Karim died quietly.
There was no scream, no final regret—only a brief moment of light before everything faded into nothingness.
And then…
He opened his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was the ceiling. It wasn't the cracked white plaster of his apartment, but polished wood, carved with elegant patterns that spoke of wealth and age. A faint scent of incense lingered in the air, unfamiliar yet strangely calming.
Karim blinked, his mind struggling to catch up.
"…Where am I?"
His voice sounded different—softer, lighter.
Slowly, he raised his hand… and froze.
It wasn't his.
The fingers were longer, more refined, untouched by the small scars and roughness he had grown used to.
A chill crept down his spine.
"This… isn't possible."
Before he could process further, a wave of memories crashed into his mind.
Not his memories.
Another life. Another identity.
Names, places, faces—everything blended together in a dizzying storm. Karim staggered slightly, grabbing onto the edge of the bed as the world around him tilted.
When the flood finally stopped, he was left breathless.
And terrified.
"…I know this place."
The realization came slowly, like a shadow creeping into the light.
This wasn't just any unfamiliar world.
It was a story.
A web novel he had read months ago—one filled with political schemes, ruthless power struggles, and inevitable tragedy.
Karim's lips parted slightly.
"No… don't tell me…"
His gaze shifted toward the mirror across the room.
Step by step, he approached it, his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears.
The reflection that greeted him was that of a young nobleman—elegant, composed… and completely unfamiliar.
Karim stared at it in silence.
"…So it's real."
He had been reborn.
Not as the protagonist.
Not as the villain.
But as someone far worse.
A side character.
An unimportant figure whose only purpose in the story was to die.
Karim's fingers curled slightly.
"…Which chapter?" he whispered.
As if answering him, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind.