Charles sighed, resigned. He grabbed the damp rag and started scrubbing the stone wall.
Cold water dripped down his fingers, and the rough scrape of the cloth against the surface left his hands red and raw.
"For the love of all the gods, Rian! What's wrong with you today? Did you forget how to clean?" the man said, crossing his arms. "Look at that! You're leaving more grime than you're wiping off. Keep this up, and we'll be stuck here 'til the sun comes up."
Charles frowned but didn't reply. He had no idea how to defend himself.
In real life, the closest he'd ever come to cleaning was wiping down his keyboard with a tissue, so scrubbing dirty walls with a soggy rag was definitely not his forte.
Charles kept moving his hand, at least trying to look like he knew what he was doing, but the man wouldn't let up.
"No, no, no! Not like that! You've got to press harder, you useless lump. What's this? Tired of being a slacker and now you're useless too?"
The man stomped over and snatched the rag from Charles's hands to demonstrate.
"Look, this is how it's done. Scrub like a man, not like you're petting a daisy!"
Charles pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to fire back with something snarky.
But before he could give it another go, a shout echoed from the elevated platform.
"Attention, attention! It seems one of tonight's fighters couldn't make it," the deep voice of the announcer boomed, cutting through the crowd's murmurs. "We're looking for a replacement. Anyone brave enough to step into the arena?"
The people in the stands started grumbling.
Some whistled, others hurled insults, and a few tossed more coins onto the ground in protest.
Charles glanced up, intrigued.
A replacement?
That sounded like a chance to get a closer look at what was going on.
He shot a quick glance at the scrawny man, who was too busy muttering complaints while scrubbing a stubborn stain on the wall.
This was his shot.
Without a second thought, Charles dropped the rag into the bucket and slipped toward the stone stairs. He took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding in his chest.
When he reached the edge of the platform, he peeked over cautiously—and what he saw left him slack-jawed.
The arena was a wide circle, surrounded by stands packed with people shouting and placing bets.
In the center, two figures were manipulating the ground with their hands. One wiggled their fingers, and the dirt flattened out like an invisible steamroller was at work. The other raised a hand, and the raised patches of earth sank with a dry crunch.
Charles blinked, dumbfounded.
Are those powers? Or maybe magic?
Charles racked his brain…
What game or novel he'd played or read used powers like this?
As his mind spun, a voice yanked him out of his thoughts.
"Rian Cole!"
Charles was slow to react. The voice was sharp, feminine, and clearly ticked off.
"Rian Cole, I'm talking to you!"
Charles turned slowly and saw a girl storming toward him. She was tall, with jet-black hair falling in messy strands over her shoulders and blue eyes that glared at him with contempt.
Her tunic matched his, but the blue trim along the edges suggested some kind of rank.
Charles swallowed hard. He didn't like the way she was looking at him.
"What the hell are you doing up here gawking at the arena?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Shouldn't you be cleaning with the rest of the losers?"
Charles hesitated.
The hostility in her voice was as clear as the scrawny guy's had been. He didn't know who she was, but he figured he'd better come up with something fast.
"Uh… I came up because I heard the fighter bailed," he said, shrugging. "Wanted to see what was up."
The girl let out a dry, mocking laugh.
"What? Seriously? You, a powerless nobody, think you could step in?"
She took a step closer, eyeing him up and down.
"What're you gonna do? Scrub the arena floor with your little rag until the enemy surrenders?"
Charles opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, another figure appeared beside him.
It was a guy, a bit taller than the girl, with the same black hair and piercing blue eyes. Their features were so similar that Charles instantly clocked them as siblings.
The guy gave the girl a slight nod.
"Hey, Lira," he said, then turned his gaze on Charles. "What's this bastard doing here?"
Lira, the girl, smirked wickedly.
"Looks like our dear Rian was playing nosy. Wanted to check out the fight, like he's got any business in the arena."
The guy—whose name Charles still didn't know—looked him up and down with disdain.
"Get lost, Rian, before I beat you senseless and tell our father, Kraus Cole, you're slacking off."
Feeling a twitch in his temple, Charles closed his eyes for a second.
Kraus Cole! he thought.
That name rang a bell. It was from a game he'd played ages ago—one he'd nearly dropped because the story felt too cliché, except for that one boss fight.
Kraus Cole was the leader of the Storm Clan, a ruthless guy who trained powerful warriors to conquer lands and expand his influence.
In the game, the protagonist—a generic light-wielding hero—thwarted his plans and took him down in a pretty frantic battle.
That was a fun boss fight… Charles thought, cracking a brief smile as he tried to recall the game's protagonist.
He wanted to connect the dots, but when he pushed his memory, a sharp pain stabbed through his head.
Charles groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead, stumbling slightly.
Lira and the guy stared at him and burst out laughing.
"Look at that, Kain!" Lira said, pointing at him. "What's wrong now, Rian? Head hurt from thinking too hard about how useless you are?"
Kain, the guy, crossed his arms and grinned smugly.
"Probably remembering what a loser he is. Can't even clean right, let alone fight."
Charles took a deep breath, trying to tune out the pain.
As their laughter echoed in his ears, the pieces started falling into place.
Lira and Kain were his half-siblings.
In the game, they were minor enemies the protagonist faced before taking on Kraus Cole.
And Rian…
Rian Cole was a tragic figure. He'd killed his mother at birth due to uncontrollable powers—an accident that earned him the hatred of the entire clan.
In the story, Rian died miserably, sacrificing himself to buy his father, the final boss, time to recover before the fight's second phase.
Damn it! Charles thought, clenching his fists.
He was stuck in the body of a character doomed to die as cannon fodder.
And the worst part? Lira and Kain were looking at him like he was trash—just like everyone else in the clan.
Kain stepped forward and shoved him hard. Caught off guard, Charles stumbled back and hit the ground with a dull thud.
"Scram, Rian," Lira said, wiping a tear from laughing so hard. "Go now before we change our minds and teach you a lesson."
Charles got up slowly, his head still buzzing with pain and anger. He had no idea how to tap into Rian's powers.
In the game, there was a line from Kraus Cole right before he died at the protagonist's hands—something about Rian being able to control lightning.
But with no details on how to awaken or use it, it was just a vague throwaway bit of lore.
Charles glanced at Lira and Kain, still snickering.
He couldn't take them on—not yet.
With his teeth gritted, Charles turned around and started walking back toward the hallway.
He needed time.
Time to think, to remember, to figure out how to unlock that power. Because if he didn't, he was doomed to repeat Rian Cole's miserable fate.
And that wasn't happening. Not if he could help it.