Chapter 2: Apologies, Slaps, and the World Where Strength Eats the Weak
My first conscious thought after waking up was very simple.
I want to kick the absolute shit out of the author.
Not metaphorically.
Not emotionally.
Physically.
Preferably with steel-toed boots, repeatedly, until he understands the suffering he inflicted upon humanity.
I lay there staring at the ceiling of my absurdly luxurious bedroom—silk curtains, mana lamps, gold-trimmed walls—while my soul screamed in agony.
"…You petty, vindictive, basement-dwelling gremlin," I muttered.
This wasn't just transmigration.
This was revenge isekai.
The worst kind.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to recall memories of this body's past.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing useful.
No childhood trauma.
No emotional attachment.
No tragic backstory.
Just… blank.
Which, honestly, told me everything I needed to know.
"Right," I sighed. "Of course. Why would anyone bother writing lore for the useless duke's son?"
Calix Emberheart.
Even the name sounded cool.
Criminally cool.
And yet the character attached to it was a walking embarrassment.
In the novel, Calix Emberheart existed solely to prove two things:
1. Talent mattered more than birth.
2. The protagonist, Kyle Garfield, was amazing.
Every time Calix appeared, he failed.
Sword practice? Failed.
Magic aptitude test? Failed.
Social etiquette? Failed.
Common sense? Catastrophic failure.
The author didn't even give him a proper arc. He was just… there. Taking up space. Wasting oxygen. Breathing noble air he didn't deserve.
I rubbed my face.
"…No wonder I don't remember anything. Even the author hated you."
I sat up on the bed, letting my legs dangle over the edge.
"Okay. Think, Calix. Think."
If this followed the novel's timeline, I was—
A knock interrupted my thoughts.
Not a polite knock.
Not a noble knock.
This was a violent, personal attack disguised as knocking.
BANG BANG BANG.
"CALIX!"
A female voice shrieked from the other side of the door.
"CALIX EMBERHEART, OPEN THIS DOOR YOU PIECE OF SHIT!"
I flinched.
"…Yep. Sounds about right."
Before I could move, the knocking intensified.
"DON'T PRETEND YOU'RE DEAD! I KNOW YOU'RE ALIVE!"
I groaned, dragging myself out of bed.
"Coming! I'm coming! Damn!"
As I walked toward the door, fragments of memory flickered—not mine, but the novel's.
Younger sister.
Sharp tongue.
Monster-level talent.
The real pride of the Emberheart family.
I opened the door.
And immediately regretted it.
She stood there with her arms crossed, foot tapping against the marble floor like she was restraining herself from committing fratricide.
She was shorter than me by a head, with fiery crimson hair tied into a high ponytail that bounced with every angry movement. Her eyes—golden, sharp, and furious—locked onto me like twin blades.
She wore a fitted jacket over casual pants, the Emberheart crest stitched proudly on her shoulder.
Calix's younger sister.
Lyra Emberheart.
Personality: aggressive, intelligent, brutally honest, zero tolerance for incompetence—especially mine.
Talent: genius-level magic affinity and swordsmanship.
And currently?
She looked like she was about to murder me.
"Do you have any idea," she snapped, jabbing a finger into my chest, "how much trouble you caused yesterday?"
I blinked.
"…Yesterday?"
Her eye twitched.
"Oh don't give me that look," she growled. "You remember. You have to remember."
I didn't.
Not even a little.
But based on the murderous aura she was emitting, whatever I did had been… impressive.
Lyra took a sharp breath, clearly preparing herself.
"Let me spell it out for you, since your brain is apparently decorative."
She raised a finger.
"Yesterday, my best friend—Countess Seraphina Valewood—came to visit."
Ah.
The Count's daughter.
In the novel, she was one of those side characters that existed purely to suffer from Calix's stupidity.
Lyra raised a second finger.
"She came to study with me."
A third finger.
"And you—you—walked in, uninvited, unwashed, and completely lacking shame."
Uh-oh.
My instincts screamed.
This was bad.
"Then," Lyra continued, voice rising, "you looked her straight in the eyes and said—I quote—"
She cleared her throat and adopted a mocking tone.
"'Being a Count's daughter, you'll never find someone better than a Duke's son. Go out with me. People will respect you because of me.'"
Silence.
Pure.
Absolute.
Silence.
"…I said that?" I whispered.
Lyra exploded.
"YES! YOU SAID THAT!"
She grabbed me by the collar and shook me.
"Do you know how stupid that sounded?! That's not flirting! That's political extortion!"
She shoved me back.
"Dumb brother! That's how you talk to a girl you want to be your girlfriend?!"
I stared at her.
Then slowly…
I laughed.
Not a small laugh.
A full, wheezing, despair-filled laugh.
"Hah… hahahaha… oh my god…"
Lyra stared at me like I'd finally lost my mind.
"What's wrong with you now?"
I wiped a tear from my eye.
"…No, no. It's just—wow. The author really went out of his way to make me hate this guy."
Lyra's anger faltered slightly.
"…What?"
I took a deep breath.
Then bowed my head.
"I'm sorry."
She froze.
I continued, voice calm, sincere.
"I'm sorry for being fucking stupid. And useless. And embarrassing you."
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
"…What?"
I straightened up.
"If you're done listing my crimes against common sense, can I go back inside now?"
Lyra stared.
I gestured lazily toward the hallway.
"Stop wasting your time on shit like me."
Then I stepped back.
And shut the door.
Click.
Silence.
I leaned against the door, exhaling slowly.
"…That felt necessary."
Outside, Lyra stood frozen.
That wasn't how things were supposed to go.
Calix was supposed to yell back.
Make excuses.
Mock her.
Act superior.
But this time…
He sounded genuinely sorry.
And that scared her.
"…Idiot," she muttered softly, staring at the closed door.
Something felt… wrong.
Inside the room, I slid down until I was sitting on the floor.
"…Okay. Step one complete."
Which was?
I had no idea.
But at least I didn't add 'emotionally abusive brother' to my list of sins.
I rubbed my temples.
"Alright, Calix. Let's assess the situation."
I stood up and walked back toward the mirror.
Same face.
Same weak-looking body.
No hidden scars.
No glowing eyes.
No awakening montage.
"Figures."
This world was simple.
Brutally simple.
Strength eats weakness.
That was the law.
Magic ruled everything.
Swordsmanship decided status.
Talent defined worth.
And Calix Emberheart had none.
At least, none in the novel.
But here's the thing.
I wasn't Calix.
I was the reader who hated this story.
I knew the future.
I knew the power systems.
I knew the mistakes.
And most importantly—
"I know how not to be a dense idiot."
Kyle Garfield.
The protagonist.
The walking black hole of romance.
The guy who friend-zoned Evelyn so hard it traumatized an entire readership.
"…Don't worry, Evelyn," I muttered. "I won't repeat that."
I clenched my fists.
"If I'm going to survive in this body…"
I looked out the window at the vast Emberheart estate.
"…I need to get strong."
Not tomorrow.
Not next year.
Now.
No Magic. No problem
no sword who gives a shit
Alchemy. What's that
But
Whatever it took. I will overcome this
Because in this world…
Weak people didn't get redemption arcs.
They got buried.
And I refused to die as a joke character.
I smirked.
"Alright, author."
"You wanted to show me what it's like to be a loser?"
I cracked my knuckles.
"Then watch closely."
"Because I'm about to break your story."