The house had the sterile quiet of wealth. It wasn't a mansion, not quite, but it bore the same weight—polished floors, high ceilings, everything in its right place. Lance, now trapped inside Reese Halden's body, stepped into the hallway and felt the unnatural smoothness beneath his bare feet. Even the silence felt designed.
The morning sun filtered through the large bay windows, casting long, golden bars across the tiled floor. He moved like someone walking across a crime scene. Every step, every reflection in the glass and mirror, reminded him of the truth.
This wasn't his life.
It was a narrative he had created. He had outlined it, chapter by chapter, for drama and catharsis. Now he lived inside it.
He passed framed photos on the wall—Reese's supposed childhood. A boy with a perfect smile, standing beside a tall, cold-looking man with thin lips and tired eyes. Lance recognized him too. Elric Halden, the father character. CEO of HaldenTech. Ruthless. Controlling. A ghost even when alive.
Lance had written him as a secondary antagonist.
"Elric Halden is the kind of father who leaves scars that don't bleed," he muttered under his breath. The words were lifted directly from Chapter 12.
It was different now. He wasn't holding the pen anymore. He was inside the paragraph.
He turned a corner. The corridor led to the dining hall—polished cherry wood furniture, expensive cutlery already laid out, not a speck of dust in sight. A full breakfast was arranged on silver trays. Fruits cut into flawless cubes, eggs done in multiple styles, toast browned just so. The smell of roasted coffee drifted faintly through the air.
At the end of the long dining table sat Elric.
The man didn't look up from his tablet. His fingers tapped steadily, reading emails or controlling someone's fate. A barely-there glance flicked upward when Lance approached.
"You're late."
It wasn't a question.
Lance said nothing. His throat was dry.
He took a seat three chairs down, as Reese would. A servant moved like a ghost, pouring juice into a crystal glass. Lance gripped it harder than he meant to. The glass clinked faintly against the saucer plate.
"You have school today," Elric said without looking at him. "I've already signed the release forms. They're expecting you."
"Right," Lance said. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was smoother, a touch deeper.
Kai would be there.
It was the first time Kai and Reese saw each other after the accident. The moment the audience realized that the once-quiet boy had changed. Hardened. This was where the long game began. The manipulation. The mind games. The silent war wrapped in civil smiles.
Lance tried to remember what he had written. In Chapter 3, Kai cornered Reese in the library. He smiled. He asked how Reese's cat allergies were. A coded insult. Reese didn't pick up on it. Not then.
But now—now he was Reese.
He would have to play dumb. Or worse—act like the version of Reese he wrote. Arrogant. Careless. A bully who didn't realize he was the villain until it was too late.
Elric finally set the tablet down.
He stared at Lance with cold efficiency. "Don't embarrass the family."
Lance held the man's gaze, though his palms were sweating.
"I won't," he said.
In the novel, Elric always nag Reese to become a better person but Reese was ignorant and didn't follow his dad's words.
Although he was mean to the staff and butlers, everyone beg Elric to teach his son a lesson and actually have fatherly beating.
***
The car ride to Halden High was uneventful.
The driver, another nameless background character, didn't speak. Lance sat in the back seat, watching the suburban streets roll by like panels from a storyboard. Every house, every pedestrian, every parked car—he had written this district months ago, loosely based on a real suburb he grew up in.
The school gates appeared ahead, flanked by iron fencing and cherry blossom trees, an aesthetic he thought added poetic tension. A symbol of fleeting peace.
The car stopped.
"Young master," the driver said.
Lance stepped out. Students were already gathering at the front entrance. Some wore uniforms. Others carried instruments or athletic gear. Conversations fluttered around him like flies—irrelevant, but constant.
He walked up the front steps, trying not to panic. Every eye on him could be a future subplot. Every voice might belong to a character he barely remembered. If he slipped up, said the wrong thing, would the story unravel? Would Kai notice?
Kai always noticed.
He entered the main hall.
The building was bright, clean. Glass-paneled walls. A marble reception desk. Digital schedule boards. He turned toward the east wing—science department.
And there he was.
At the far end of the corridor, standing beside a locker, wearing the same charcoal-black uniform Lance had described in the manuscript, was Kai Aven.
The protagonist.
Short black hair, cut cleanly at the sides. Calm, slate-gray eyes that held too much depth for a high schooler. A quiet presence. He wasn't speaking. Just watching.
Lance froze.
Kai tilted his head—curious, polite. Then nodded once, and walked past without a word.
Lance felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He knew.
Not everything. Not yet. But Kai knew something was wrong.
This was how it began.