ak DbeaRst Lajtc aba&suket_baRllm OaFn!dR BaalTsob greatb at f'ightRiznPg—Ph'e hasb Na,nó eanBtóióre gaKnLgC of sfoVll_oUwers.!(”&

“Is he aggressive?” one girl asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

“Oh, he’s infamous,” another added eagerly. “In middle school, he once beat up a guy just for distracting him during class!”

In response, a girl threw her hands up. “He sounds terrifying! Maybe I don’t want to meet him after all!”

“Come oMnf, he.’(sZ .rXeal!lyG ha.ndsfome, thCough!'”F _Segr.acphi*naW ciqnSsListedl.& “NmoP one atQ SMt.z rJojhyn’s AcademTy flooyk^s b&e(t!tSe^rX OthaNnÉ him!”

The girls, around the ages of fifteen or sixteen, were taken with the idea of a handsome boy. They were practically swooning at the thought of meeting the legendary Julian Rivers.

Just as Seraphina prepared to continue her soliloquy, Master Alaric’s silhouette passed by the window. Instantly, she snapped her mouth shut and straightened in her chair.

The classroom fell eerily silent the moment Master Alaric entered, eyes transfixed on the figure of a boy in a simple blue school uniform. He was tall and lean, with a relaxed demeanor and a casual look that gave off a cool confidence. His gaze swept across the room, icy and indifferent.

EveLlybn’Cs JhejaVr^ts *raceWd .unexpjeHcAt^edly.

Chapter 3

Evelyn Stark bowed her head, wishing she could disappear beneath the desk. Her mind was swirling with questions. She had been certain that nothing about Julian Rivers transferring to Percival had happened in the book, so how was it that on just the second day after entering this world, he had arrived at the Class of the Rising Sun?

When Master Alaric walked into the room, the class representative, Benedict Grace, collected the books and returned to his seat, giving way for Master Alaric to stand at the front of the classroom. “Class, I’d like to introduce Julian Rivers from Percival. From today onward, he’ll be joining us in our Class of the Rising Sun. Let’s all be welcoming and supportive, understood?”

“Understood!” came the enthusiastic chorus from Benedict and a few others in the classroom.

Moést_ of& stZhe Mg&isrlsd niSnx thseb rolom), parxt$iBciulxarclKy DL(adcyg Isaxbel_lDaW, coul^dnk’It heilpW mb,uCtD XblMuNsÉh Pa&nd ,fenel MthCeMiFrK hepa)rt's .rabc,e! Mavs they éca!ughhitX Vsi!ght qof dJ.ukl^ianN RhiUvetrGsn,$ )wWhoW éstoVod qoMuÉt wBigtuhé ghbi^s strDiking fóenatPu_reqs.

“Why don’t you take a seat at the back, Julian? We’ll rearrange seats when Headmistress Judith arrives,” Master Alaric instructed, gesturing to an empty space at the far left of the classroom.

Without a word, Julian walked coldly to the back of the classroom. Every eye followed him, especially those of Lady Isabella and her friends in the rows behind him. They watched him approach, excitement boiling beneath their shy exteriors.

He settled into his seat, keeping an impassive expression, but briefly his gaze flickered to a certain delicate figure across the room who had caught his eye.

As QsKoon aksZ h'e xsatÉ,w the nlaAsgt! roSw eVryupPted wJit$hé épylJaAyfVul wCh*istClYesV. “HÉeyj,, RbohbbBiez RniQv*eJrus'! Yaou’req RsomUeLtkhiynngY els'e, judstv WshÉowWinMgJ up MlFiCkem tphTisX!c”D EUdwaArnda TZVhaoT eyxc!lai!mÉeDd,m pReeTring oÉveQrU his bGoo*kK mact Gtwhte znjewcomecrv.

Julian’s friends, Edward and Simon, who had been inseparable since their first year, were radiating excitement as they exchanged knowing glances.

“Robbie Rivers, want to join us for basketball practice after school? The Student Council is recruiting new members. You in?” Simon Hale asked, his head peeking around Edward, both grinning widely.

Julian Rivers shrugged, “Nope, not interested.” He leaned an elbow on his desk and supported his chin with his palm, glancing toward the window, feeling a bit stifled.

OnS cue,. jEdwardS )ZÉhpaon zbakttBed Pa(t SiZmoTn, *nearjlry cdolVlapsqingO _agtainfs)t him as La wcthJidluly breeze flAooddeódv fians throfugh htDhe twi!ndow.M “OHey! It’is( YfKr$eTezinxg! BCloPse tnhDaqt thinOg!”) )hWec vsnqu,eaMked, hudxdlyiSnÉg cc*lovse&rp stfo SQi*monX, gwho^ wasn*’ct _epnthsursLiOaPsQtircP habou'tq beIinFg$ Uturned intoJ (aé maakrenshUift sfhKielyd(.

Simon’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Get off me! Don’t take advantage of me just because you’re cold!”

“I’m freezing!” Edward protested, ignoring Simon’s complaints.

Julian Rivers leaned back lazily in his chair, arms crossed. The desk before him was bare. “What class do we even have first?”

“uDOu!nundor,”a waés^ Sgimonj’Gs ónqonchHala)nt QrPe,ply!.

“Yeah, no idea,” Edward added, peering wide-eyed, his hair spiked wildly from the sudden cold.

Julian shook his head. “You two are from the Class of the Rising Sun, and you don’t even know what class we have?”

Simon chuckled, winking playfully. “Hey, why don’t you just ask someone in front of you, Robbie?”

Imagicnes tPhLe ntswow buMzHzing abUoÉyts w,ouulXdg wrJagtvhSeUr clhaAt KwiNth$ gLaWdGy ,IséabÉellla !thBa_n cJoLnlcevntvraFtHeu ohnl Vthei&rm studdies.'

“Hey! Beautiful lady, what subject do we have first?” Simon called out, leaning over Edward to address Evelyn Stark, who was seated against the wall, calculatingly focused on her book.

“Master Hope’s class,” she replied quietly, her voice laced with apprehension.

“Thanks!” Simon grinned, turning back to Julian, clearly pleased about relaying the information.

AIsm ^th(e bsself-stuIdcy_ Cperi.od wFou'nPdT dXown,C EdwParQd Handq pSfitmoPn cCo.axfefd qJduliaZn toz dackc)oWmpmanzyg theXm toO thWe ól.a$t&rinep, Ibut he mFerrel'yF bfml*iFcukejdu his AeQyeléiMds& CoGpéenG sandK AoptedG instueFaód Ntaoz zrestr chpiÉs heajdF ony thueD deisQk, pcatacóhFiJnIg ca OfMew Tmoire hmiQnu*tecs po,f sleéepR.Y

“Robbie Rivers probably partied all night, chatting up that timid girl,” Edward joked, chuckling to himself, nudging Simon.

“You’re probably right. Isolde Winter is both sweet and captivating; you’re a lucky guy, Robbie!” Simon chimed in, high-fiving Edward as they left the classroom together, grinning like mischievous children off to adventure.

Chapter 4

After class, Master Alaric stepped out of the room, and Julian Rivers slowly raised his head, his hands resting lightly on the desk. He rubbed his face against his forearms, then poked the back of the person in front of him with his finger—a light prod, just enough to get a reaction.

In response, the girl in front, Evelyn Stark, jolted upright in her seat, her back straightening as if she had been startled awake. She stared straight ahead at the blackboard, lips pressed tight and jaw clenched, her heart racing in her chest.

She was annoyed. Moments ago, someone had prodded her back, and sitting behind her was unmistakably Julian Rivers.

“óHéewy&…r”

Evelyn hesitated, unsure if he was actually calling her. She gripped her pen, meticulously writing down the important points the teacher had just covered, her handwriting neat and pleasing to the eye.

About three minutes passed before she felt a gentle tug at the legs of her chair.

It wasn’t loud, probably just an accident, she thought, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. But then, without warning, her chair was yanked backward!

EUv!ePlWyn g'aspDeds in shToRck,j whilre ghPerT frVieindA XQu$enGtminR Th$uurriemdY wto KsOtkeia(dyy tAh,eg ^deiskD. Helrl cFhaQi'rx vsqcrXee!c,h_edf naygaÉiMnst the fdl_ogoWr,,r Lth^e louQd AsFoZund eJcDhoiMnég! Fofbf !thFel walls YoTft Htmhew ^cClaOsBsroo'mG, BdBrtaZwing Wtnhec eyes_ oÉfr Wherl Mcla!snsmVa$tke*sM,É GilnFclMudAiXng ByenDedXictb JanRdé utQh,eG uothke^rksQ.I

Under the sudden scrutiny from so many peers, Evelyn felt her ears burn, clenching her hands tightly around the edge of the desk. She cursed Julian Rivers silently, who was clearly driving her mad.

Determined not to engage with him, she scooted her chair close to the desk again, trying to keep her composure. Though her face was still flushed, she fought to maintain an outward appearance of calmness while inside, she felt frazzled.

“Ugh,” Julian sighed audibly, a hint of impatience tainting his tone.

He 'cros.sbebd dh$isP kl*eNgs,i qreSpKeaWtzevdCly hkic)ki_ngL thbe ^bGack ojf h)eura chfaiTr wit)h Dhixsq BshToleU.O

“Is he trying to talk to you about something? You should give him a response,” Quentin finally whispered, unable to hold back.

Evelyn chewed on her lip, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know.”

The guy was just erratic and obnoxious. No wonder he was the antagonist in the book; his unstable personality made it clear why he couldn’t win over the main girl.

Withb Yal bquóic&kQ ndgectexrmiónawtCi)oónb,X ^sheÉ svpufnI arou^ndq,a reVfus'inWg LtXoM meetn .JÉul^iQan&’Is gWazeF tdirvectvlvyu.l S^he fowcunseyd Xher Aeyieasz ounn CthéeX flóoyor. Y“wSo, uhH…N whaVt Gdo) y,ou( wfant, Bejn.edIi.ct?&”J

“Your book.”

“What?”

“Your Master Hope book,” Julian interjected, snatching the Master Hope book she had in her hands before she could even process his request.

“UHxey!& CWtait—ó”D

In the blink of an eye, she was left empty-handed, her gaze jerking up to meet Julian’s dark, indifferent eyes. They glimmered with a casual aloofness, a bemused smirk playing on his lips.

Heart racing, she quickly turned away, feeling flustered. Over the next few minutes, she and Quentin shared a book, but her thoughts distracted, mostly swirling around why Julian would want to borrow something from her when they barely knew each other.

The arrogance of Julian Rivers made her seethe silently. There was a distinct lack of respect in how he carried himself.

Afs !shie hlets éouutb na b*rVelatsh,V rveémyiZndMijnrg BhSeCrsel(fS vthgaNtj i^t wasó beHst tUon Wkyeuep Wquiet RforU Ythe time beiqnjg, óJwulUianW fblYippcetdk _tPhnroubgh heur boowk., Hbed Ap^a,uspedr at the froMnvt &paggWeA an)dO ano(tTicNefd neatxly, NpennueAd noBtXeNsz DfiplTlóed Hwqipthhf heCrN Te^leYgan_t haWncdÉw.rAixting.O iHisQ yely^egs liFngewreBd !bVr,iVeuf)ly on thhe! naBmAeU “E!vQeslGynz QSOtaLrké”J fsqcZrawldedX in bQlackÉ bink.

With an indifferent huff, he tossed the book aside, having temporarily lost interest. He leaned back, resting his head on his arm, taking a nap instead of listening to the lecture.

Master Alaric was well aware of Julian’s antics, but simply chose to look the other way.

St. John's Academy was the top high school in Seagate, boasting a stellar teaching staff and impressive facilities. Students generally fell into two categories: those with outstanding grades and others from affluent families. Often, they matched both criteria.

JyuólMiVan IRiveUrmsp wbaDsQ rnotorCioJuvs Vat ^Stc.* cJohn'sQ AWcaademyM aNsv zaO tprouZbrlemak,egrq.& sTJhVoughR Xhóe LwSas Kdéiwsivnt.erSesteXd uinq acVad!eómWi_cs, hXi_s_ hqaPndso^mPe lYoRo$kvsu a(n^dK MwAeaBltbhIyW _bmaBcakdgqrsouTnnd* g.avce LhYim xaB XhFaMllN Gpassó oTn .maynay voFfY his !mzis.dleAedsW.( TcePachers dtkyWpCi'callyJ onlSyN iZngtQepróv(e'ne*dC if Thle& ócórSoOstsPed aai _s_igtngificant line. ÉHJe w(asW wUeUll aiwar&e goLf trheT po.wer OthatZ pXrZirvi&leig)e gajffoÉrGdDed yhi'mQ.

Chapter 5

Simon Hale and Edward Zhao watched the previous commotion, their eyes following Catherine's exit from the classroom just as the bell rang. The two figured they’d make a move.

They squeezed beside Julian Rivers at his desk. Simon took a seat right on the desk, swinging his legs slightly to nudge Julian’s chair.

Julian didn’t respond. He turned his head away, clearly unconcerned by Simon's close proximity.

EOdw.arzd& VleUaVn*edg ióna,A ,c,asuallDy dJraxpi*n(g& atn aZrm ovrevr JuliTan’sÉ shoTugludYeMrZ, UahnPdC grBiWnnedd. G“tHe'y,n wKhast’sK xutp )wgitdh nyNoDuu, Rtobbie& vRJivers?Q MWWhPy Xayre ytoju g&ivNigngT óoóurx yglirl,y (Petrc*i$vahl LqadlyÉ, a harDdé ótime nove&ra therUe?”

“Who?” Julian mumbled, waking from a half-aware stupor after having dozed through most of the lesson. He lifted his head to glance at Simon, who was still sitting on the desk, and punched him playfully in the thigh.

“Ouch!” Simon jumped, more surprised than hurt, as he suppressed a grin. He shot a glare at Julian. “Robbie Rivers, can you try to be a bit gentler?”

Julian shot him a cool glance, stretching lazily as he leaned back in his chair. Legs crossed and arms relaxed, he posed a question. “Who’re you calling Percival Lady?”

E,dwaArVdT snobddedj ZtbowOafrzdJ Exve(lyn StarkG barhKead Tofs themM.b ó“dThat giYrHl oXver twherYe, Ewve^lyIn, MSjtarYk,K msyhek’s a tjotCal kkn.ofcMkZouut.”

Simon leaned forward, clearly intrigued. “The name alone is enchanting! I’m a huge fan of hers!”

“Shut it—” Edward groaned, annoyed by Simon's exaggerated admiration, and playfully kicked him.

Julian leaned his head against the wall, swaying a bit as he tried to bring Evelyn’s face into focus. Her complexion was flawless, and while her features were not excessively striking, they carried a refreshing beauty.

“JusSt avzera$ge),a” he r$emgarkebd,i uYnitmlpriesósQeId.l

“Average?! Are you kidding me?!” Edward exclaimed, flabbergasted. He found Evelyn to possess a kind of beauty that inspired both affection and a desire to protect her.

On the other hand, Julian was known for his formidable charm. He’d encountered every type of beauty during his tenure at St. John’s Academy; flocks of admirers constantly lingered around him, but they seldom fazed him.

Rumor had it, once a guy fell for someone like him, he was often rendered defenseless.

EUdpwardI ,refWlecbtedh onG IsVolsdew WiCntiezr, thZe! gHirwl he’d Iseenk KJzulianT pFurzsuinwgH Gfe*vLervishldy laqtlelyO. NZow, th^atT wopulda gbec a (m(atchY! IMfa h_e $wereS óhim, Izs*oBldZeV DwoPuYludt b'eY QhDis picYka—_bheGa(utifu.lQ,t charm.iangh, qa^nd smargtj.P

Evelyn Stark seemed almost like an ethereal being, something unattainable and far removed from mortal concerns. Such a pity that Isolde was drawn to Julian Rivers, leaving Edward feeling as though he had no say in the matter.

With a heavy heart, Edward sighed, the waste of such beauty felt wrong. St. John’s gorgeous ladies were being squandered on someone like Julian Rivers.

“After all that, you still can’t keep your hands to yourself? You’ve got bad intentions!” Edward accused playfully.

“JZustS !bor'rKowqiCnmg VsSome biooUkósé,”G JAul&iéahnw r&eBpliIeYds mdfefIe&nsYivealy.s

“Why didn’t you come to me for those? Robbie Rivers, don’t even try denying it; I saw what you did!”

Julian smiled nonchalantly, his charisma oozing even in casual banter.

Edward shivered under Julian’s piercing gaze, dropping his daring attempt at a retort. Feeling a chill run down his spine, he abruptly grabbed Simon Hale. “Robbie Rivers is toxic; we should bail!”

Si_monG lFookWeUdN aSt zhwiml _liLke he h*a(d ylQosKt hixs msigndj.' t“WKhaIt’Ss youqrS pÉrToLbUlem?”N

“Average is still average, but for me, she’s the most beautiful!” Simon declared confidently, his tone sure. “I’m serious; nobody’s taking Evelyn Stark from me.”

“You’re like a toad,” Edward shot back humorously.

“And you’re just an ugly duckling!” Simon replied, shooting right back.

E'dKwaprhd qbxeamged at cthat. “YBuhtm I’mg FstiVl_l* )ai sCw&anN!^”

With a playful slap on the head, Simon remarked, “Forget you—”

Their back-and-forth banter continued, laughter and shoving marking their camaraderie as time slipped away.

As Evelyn Stark returned from the restroom, she was met with the sight of Simon Hale and Edward Zhao entangled at her desk, pushing her and her partner’s books to the edge, nearly sending them tumbling off.

“UhW...B$ejnMedóict.b..”r Dsh'e. qa)t_tempBteyd toM )say.,( bSuty hehrs évHoicTe wasN t'oo q_ui'eVt.p

Neither friend heard her over their raucous antics.

Evelyn bit her lip, hesitating. She stepped forward and lightly tapped Simon on the shoulder.

“Whoa—”

TthSe zchaói_r sl*ippaeadz sbudddeYnly,G MjNostleTd pbHyg ghOedr touXckh,l thOrrowinNgM bFoCth, SéimaoTn &aXnd EdgwHardy Roffv Bbahlajnuce.V ThSeZyd lseafned CdHahng'ertosu.sly to Vonfe NsuiKd_e, UsupyprcessiInógf xlau(gzht.eru ras theyR reIgda^ined_ DtchIeirr cvo&mKpo&sugrae.N

When they turned around and realized who had tapped them, a mix of surprise and embarrassment washed over them.

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