The golden light of the portal swallowed Philip as if someone had violently clicked 'drag and drop' on him. He felt the ground disappear, his stomach protest, and—for a moment—he was certain he would faceplant into the new world.
But no.
He dropped straight into the middle of a fancy café, the kind of place where rich people drink ten-dollar coffee and pretend they have real problems.
And time…
STOPPED.
Literally.
People were frozen mid-gesture: a barista holding a cup in the air, a customer with their mouth open mid-complaint about foam, shadows halted in place. Only one scene remained alive, as if sealed inside a bubble of magical realism:
Rosalind—hair perfect, expression vulnerable, hand trembling—was being humiliated by a ridiculously beautiful girl, one of those who radiate that supernatural glow only transmigrated protagonists with plot armor have.
The White Light.
And it was exactly at that moment that Philip realized a disturbing detail:
he had absolutely no idea what the little psychopath's name was.
She said, in a sweet, venomous tone:
"…because people like you need to understand your place. He never loved you. You were just a pastime until I arrived."
Rosalind lowered her head, biting her lip.
The White Light lifted her chin, triumphant.
Philip frowned.
Why the hell was everyone frozen except those two?
Was Seravion trying to brief him on the situation before his grand entrance?
And then, right in the middle of Philip's indignant thoughts, time snapped back into motion.
People around them began moving again, conversations resuming as if nothing had happened. The little psychopath—still drowning in her illuminated-protagonist performance—continued her humiliation monologue like she was on stage.
That's when Philip saw Mac approaching from the back.
The White Light noticed too.
And of course, she instantly activated professional-victim mode: she fake-tripped, let out a dramatic little gasp, and fell as if Rosalind had just shoved her off a cliff.
Philip blinked twice.
Reading this kind of scene had already been one of the worst decisions of his life.
But seeing it in person… that crossed every conceivable boundary of ridiculousness.
It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—except the car was made of bad clichés and the driver was a narcissistic sociopath.