The morning lecture hall hung in a hush that crackled like frost on glass. Sunlight speared through tall windows, etching delicate filigrees across carved oak desks. At the front, a grizzled professor in slate-gray robes scrawled protective runes on an illusion board, his voice a low rumble—slow, deliberate, heavy with authority.
Chester, however, was miles away. Chin propped on one fist, eyelids at half-mast, he drifted on a tide of half-formed thoughts. Liane. Alise. The café. The powder. Is this still the novel… or something darker?
"Kerl!"
The name cracked like a whip. Chester jolted upright, blinking at the professor now looming with arms folded and one brow arched like a drawn bow.
"Repeat what I just said about Tertiary Elemental Wards."
Snickers rippled. Heads turned. Someone in the back was already muffling a laugh.
Chester opened his mouth.
His mind—blank as fresh parchment.
"Uh… Tertiary Elemental Wards are… like… the third layer that… filters wind?"
He delivered it with the swagger of a man who'd just solved the universe.
A cough of laughter escaped the front row. Another student hid a grin behind a textbook.
The professor sighed through his nose. "If it filters wind, Kerl, it's a window screen—not a ward."
The dam broke. Laughter rolled in waves. Chester sank back into his seat, face a practiced mask of indifference. Same song, different verse.
Four rows ahead, Alise glanced over her shoulder—just once. No anger. No pity. Just the flat, cool stare of someone who'd long ago stopped expecting better.
Chester exhaled through his teeth. Story of my life.
Recess bell.
The hall emptied in a stampede of chatter and clattering boots. Chester drifted alone down the sapphire-stone corridors, each footfall echoing like a verdict.
Whispers trailed him.
"That's Chester…"
"Heard he caused a scene with Alise again last night."
"Should've been expelled ages ago…"
"Guy's hobby is just ruining people's days, huh?"
He heard every word.
Didn't flinch.
Kept walking—straight to the canteen.
The Grand Magic Academy's canteen was a vaulted open-air hall, ringed by pillars etched with ancient sigils. Kiosks steamed and sizzled: enchanted breads that refilled themselves, herbal teas that whispered fortunes, soups that changed flavor with mood.
Chester joined the longest queue—herbal tea, always popular. Ahead of him stood a junior girl, blonde hair brushing her shoulders, uniform still crisp with newness.
Everything normal.
Until—
"WAAAARGH!!"
The girl spun, face pale with panic.
"He—he touched me! Chester Kerl touched me!"
Every head swiveled.
Chester froze. Mouth half-open. No panic—just stunned silence.
Chaos erupted. Students backed away. Glared. Judged.
"What's going on here?"
The voice cut through the din—low, smooth, edged with ice.
Alexandre Brookhaven stepped into the circle.
Hair like burnished copper. Eyes like glacial sapphires. Face carved from marble and confidence.
The story's golden boy. The real MC.
"Chester," he said, tone velvet over steel. "I warned you. Want me to have you thrown out for good?"
Their eyes locked.
A spark—disgust, maybe something colder—flashed in Alexandre's.
Chester didn't answer.
Just huffed, turned on his heel, and walked.
Down the side stairs.
No one followed.
No one called.
He slipped into the academy's forgotten back corridor—moss-laced walls, roots snaking from cracked stone. A row of elite lockers, rarely used.
His was at the end.
He opened it.
Two sandwiches sat inside, wrapped in cream wax paper. Neat. Anonymous.
He glanced left, right. Empty.
Took them. Shut the locker.
Face unreadable—neither grim nor glad.
A low wall separated the academy from a hidden garden behind the admin wing. Chester vaulted it with practiced ease. The place was a secret: one weathered bench beneath a lone sakura tree, petals drifting like slow pink snow.
He sat.
Unwrapped the first sandwich.
Bit down.
The bread was soft. The filling—simple, savory, familiar.
His thoughts unspooled.
If I rewrite Chester… will anyone ever see me differently?
Clouds drifted overhead, lazy and indifferent.
Fat chance, he thought, chewing slowly.
But something nagged.
A tiny splinter in the back of his mind.
The sandwich.
He stared at the half-eaten triangle in his hand.
In the novel… only Alise ever brings sandwiches from home.
Confirmed by the author in a fan Q&A. She never ate in the hall. Never bought from kiosks.
So why…
He turned the sandwich over, as if the answer might be baked into the crust.
Why is this in my locker?
A chill crawled up his spine—not fear, but the prickling sense that the story was rewriting itself around him.
He remembered now: Chester Kerl did eat sandwiches in a few scenes. But which chapter? When did it start?
The thought dissolved as a breeze stirred the sakura petals.
He was alone.
Just him, the bench, and two sandwiches that tasted like questions.
The second one sat untouched on his knee.
He stared at it a long moment.
Then, quietly:
"I'm Chester. And Chester… is me."
He took another bite.
The garden stayed silent.
But the sandwich felt heavier than bread and filling should ever be.
The academy's bell tolled across the blue-stone corridors, its metallic timbre resonating with deep, authoritative echoes.
Students hustled back to class, their footsteps mingling with hushed conversations and the patter of boots on slick marble floors. Midday sunlight slanted through lofty windows, weaving intricate patterns along walls adorned with ancient magical carvings.
Inside the lecture hall, the atmosphere settled back into a taut silence. Carved wooden desks stood in neat rows, each bearing the scars of years—faint scratches and ghostly ink stains.
At the front, the elderly professor in his slate-gray robes stood beside the illusion board, his spindly fingers dancing through the air, shaping protective runes that shimmered faintly in pale blue. His voice flowed like a sluggish river—heavy, deliberate, laced with weary authority, as if he'd grown tired of preaching to ears that never truly listened.
"...and thus, the Tertiary Elemental Ward demands precise concentration to balance the mana flow. One minor slip, and the entire structure crumbles like a house of cards."
Chester slumped in the back row as usual, chin propped on his hand, eyes half-lidded. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in the mysteries that had yanked him into this novel's world.
Suddenly, a strange wave washed over him. His stomach churned, twisting like a knotted rope.
Nausea.
He straightened slowly, his hand instinctively gripping the desk for support. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and the world around him tilted like a ship in a storm.
"Kerl, don't doze off in my class again," the professor's voice cut through, sharp but devoid of heat. Heads turned, sly smirks curling on a few faces.
Chester drew a breath, trying to steady his roiling gut.
"I... I have a headache. Can I go to the restroom?" he said, his voice hoarse—not the usual swagger of Chester's arrogance.
The professor eyed him, one brow arched like a skeptical archer. "Unwell? Or just another excuse to play hooky, Kerl?"
Snickers rippled from the front. A whisper floated back: "Probably ditching like always." Another added, "Chester never changes, does he?"
Chester didn't retort. He just stared at the professor, face pallid, knuckles white on the desk's edge. The man sighed, nodding reluctantly.
"Go. But don't dawdle."
Without a second's delay, Chester rose from his chair, his steps unsteady. He bolted from the room, ignoring the cynical stares and murmurs that trailed him like persistent shadows.
The academy corridors felt interminable. Blue-stone walls etched with arcane carvings stretched like endless mazes, curving at the edges of his vision. Sunlight piercing the high windows now burned too brightly, stabbing his eyes. The echo of his boots on marble blended with his pounding heart. The faint scent of moss and aged wood mingled with the rising bile, spinning his head like a top.
He nearly stumbled at a corner, bracing against the wall.
"What... what's wrong with me?" he whispered, voice feeble.
He racked his brain—what had he eaten? The sandwich. Could that be it? It had seemed ordinary, and he'd felt fine afterward... until now.
Finally, he reached the student restroom at the corridor's end. The room was cramped, with cold gray stone walls and tarnished copper sinks. A large mirror reflected his image: Chester's face, ashen, sweat-slicked, eyes wide with anxiety—not the cocky mask he usually wore.
He rushed to a stall, the door creaking as it swung open. Dropping to his knees before the basin, his stomach convulsed like a writhing serpent. The nausea peaked. He retched, expelling everything in bitter, sour waves. Each heave drained him, leaving his body trembling and spent.
"Damn... what is this..." he muttered, clutching the basin's rim. His head throbbed, the world blurring into a melting canvas. He tried to stand, but his legs buckled. Vision swam, and in a flash, the floor rushed up to meet him.
He collapsed.
Darkness swallowed him.
Morning light filtered softly through the curtain gaps, warm and gentle, brushing Chester's eyelids. He opened them slowly, breath catching in his throat. The familiar old wooden ceiling greeted him—not the restroom, not the academy, but his own room in the Kerl family home.
He sat up abruptly, hand flying to his still-throbbing forehead.
"What... I'm back in my room?" he murmured, voice raspy. He scanned the space: luxurious linen bed, wooden side table, dusty bookshelf, the faint aroma of aged wood mingling with morning air. Everything identical to previous dawns.
A sharp knock shattered the quiet.
"Chester! Get ready now! We have to leave early! Our driver's had an emergency!" His father's voice—Kerl Ormund—boomed through the door, the tone all too familiar.
Chester froze. His heart hammered—not from the knock, but the words that rang like a cursed echo.
"Driver's emergency..." he whispered, eyes widening. He glanced at the bedside table, searching for the vanished "Magic Revolution" novel. But it was empty, just like last night.
No book. No clues.
He rose from the bed, legs shaky but driven.
"Looped again?" he muttered, disbelief thick in his throat. "Why am I back here? Or... because I died?"
He inhaled deeply, wrestling his thoughts into order. The sandwich, the vomiting, the blackout—it all felt too real for coincidence. Poisoned? Or a side effect of breaking the story's "script"?
"Chester! Don't make me come in there!"
His father's voice thundered again, sharper now.
Chester gritted his teeth, fingers digging into the bed's edge.
"Fine... if dying loops me back, I need to tread carefully," he whispered, eyes gleaming with a mix of resolve and unease.
He stood, snatching his academy uniform from the wardrobe, dressing swiftly. But in his heart, one question echoed relentlessly:
What do I have to do to shatter this loop?
That morning weighed heavier than usual. Sunlight slipping through the curtains brought a false warmth, as if the world outside couldn't care less about the turmoil raging in his chest. Chester stood before the grand wooden wardrobe, fingers slowly drawing out his academy uniform—the deep blue robe embroidered with the Grand Magic Academy's crest. Each motion felt mechanical, muscle memory at work, while his mind raced like a storm-tossed sea.
"Looped again..." he whispered, staring blankly at his reflection in the small wall mirror. Chester Kerl's face gazed back: tousled black hair, dark brown eyes now shadowed with anxiety rather than arrogance. He drew a long breath, steadying his still-racing pulse.
The door rattled with another insistent knock. "Chester! Hurry! Our driver's in a bind!"
Chester nodded to his reflection, as if rallying an ally. "Alright, Chester. Play the part, but don't screw up."
He donned the robe quickly, smoothed his hair just enough, and hurried out of the room.
In the Kerl family living room, his father waited like a statue carved from duty, standing ramrod straight in his headmaster's robes that seemed heavier than usual. Kerl Ormund's face was a map of deep lines, his eyes sharp yet weary, as if he'd carried the world's burdens for far too long. "You're dragging your feet this morning," he said flatly, arms folded across his chest.
Chester shrugged, channeling the usual lazy swagger. "Mornings and I don't mix," he drawled, keeping his voice deliberately bland.
He headed for the door, dodging his father's gaze that felt like it was prying for secrets.
Outside, the family carriage stood ready, sleek black horses pawing at the dew-slick cobblestones. The sky was a crisp blue, but a thin mist lingered in the distance, veiling the academy towers like a shroud of mysteries.
Chester climbed in, his father settling opposite, arms crossed, stare fixed out the window.
The journey unfolded in a tense hush. Wooden wheels creaked over the stones, mingling with the horses' rhythmic clop, crafting a monotonous dirge that underscored time's relentless loop.
Chester stole glances at his father, noting the furrows etched into the man's brow.
Does he know something? he wondered, but quickly averted his eyes, afraid the unease would betray him.
"You look off this morning," Kerl said suddenly, his tone flat but laced with suspicion.
Chester froze for a beat, then plastered on a cynical smirk. "What, can't a guy be quiet without getting grilled? Mornings are bad enough without the third degree." He leaned back against the carriage wall, feigning nonchalance.
Kerl huffed softly but said nothing more. Silence reclaimed the space, broken only by the wheels and the morning breeze slipping through the window cracks.
The Grand Magic Academy greeted Chester with a vista burned into his memory. Towering white stone buildings rose beneath the azure sky, the academy's blue flag fluttering listlessly in the wind. Uniformed students milled in the main courtyard, their laughter and chatter blending with the trill of magical birds skimming the rooftops. Dew-kissed gardens sparkled around the edges, but to Chester, it all felt like a stage set for an endless rerun.
He stepped into the courtyard, hands shoved in his robe pockets, striving to maintain Chester's carefree slouch. Yet inside, he scanned every face, every gesture, every footfall, hunting for any deviation from the previous loop.
"Hey, Chester!"
A sharp voice rang out behind him. He turned slowly.
Alise Antoinette Seraphim stood there, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight, sapphire eyes brimming with the same loathing as every morning before.
Flanking her, Liane and Marcia glared at him with matching disgust and revulsion.
"What are you staring at?" Alise frowned, hands on hips, her tone a dare.
Chester drew a deep breath, forcing himself to stay in character. He arched a brow, flashing a sardonic grin. "Hmph. What's with the morning racket, noble princess? Didn't get your beauty sleep?"
Alise snorted. "Tch!" She turned away, cheeks flushing slightly in feigned outrage. Liane and Marcia tugged her along, whispering as they departed.
Chester watched from afar, his eyes lingering on Liane—she seemed composed, but something in her movements felt off, like someone guarding a secret.
She tried to poison Alise at the café… he thought.
But why?
In the lecture hall, the air snapped back to tense quiet. Sunlight filtered through tall windows, casting delicate patterns over the carved wooden desks. The elderly professor in slate-gray robes stood at the front, fingers weaving through the air to form faintly glowing protective runes.
His voice was grave and measured, steeped in authority, but Chester barely registered a word.
He slouched in the back row, chin on hand, eyes half-closed. His mind raced.
The sandwich… he mused inwardly.
If it wasn't coincidence, maybe it was poisoned. I vomited, got dizzy, blacked out… and then nothing. That wasn't normal.
He glanced at Alise, four rows ahead, her blonde hair neatly cascading over her pristine white uniform. She scribbled notes with laser focus, as if Chester didn't exist.
Alise hates Chester. Hates him with a passion. If she slipped poison into that sandwich… maybe she wanted me gone. Or maybe it's not just her—everyone here would love to see 'Chester Kerl' vanish. But why now?
Chester rubbed his temples, piecing together the puzzle.
The recess bell chimed, shattering the classroom hush. Students rose, chairs scraping, voices rising in a cacophony. Chester didn't budge at first.
He stared out the window, plotting his next move.
This time, no locker. No sandwich. No confronting Alise in the garden. Let's see what happens if I dodge it all.
He stood slowly, slipping out of class and heading toward the back garden—but this time, he didn't vault the low wall. He lingered at the edge, leaning against the cool stone, eyeing the sakura tree from afar.
The second bell rang, signaling the next class. Chester returned to the lecture hall, reclaiming his back-row seat. The room mirrored before.
Alise entered moments later, gliding gracefully to her spot. She shot him a fleeting glance before turning away.
Chester noted it impassively, feeling nothing.
Minutes ticked by. He monitored his body like a hawk. No nausea. No dizziness. Stomach steady, head clear.
He exhaled in relief, but his thoughts churned on.
I skipped the sandwich this time, and I feel fine. So… it had to be poisoned.
He watched Alise from a distance, searching her movements for clues. She looked ordinary—notes flowing, blonde hair catching the light.
If she really wants me dead, I need to steer clear of her. Avoid entanglements altogether.
Chester sighed heavily.
And here I was, hoping for a casual chat… But I'm Chester Kerl—the pariah everyone despises. I hate this.
"Alise!" The professor's voice boomed, snapping him from his reverie. "Explain the core principles of the Tertiary Elemental Ward we just covered."
Alise rose confidently, as always. "The foundational principles of the Tertiary Elemental Ward involve layering mana to…"
Her voice cut off abruptly. Face draining of color, she clutched her forehead, body swaying.
"Alise?" The professor stepped forward, brow furrowed.
Before anyone could react, she crumpled to the floor with a thud, limp as a marionette with cut strings.
Pandemonium erupted. Students screamed; some rushed to her side, others froze in shock.
The professor knelt beside her, checking her pulse with a grim face. "Fetch Madam Sarah! Now!" he barked at the nearest student.
Chester sat rooted, eyes wide on Alise's prone form, now surrounded by a cluster of peers. His heart pounded like a war drum, thoughts colliding in chaos.
She… blacked out? Just like me yesterday?
He clenched his fists, nails biting into his palms.
No way… poisoned? But how? Or… was the sandwich laced from the start, without her knowing?
Damn it! I got it all wrong!
His gaze snapped to Liane, standing in the corner, face ashen, hands trembling.
Liane… trying again?
Chester's mind reeled, possibilities shattering like glass.
The classroom buzzed with panicked whispers and frantic footsteps. Alise lay motionless on the floor, her face pale as fresh snow.
"Damn it!"