Meanwhile, right below Ryn, on the lower bunk, the boy let out a shaky breath he felt like he'd been holding for hours.

  He was Asher, Asher Leonhart.

  The third young master of the Leonhart Clan. A title that once meant something. He'd been the family's pride, their little genius, until the Awakening Ceremony six years ago.

  That was when his elder brother manifested a pristine Violet Core in the Force Vein, and two years ago, his younger sister sparked a brilliant Gold Core and a mutated Flux Vein.

  He, on the other hand, had only awoken an average Green Core in the Rune Vein.

  He'd faded from a rising star to a background character overnight.

  All the attention and resources were poured into his siblings, while he received nothing but leftovers.

  Even though it should have been enough for an average talent like him, he wasn't obviously satisfied with it. After all, there was a difference between the two. He would never be able to get stronger with those few resources.

  Therefore, desperate to claw back any shred of that lost attention, Asher pushed himself to his absolute limits. He trained until his hands bled trying to inscribe runes, studied until his vision blurred. But a Green Core had its limits, and no amount of sweat could bridge the gap to Violet, let alone Gold.

  He failed. Many times. Publicly, repeatedly, and spectacularly.

  Then, humiliation curdled into a hot, bitter rage.

  If he couldn't be the genius, he decided, he would be the problem.

  He skipped lessons, started fights with other minor nobles' sons to feel a fleeting sense of power, and took his frustrations out on the only people with less status than him: the household staff.

  He'd shout, throw things, insult, and… even beat them for the most minor mistakes.

  Each outburst was a cry for someone, anyone, to look at him and see something other than disappointment.

  Instead, it only confirmed their worst opinions. His punishments grew harsher. His allowance was cut entirely. The last of his tutors was dismissed. Eventually, even his maids were reassigned.

  He was left alone in his wing of the manor, stewing in his own toxic resentment, a snarling, isolated creature everyone had given up on.

  But then, one incident changed everything.

  Well, almost everything.

  About a month ago, in a final, pathetic act of defiance, he'd stolen an advanced-grade Arcana crystal from his brother's study, a crystal he had no hope of safely absorbing.

  In his rage and despair, he'd tried to shatter it and inhale the raw energy directly, a suicide attempt masquerading as a reckless power grab.

  Yet, instead of death or a shattered core, he'd been plunged into a seizing, visionary coma.

  For a whole week, his mind was flooded with weird dreams... vivid, horrifying, and completely absurd.

  Because those dreams showed him a future where he took this exam, entered Stellar Nexus Academy, and played out the exact miserable, jealous script he'd been living, only to be casually crushed by a first-year from a backwater town during a tournament, left crippled and forgotten.

  But the truly crazy part, the thing that made him question his own sanity long after he woke up weak and sweating in his bed, wasn't just the vividness of the dreams.

  It was the other thing he was shown.

  That…

  That this world was based on a story!

  It turns out this world was a structured narrative with its own heroes, heroines, side characters, and plot.

  And the bitter cherry atop that realization?

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  He wasn't the main character.

  Not even a supporting role.

  He was just a minor, third-rate villain!

  A disposable hurdle in the hero's journey.

  If he didn't flip the script quickly, starting with surviving the next few hours, his role would end prematurely - with a lasting, painful farewell.

  However, Asher's information was frustratingly vague.

  The dreams had only shown him a fragment of the chaos: flashes of explosions, wrecked arc-train, passengers screaming, and strange masked attackers. And a brief mention about the incident during the opening ceremony.

  Moreover, he didn't know which specific train would be attacked, or exactly how.

  He also had no clue if he'd be caught in the storm or simply a bystander.

  All he could do was prepare.

  So he trained relentlessly, honing the skills gleaned from those nebulous dreams.

  His dwindling funds vanished into purchasing low-grade defensive artifacts and healing potions, his makeshift shields against the unknown.

  Talking to his family crossed his mind briefly, but he quickly squashed the thought.

  They'd dismiss it as another desperate cry for help, or worse, label him insane and lock him away.

  As for the government, they'd demand proof he didn't possess, wasting precious moments he couldn't afford to lose.

  And honestly, he couldn't blame them.

  He barely believed it himself after all. And if he had blindly accepted a nightmare as prophecy the moment he woke up, he would have been a fool.

  And Asher refused to be a fool.

  That was why, over the last week, he had obsessively cross-referenced the dream's minor details with reality. The dreams predicted a famous Arcanist's death. It happened just a few days ago. They predicted a specific celebrity scandal involving the Crown Prince Jade. It happened just as he dreamt.

  But... was that enough?

  Despite the evidence, part of him, the rational, terrified part, still feared he was just a stress-induced lunatic who was about to waste his savings on a delusion.

  Logic dictated he should ignore the exam.

  If the dreams were false, he was wasting time. If they were true, he was walking into a deathtrap. Staying home was the only safe option.

  But safety was a luxury he couldn't afford.

  That option lay buried beneath layers of suffocating ambition.

  The academy was his sole chance for power, the key to escape his gilded cage. Skipping the exam meant watching his siblings soar while he rotted, trapped in a life waiting for destiny to strike.

  So, he treated this train ride as the final, terrifying litmus test.

  He was betting his life to verify his sanity. If the train arrived safely, he was just paranoid. But if it crashed? Then the nightmare was the absolute truth, and he had a chance to rewrite it.

  So, he boarded, his heart racing like a wild stallion against his ribs.

  He chose this specific train line and time based on a few contextual clues from the dreams, a mention of "the morning express before the opening ceremony."

  It was the best guess he could make.

  He'd also considered hiring a bodyguard, but he lacked both funds and trust.

  He'd thought about warning the train conductor anonymously, but what would he say?

  'Hey, the train will be attacked soon, but I learned it in a dream, and I don't know the how, who, or exact when?'

  They'd either laugh or have him detained for causing a panic. Honestly, he wasn't well-versed in this field. And if he got caught… the consequences would be severe.

  In the end, his plan was brutally simple: stay alert, stay near an exit, and use his artifacts the moment anything seemed off.

  Survive!

  That was step one.

  Step two was passing the exam.

  Step three was finding the main characters from his dreams and… well, he hadn't figured that part out yet.

  Avoiding them seemed smart. Not getting in their way seemed even smarter.

  Or maybe, if he could just slip through the cracks of the plot, he could live.

  "..."

  Asher frowned slightly at his thoughts. He didn't like his lack of confidence.

  'No, I will live!' He promised himself, vowing to rewrite his future. 'I will-!'

  His silent vow was cut short by a sudden, violent lurch.

  A deafening CRUNCH of shearing metal screamed through the carriage. The train wrenched violently to the side, throwing Asher from the bunk.

  The lights died with a pop, plunged into darkness for a split second before harsh red emergency strips flared to life along the floor and ceiling.

  The shriek of buckling alloy was drowned out by a deeper, more terrifying sound from outside - a wet, thunderous BOOM as the train's protective arcana shield was struck by something massive.

  Asher hit the floor, his eyes wide in the red gloom. The doubt vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, horrific clarity.

  The nightmare was real. And...

  "It's begun!"

  He gasped, adrenaline overriding his fear.

  He slapped a palm against his chest, activating the pre-drawn protection rune sewn into his inner jacket. A shimmering, honeycombed barrier of amber light flickered to life around him.

  Another slap to his legs triggered the physical boost rune.

  However, before he could even rise, the train convulsed once more.

  WHAM!

  The jolt hurled him across the compartment, crashing into the wall near the door. His barrier flared white, valiantly absorbing the impact.

  At the same time, the privacy field on the upper bunk shorted out with a fizzle and a shower of dying sparks.

  Above, Ryn, jarred from his light doze by the first impact, was now fully airborne.

  The second violent heave shot him cleanly from the top bunk. In that fleeting moment, instinct kicked in. He hit the door with his back for the minimum impact before landing squarely on Asher, who had been trying to regain his footing.

  "Oof!" Asher grunted, the wind knocked out of him, his barrier straining under the weight.

  For a moment, there was only the cacophony of screams, blaring alarms, and distant yet close explosions.

  Then, washed in lurid red light, Asher found himself staring up, half-dazed and half-annoyed, at the calm, mildly irritated face of the stranger who had fallen right on top of him.

  "Can you get off of me?" Asher spat out, glaring at the dark-blue-haired boy who seemed no older than him.

  "Oh, sorry, didn't see you here," The boy replied before slowly standing up and looking around lazily.

  'How can he be so carefree?!'