Chapter 8##

Previously on Cursed fool

Andrea entered his room, his steps slow but deliberate. He grabbed the biscuit he'd taken earlier, biting it mechanically as his mind raced. The sweetness lingered on his tongue, but his thoughts were far from it. Finishing the last bite, he turned and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a soft, almost ominous click.

He stepped into the bathtub, the cold porcelain pressing against his feet. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a knife, the blade catching the harsh light and glinting menacingly.

"If I'm truly immortal… just like the system claims…" His voice wavered, but his grip on the knife did not. "Then this… this will prove it."

Then, without warning, he drove the blade across his throat.

Pain exploded through him, and for a split second, doubt clawed at his mind. Blood erupted from the gash, hot and thick, spilling onto the pristine tub and cascading onto the tiled floor like a macabre waterfall.

The world spun as his legs gave way, his body slumping into the growing pool of crimson.

The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and the light in his eyes began to fade.

_______________________

The Next Morning

The first rays of sunlight crept into the room, casting long golden streaks across the walls. The chirping of sparrows filtered through the closed windows, their melody was soft yet persistent, blending with the faint rustle of leaves outside. In the distance, a rooster crowed, signaling the start of a new day, oblivious to the storm brewing within Andrea's soul.

Argh!

His eyes snapped open, and his breathing was shallow and erratic. For a moment, he lay still, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, which was bathed in the soft light of dawn. The faint, metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, yet the room appeared spotless—no signs of the chaos unfolding just hours before. His hand shot to his throat, fingers trembling as they brushed over unbroken skin. There was no wound, no scar—just smooth flesh as if the horrifying events of the night had been nothing more than a fever dream.

Andrea sat up slowly, feeling the morning warmth against his skin. He glanced at the slightly open bathroom door, revealing the pristine white tiles. His heart raced as he noticed the knife lying by the sink where he had left it. The blade, once stained with his blood, now gleamed innocently in the light, mocking him with its undisturbed appearance.

The sounds of the morning grew louder. Footsteps thudded faintly from the neighbors. The whistle of a kettle pierced the quiet. A stray dog barked in the distance. It was an ordinary morning for the world outside, but not for him. To Andrea, the sunlight streaming through the curtains felt too bright, too warm—a cruel reminder that the world had moved on, even if he hadn't.

His hands clenched into fists. Last night had been no dream. The cold steel slicing through his flesh, the hot rush of blood, the suffocating darkness—it had all been real. And yet, here he was, alive and whole, as though the universe had decided to rewrite the laws of life and death for him.

Andrea's breathing hitched as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His fingers traced over the smooth, unscarred skin of his throat. No mark. There was no sign of the blade that had sliced through him just hours ago. It was as if nothing had happened.

"I really can't die," he whispered, his voice laced with disbelief. The reality of his situation settled heavily in his chest. It wasn't just some system glitch or a dream. He had slit his own throat. He had felt the pain, the suffocation, the cold embrace of death. And yet, here he was.

A sharp knock at his door startled him. "Andrea! Breakfast is ready!" his mother's voice called from downstairs.

Andrea exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Coming!" he replied, shaking off the eerie sensation creeping down his spine. He quickly changed into a simple hoodie and jeans before sprinting to the dining room.

His mother, Laura, sat at the table with her usual cup of coffee and stacks of paperwork. She barely glanced up as Andrea took a seat. "You're late. Again."

Andrea grabbed a piece of toast and took a slow bite, watching her. "You're acting way too calm for someone who just lost their son last night."

Laura sipped her coffee, unimpressed. "You didn't die."

His grip on the toast tightened. "You knew?"

"Of course." She finally looked at him, her eyes sharp. "I'm your mother. I know everything about you."

Andrea felt a chill creep up his spine. "That's not creepy at all."

Laura smirked but said nothing. Instead, she slid a small file across the table. "Your school ID, schedule, and dorm information. You'll be staying on campus during weekdays. Try not to cause too much trouble."

Andrea raised an eyebrow. "Why do I get the feeling you're pushing me out?"

"Because I am." Laura stood, gathering her papers. "You have a lot to figure out, and I won't always be here to clean up after you."

Andrea leaned back in his chair, watching her leave. "Tough love, huh?"

She paused at the doorway. "Something like that. Now eat your food and get to school."

Andrea sighed, finishing his breakfast before heading outside. He glanced at his reflection in the car window, eyes narrowing. He wasn't just Andrea Rein anymore. He was something more. Something unnatural.

A smirk tugged at his lips. "Might as well make the most of it."

--

Crockwell University was as grand as he expected—massive glass buildings, sprawling courtyards, and students bustling around like ants. The moment he stepped onto campus, whispers followed him. Some students sneaked glances, while others openly stared.

"Who's that?"

"New student."

"Damn, he's hot."

Andrea ignored them, casually making his way toward the administration office. He barely had time to take in the details before an annoyingly familiar voice called out.

"Hey, new kid!"

Andrea turned to see a blonde guy grinning at him. "Lucas," Andrea shocked because he had not seen Luca since high school in Florida. "Of course."

Lucas threw an arm over his shoulder. "How's the first day treating you?"

"Haven't been here for five minutes and already being harassed. It's great."

Lucas laughed. "You'll fit right in. Oh, and by the way—"

"Move it, dumbasses." A silver-haired girl with sharp brown eyes pushed past them, glaring at Andrea. "Don't block the damn walkway."

Andrea smirked. "Nice to see you too, Lyra."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Just don't be a fool today."

Lucas grinned. "Ah, young love."

"Shut up, Luca!" Andrea and Lyra snapped in unison.

Lucas burst out laughing. "This year is gonna be fun."

Andrea sighed, rubbing his temple.

Maybe this new life wouldn't be so bad after all.