Welcome To My Own Damn Novel

"Elias, wake up!"

A sharp voice tore through my ears, yanking me from unconsciousness.

I jolted awake, my heart hammering as my body reacted on instinct. The world around me was a blur of unfamiliar sights and sounds. My ears rang, my breathing was uneven, and my limbs felt… strange. Off.

The first thing I saw was a man looming over me. He was dressed in a neatly pressed coat and slacks, his arms crossed over his chest. His sharp eyes bore into me with irritation, his lips pressed into a tight line. He had the strict, no-nonsense aura of someone important—maybe a professor.

But I didn't recognize him.

I didn't recognize anything.

I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. Rows of students filled the room, all dressed in the same academy uniform. Some whispered among themselves, others outright stared. A few smirked, like they were expecting something entertaining to happen.

Where… am I?

The man's voice boomed again. "Elias!"

I flinched, the sharp tone stabbing through my skull like a blade.

Elias?

Why was he calling me Elias? My name wasn't Elias.

Right?

A cold shiver crawled down my spine as I hesitated. My mind felt like it was wading through fog, grasping at pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit together.

The professor—if that's what he was—glared down at me, his expression twisted in irritation.

"Is this class a joke to you? You're already weak enough in everything, and now you're slacking off by sleeping? If you can't fight, at least use that pathetic excuse of a brain."

The words hit harder than I expected. Weak? Pathetic? Who does this guy think he is?

Something burned in my chest, an automatic response flaring up before I could even think.

Scowling, I stood up, pushing the desk back slightly as I did. And then—

I froze.

I was taller.

No… everything around me felt smaller. My arms, my legs, my entire body—it wasn't my own. I could feel it in the way my limbs moved, in the way my clothes fit differently.

Panic flared in my chest like a wildfire. What the hell is going on?

The professor's glare sharpened at my lack of response. Before i cleared my throat and snapped.

"And why don't you stop yelling? You're practically spitting on my face."

Silence.

The room, which had been filled with murmurs and quiet chuckles, went completely still.

I swallowed.

The professor's face darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Around me, students stiffened. Some gawked in shock, while others smirked in anticipation.

Shit.

Had I messed up? No—this wasn't normal. This entire situation wasn't normal.

"How dare you talk back to your professor?" His voice was dangerously low now. "You really have lost all shame. Fine then—sleep all you want. You're nothing but a failure, a useless brat who only got into this academy because of his father's wealth."

The words sank deep, latching onto something inside me.

Academy.

Wealthy father.

Elias.

A strange sense of dread twisted in my stomach. My breathing turned shallow. My hands, resting on the desk, felt clammy.

Elias.

Why does that name sound so—

No.

No, no, no.

I turned my head, my gaze locking onto the boy sitting beside me.

Golden hair. Sharp features. Blue eyes that burned with confidence.

He raised an eyebrow. "What's with that dumb look?"

My mouth went dry.

Something about him… something was wrong. Not about him—about me.

I forced my lips to move. "What's your name?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The boy scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Seriously? Acting like you don't even know me after losing that badly?" He smirked.

"Fine. I'll remind you. Dante Ashbourne. The one who crushed you at the festival. Hope you're not too heartbroken over it."

Everything around me blurred for a second.

Dante Ashbourne.

The hero.

The protagonist of my novel.

Which means…

My pulse pounded in my ears. My fingers trembled as I clenched them into fists.

I inhaled sharply, but my breath came in ragged gasps.

This wasn't possible.

This wasn't real.

But no matter how much I tried to deny it, the truth was staring me right in the face.

This world… this was the world of my novel.

"The Villain is Doomed by the Hero in Every Way."

The story I wrote.

The novel that gained popularity for its overpowered hero and its weak, disposable villain. The villain who existed only to lose, to suffer, to be humiliated for the hero's growth.

And that villain—

Was me.

Elias Astaire.

The weakest character in the entire story. The stepping stone for the protagonist. The fool meant to fail over and over again.

My breathing quickened. No. No, no, this isn't real. I clutched the fabric of my uniform, my fingers digging into the material as if I could rip it off and wake up from this nightmare.

"Welcome to the novel 'The Villain is Doomed by the Hero in Every Way.'"

A voice echoed in my head, calm and unbothered.

I stiffened, my entire body going rigid.

This wasn't just some whisper. It wasn't my imagination.

It was real.

I was in my own story.

And it meant one thing.

I was well and truly fucked.