Chapter 1: Echoes of Ink
A gasp tore through her lips as her eyes snapped open. Bright, almost blinding sunlight streamed through impossibly tall windows, painting long stripes across unfamiliar polished floors. Somewhere nearby, a voice droned, flat and monotonous, echoing slightly in what felt like a vast space—a lecture hall.
Where…? This isn't my apartment. Not even close.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
Disorientation clashed with a rising panic she forced down, breathing slowly, deliberately. Then came the whispers, cutting through the lecture hall.
"Look who decided to grace us with her presence." "Honestly, the nerve. After last time..."
She remained utterly still, letting her fringe curtain her eyes, a fragile shield. A cautious glance revealed rows upon rows of students seated in tiered benches above her. Identical uniforms – crisp navy, accented with stark silver emblems that pricked at her memory. Starcitzen Academy. The name surfaced like a forgotten nightmare, bringing with it a dizzying flood of unwanted knowledge, vivid scenes ripped from pages she knew too well.
No. It can't be.
But it was. The vaulted ceilings, the stern crest above the stage, the very feel of the air thick with latent energy – it was all ripped straight from the web novel she'd devoured just… before. Before she woke up here.
Okay. Don't panic. Analyze. If this were real and not a dream, then she was trapped. Not just in any story, but this story.
And who was she?
Nausea churned as fragmented impressions assaulted her: a clumsy spell backfiring, averted gazes in the hallways, the sting of barely-veiled contempt. Ah. The realization landed with a cold thud. No protagonist, no cunning villainess. She was Avaline Dubois – the designated F-rated punching bag. An extra, whose only role was to stumble through a few early chapters, highlighting the brilliance of others before fading into miserable obscurity. Her hands clenched under the ornate desk, knuckles turning white. My fate is to be a footnote.
Suddenly, the whispers died. The droning voice from the stage ceased. Silence descended, heavy and expectant. Her head snapped up instinctively.
A tall woman with severe features and hair pulled back so tightly it seemed painful stood on the lecture stage, fixing Avaline with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. Professor Ironwood. Just as described.
"Miss Dubois," the professor's voice was ice. "Since you've rejoined the land of the living, perhaps you can enlighten us. The significance of dimensional gates in humanity's ongoing struggle."
Avaline's pulse leaped. Her throat felt like sandpaper. Every eye in the hall pinned her down – amused, scornful, indifferent. Waiting for her to fail. Again.
Drawing another slow breath, she pushed down the tremor. "Dimensional gates," she began, her voice surprisingly steady, though quiet. "They're... tears in reality. Breaches the Myriad Races use to cross between realms." She paused, recalling the dry text from the novel, but filtering it through a lens of sudden, terrifying relevance. "Passages for invaders."
A flicker of surprise in the professor's cold eyes. A subtle shift in the weight of stares pressing down on her. Encouraged, she continued, choosing her words carefully. "Earth is... marginal. Weak, in the eyes of the major powers – divine, demonic. The other races crossing through? They mostly ignore humanity. We're just... collateral. Ants on their battlefield."
An almost breathless quiet filled the hall. Had she said too much? Deviated from the expected script of failure?
Then, laughter shattered the silence. Sharp, condescending, echoing from a few rows behind her.
"Impressive," a silky, arrogant voice mocked. Avaline didn't need to turn; she knew that voice. Lucien Night. S-class prodigy, golden boy, casually cruel. "She managed to recite the introduction to 'Planar Dynamics 101'. Truly, a stunning display."
More laughter followed, louder this time, feeding off his cue. Heat flooded Avaline's cheeks, humiliation a familiar, bitter taste. She bit the inside of her lip, hard, focusing on the grain of the wood beneath her fingertips. Don't react. Don't give him the satisfaction.
"Enough, Mr. Night," Professor Ironwood snapped, though without real heat. She silenced the class with a sharp gesture. "The answer was adequate, Miss Dubois. Though lacking depth." A piercing look. "Try to remain conscious for the remainder of the lecture."
The class returned to its hum, the brief moment of attention dissolving. Forgotten again. Just like the Avaline Dubois of the novel. Relief warred with a familiar, suffocating shame.
But beneath it, something else stirred. A tiny, stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished. She remembered the book. Not just the broad strokes, but the details – the hidden plots, the overlooked characters, the foreshadowing everyone else missed.
This body might be F-rated, she thought, fists still tight beneath the desk, but my knowledge isn't.
Her fate was written as a nobody, destined to be swept aside.
Maybe.
This time, things would be different. She wouldn't be loud. She wouldn't draw attention. But she wouldn't fade away either. She would watch, learn, and find the cracks in the narrative.
This extra wasn't going off-script. Not yet. But she was going to start editing.