The Big Bounce

The door chime rang softly as I stepped out of the convenience store.

The fluorescent glow behind me faded, swallowed by the dim streetlights stretching into the distance.

A gentle night breeze drifted through the empty streets, carrying the quiet hum of the city.

I pulled out my phone. The cracked screen flickered to life, showing a few unread messages.

[Mom]: There's rice in the cooker. Heat it up when you get home.

[Sis]: Onii-chan, can you get me some snacks on your way back? Just something small.

[Mom]: Try not to stay up too late again. You've been looking tired lately.

I sighed, my thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Then, after a moment, I locked the screen and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

"Yeah, Mom, I'll eat...."

"Sis, I already left the store. I'll bring something next time."

But I didn't text back.

My legs moved on their own, following the familiar path home.

Another day ended, another shift done.

I passed by a vending machine, its fluorescent glow humming softly in the silence.

My fingers twitched slightly. I could have grabbed something for her right then.

It wouldn't have cost much—just a few coins.

But my hand stayed in my pocket.

It wasn't like she would be upset. She never complained, even when I forgot.

Still… I should have remembered before she had to ask.

I let out a breath and tilted my head toward the sky.

The stars stretched endlessly above me, distant and unmoving.

When I was younger, I believed they held answers.

That if I stared long enough, I would find something—a sign, a meaning, anything.

But time had a way of washing away beliefs, like ink bleeding into water.

I wasn't always like this.

There was a time when I was filled with dreams, burning with passion, ready to chase after something—anything.

I tried everything back then.

When I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut. I used to stare at the night sky for hours, imagining what lay beyond the stars.

Then, in middle school, I wanted to be a musician, strumming a guitar with clumsy fingers, dreaming of writing songs that would touch people's hearts.

In high school, I thought maybe I could be a scientist, fascinated by the mysteries of the universe, eager to uncover the secrets hidden in the fabric of reality.

But somewhere along the way, life caught up to me.

Dreams didn't die all at once. They withered, little by little, buried beneath routine, exhaustion, and the weight of reality.

It wasn't a sudden loss but a slow erosion, until one day, I woke up and realized I no longer remembered what I once wanted.

University was just another step forward.

Not toward something meaningful, but simply because stopping wasn't an option.

The only thing that remained was my one habit—reading and writing web novels.

It wasn't exactly a dream, more like an escape.

I had written ten stories, but none had made it past ten chapters.

Maybe I lacked skill, or maybe I lacked perseverance. Either way, I always stopped before anything could come of it.

Still, I kept reading them. Stories about heroes defying fate, about ordinary people finding purpose in new worlds.

It was comforting, in a way. A small distraction from reality.

But even that wasn't enough to make me feel alive.

I used to have a purpose. I just didn't know what it was anymore.

When did I stop believing?

A sharp honk.

My head snapped forward, and for a brief second, I saw it—blinding headlights rushing toward me.

Impact.

Pain—brief and distant.

My body crumpled onto the pavement, my phone slipping from my hand and skidding across the asphalt.

The screen flickered weakly, vibrating one last time.

The world around me blurred.

The muffled voices, the screech of tires, the hum of the city—it all dissolved into nothing.

As my vision darkened, a single thought lingered.

If I could start over… would I finally remember what I was looking for?

And then, silence and . .... ....darkness.

***

Darkness.

At first, there was nothing but an empty void, stretching endlessly in all directions. No sound. No sensation. Just silence.

Then—pain. A deep, suffocating pain, as if my entire body had been crushed under an unbearable weight. My chest ached, my limbs felt numb, and my head pounded as if it had been split open.

I gasped and jolted upright, my breath ragged and unsteady. My vision swam, blurred shapes slowly coming into focus. A ceiling. An unfamiliar ceiling, painted with intricate golden patterns.

Where… am I?

An unknown room, definitely not in a hospital, expensive futnitures and a familiar setting of the room of a member of a noble family.

Being familiar with such type of cliched stories, it was quite obvious to me what was happening right now.

Yet, I refused to accept that it was actually happening to me.

I mean, those stories of the web novel were just fantasies created for the purpose of entertainment.

Who in the world would believe that shit has become real.

I had read some articles claiming to explain what happens after death, some exaggerated self satisfactory reasons of believing in afterlife and whatnot.

However, the only statement relevant to that, which I believe is true, is that, there is nothing after death.

Yes, literally nothing.

Then, is it my illusion, created by my subconscious for reading too much of those stories?

I would like to believe that's true, but this exurciating pain is the real deal.

"Fuck! "

I barely had time to process my thoughts before another wave of pain slammed into me.

Then, I did what anyone, aware of such cases and stories would do.

A large mirror hung in a corner of the large room, as I made my way there, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of possibilities of such abnormality.

And, here comes the great revelation as I stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself.

Except the body was of someone else.

I was not much shocked, until I noticed the face and recognized it.

The only thing about me that I am proud of is my memory.

Hence, I never forget about the story of a webnovel, nor the illustration of it's characters, the author publishes.

There were only a few webnovels, which I had completed till the end.

Among them, there was one in particular, named, REGRESSED HERO OF THE KNIGHT'S ACADEMY.

The author was kind enough to publish illustrations of all the major and minor characters, appearing in the story.

It felt strange at the time I was reading it, as minor characters aren't usually given that much exposition.

But, now I am really thankful for it, because, the one in front of me is definitely not a major character, but not a minor character either.

The wavy platinum-blond hair, the sharp but slightly delicate features, the piercing grayish-blue eyes brimming with cold arrogance—this was a face I knew.

A villainous noble, appearing at the starting of a magic academy story, who is created just to be faceslapped by the protagonist.

Due to the humiliation, he attempts to wipe out the protagonist and his allies, only to be annihilated himself.

He is me.

Or I should say, I am Him.

His name is Lucian Kingston, the youngest offspring of Duke Roger Kingston.

I stared at my reflection, my mind racing.

Lucian Kingston. A disposable villain. A fool who challenged the protagonist and paid the ultimate price.

A character doomed to fail and die.

However, the one doomed to die was Lucian Kingston, not me.

During the grueling years of my high school, I used to ask myself a single impactful question.

If I were given a second chance in life, to change something, to find something I can dedicate my life to, and to make my life meaningful, would I be able to achieve something satisfactory?

I would like to think that this is my chance,now that I know this world is real, but from a fact I noticed right now, one thing is certain.

Lucian Kingston would die within a week at most.

That would more likely be my end as well.

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A/N :

Author here.

It's my first time writing a story.

Please comment down your thoughts on the story, and suggestions if you want.

Next chapter : Avoiding Suspicions

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