Waking up in someone else's body was one thing.
Living with their thoughts?
That was the real horror.
It started slow. A flash here, a whisper there. At first, I thought I was imagining it. But then the headaches came. Short, sharp bursts—like someone was stabbing my brain with a spoon.
I'd blink, and suddenly I'd remember what Aris liked to eat for breakfast. Not because I cared. But because Caleb cared. Desperately.
I hated it.
It felt like I was living with a ghost who wouldn't shut up.
But ignoring it didn't work. So I gave in and let the memories come.
Not all at once. Just pieces. A slow drip of the life I now owned.
His father: cold, distant. A typical noble. Expected perfection, got disappointment.
His older brother: golden child. Skilled, charming, beloved.
Caleb? The spare. The soft one. The artistic one.
He didn't fit the mold.
So he disappeared into fantasy. Into obsession. Into her.
It made sense now, in a sad, twisted way.
But I wasn't here to repeat his mistakes.
I spent the rest of the day sitting in front of the sketchbook with a glass of watered wine and a stack of Caleb's old journals. I read every cringey entry, every bad poem, every painful scribble about Aris.
It wasn't fun.
It was necessary.
Information was power. Even if it came wrapped in desperation and cheap ink.
Through it, I learned a few things:
1. The Academy entrance is in three days.
It's where all the important characters gather. Where the plot starts. The MC of the original story shows up there, overpowered and underprepared.
I need to be neither.
2. Caleb wasn't untalented—just unfocused.
He was good at magic theory. Even better at enchantment, though he didn't bother with formal training. He had raw mana reserves that put him in the upper-middle tier. Not hero material, but far from weak.
3. He was ignored, not hated.
That's... a huge advantage. I'm invisible to the main plot right now. Which means I can move however I want—no pressure, no spotlight, no one watching. That's valuable.
Also, apparently I'm stupidly rich.
There's a literal vault under the manor filled with enchanted trinkets, old heirlooms, and money. Actual gold. Like, cartoon-level treasure piles.
Which makes me wonder how someone with this much privilege managed to mess up so hard.
Answer: obsession.
He funneled everything into a girl who didn't know he existed. Spent gold to impress her. Wrote songs. Commissioned portraits. Once hired a bard to sing outside her dorm.
I wish I was joking.
"Rest in peace, Caleb," I muttered, sipping wine. "You were built to win, but chose to lose."
Not me though.
I still didn't know what I wanted from this world. Fame? Power? A quiet life?
No idea.
But I did know what I didn't want.
To be forgotten.
I've lived that life once. Quiet, buried under routine.
This time, I'll leave a mark. Somewhere. Somehow.
Starting with the Academy.