Chapter 2: A Transmigrator's Awakening
837words
I had actually transmigrated. For real.
Gone was "Jin"—the office drone who crammed onto packed subways, survived on greasy takeout, and stressed over performance metrics and rent payments. In her place stood Winifred, the doomed supporting character from "Aria of Light and Darkness."
This world checked every fantasy trope box—spell-slinging wizards, honor-bound knights, sprawling kingdoms, and sinister demon lords lurking in shadows. The Royal Magic Academy of Arcadia stood as the pinnacle institution for the elite, where the offspring of nobility and wealth came to master the arcane arts.
Between the original Winifred's memories and my knowledge as a player, I knew her story was textbook tragedy. Born the duke's only daughter, blessed with extraordinary magical talent, becoming the academy's youngest and most respected instructor—all these achievements were merely setup for her inevitable downfall.
She carried a torch for the game's protagonist—Arthur, the dazzling knight commander—a love she took to her grave. Her end came protecting her student Frederick, the future villain, during some vague mission. The developers hadn't even bothered crafting a proper death scene; she was just a plot device, carefully designed to break at the perfect moment to advance the story and deepen character motivations.
"Just a damn plot device..." I muttered, feeling a strange mix of emotions—pity for her predetermined fate and a bitter recognition of something all too familiar.
I glanced toward the bedside where a small figure sat cross-legged on the plush carpet. In the moonlight, he meticulously unwrapped a candy I'd given him earlier, his posture impeccable—back straight, legs neatly together. Moonbeams caught his golden hair, giving him an angelic halo.
Who would believe this innocent cherub would grow into the continent's most feared villain—a man whose bloody crusade would torment the protagonists and leave countless dead in his wake?
Me, his pure love? What a joke. With my pathetic level 12 and purely theoretical magic knowledge without a day of real combat, I'd be lucky if he didn't toy with me like a cat with a mouse once he grew into his power.
The more I contemplated my situation, the more hopeless it seemed. I reached through the bed curtains and poked Frederick's chubby cheek. God, it felt amazing—soft and springy like the finest pudding.
My touch startled him. He froze and looked up, those sky-blue eyes catching the moonlight like polished sapphires. But something lurked in those depths—was I imagining that calculating glint? That hint of perception far too shrewd for a child his age?
"Frederick, do you have someone you truly love?" The absurd question slipped out before I could stop it. Maybe I was testing this world's "plot correction mechanics," or maybe I just wanted to mess with the future dark lord.
Frederick tilted his head, tiny eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he wrestled with a concept clearly beyond his years. After a moment, he abandoned the effort and simply held out his freshly unwrapped candy toward my mouth.
"I don't have a true love," he declared with adorable solemnity. "I only have candy."
My own candy, returned to me. My investigative spirit deflated instantly. What was I thinking? He's just a six-year-old kid. What could he possibly know about love or devotion?
I accepted the offering, the sweet strawberry flavor melting across my tongue.
【System Notification: You have recovered 5 MP. Mood increased by 10 points.】
Despite the system message, my spirits remained low. I had zero clues about returning to my world. "Complete all missing storylines"? In that half-baked, abandoned game? There were countless unresolved plot threads! Was I doomed to play nanny to the future villain forever?
While I wallowed in despair, Frederick had climbed onto my bed. His small fingers tugged at my sleeve, yanking me back to reality.
"Teacher," he said, his voice honey-sweet and vulnerable as he gazed up at me, "the Third Prince won't practice magic control with me. Will you?"
Those star-filled blue eyes made refusal impossible. Besides, mentoring students was literally my job description, and whatever professional pride I still possessed wouldn't let me decline.
"Fine." I caved, my resolve melting away.
He's just six—how much trouble could he cause? Worst case scenario: a few misfired spells, maybe some singed curtains or wet floors.
Reality quickly proved I'd catastrophically underestimated a budding villain's destructive potential—and grossly overestimated my own mental fortitude.
Thirty minutes later, I stood amid the ruins of the practice field, surrounded by shattered targets, frost-covered flower beds, and—most distressingly—the headmaster's stone head hovering midair, caught in a persistent levitation spell. I finally released my first primal scream since arriving in this world.
This kid is going to be the death of me!
