Flames danced everywhere.
The boy with messy red-orange hair lay flat on his back, completely surrounded by fire. Strangely, he wasn't screaming or panicking. He simply let out a long, tired sigh.
"So… here we go again," he muttered, staring straight ahead as if looking through the scene itself. "Another transmigration. Classic."
He shifted slightly, ignoring the flames that licked at his arms like they belonged there.
"Let me explain before anyone judges me," he continued, raising a finger. "I went to sleep like any normal college student—peacefully, after another long night of procrastination. Then I woke up as the first son of Duke Flamebout."
He paused, grimacing slightly.
"Yeah… the name sounds like someone sneezed while trying to write 'Flameblood,' but here we are."
The fire crackled louder around him as he coughed.
"I'm eighteen years old and still a student at the Imperial Schooler's Domain." He glanced upward, as if reading invisible text. "Who even names a school that? It sounds more like the final stage of a video game than an actual academy."
He tried to sit up, winced in pain, and gave up, deciding it was easier to stay lying down.
"This world looks fairly modern—tall buildings, dormitories, regular student life. But beyond the city stretch endless forests. And anyone who's played even one fantasy game knows what that usually means."
He gave a small, knowing nod.
"Trouble."
"So, naturally, the first thing I did after waking up in this new body…" He pointed upward with a weak finger. "…was jump out of my dorm window. Fifth floor."
A short silence followed.
"Don't ask."
Thankfully—or perhaps unfortunately—he hadn't died.
"All my bones were broken," he said, lifting one arm with visible effort. "Except for my skull, apparently. Plot armor, I guess."
The flames around him flared brighter.
"While I was lying there, half-dead and in agony, I thought to myself: 'This is it. The moment. The system is about to appear. I'm finally going to become overpowered.'"
He looked down at the roaring fire surrounding him.
"Instead… I got this."
The flames suddenly surged upward as if responding to his words.
"Just… fire."
At first, he had accepted it.
"Okay, fine. At least it'll be quick. No more broken bones. A respectable way to go."
But then something unexpected happened.
The burns on his skin began to fade. The pain in his shattered limbs slowly eased as the fire seemed to… heal him.
He sat up a little, clearly offended.
"Excuse me?"
He rubbed his face with both hands.
"No, seriously. What is this? I try to die dramatically, and the universe gives me a free recovery buff instead?"
He let out a deep sigh, then suddenly clasped his hands together in an exaggerated gesture.
"Oh my god, forgive me. I've been swearing this whole time."
He glanced toward the unseen audience with a tired smile.
"But in my defense… I literally jumped out of a five-story building and got set on fire."
The flames rose dramatically behind him like a perfectly timed cinematic backdrop.
"I think I've earned a few curses."
---
The boy slowly pushed himself up from the ground.
The flames did not burn him. Instead, they moved with him—curling gently around his body like affectionate pets, dancing along his shoulders as though they had always belonged there.
"…Okay. That's new," he muttered.
He took a cautious step forward, then another. Barefoot, he walked straight through the fire without the slightest discomfort. Ahead of him stretched a lush garden, impossibly green and untouched by the surrounding inferno, as if reality itself refused to let the flames encroach upon it.
He glanced to the side—then turned his gaze directly forward.
"Hey," he said casually, offering a small wave. "Do you guys know what these flames are?"
He waited a beat.
"…No? Yeah, same here."
He continued walking, hands slipping into his pockets as if this were nothing more than an ordinary afternoon.
"But I do know one thing." He tapped his temple lightly. "I'm definitely inside some kind of story."
A small grin tugged at his lips.
"And you—" he pointed straight ahead "—are definitely watching me from another dimension."
He shrugged lightly.
"Pretty overpowered ability, if you ask me. Built-in audience."
He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone.
"So… what do you think? Pretty cool, right?"
He took another step—and suddenly froze.
"…Wait."
His eyes widened.
"What the hell?"
He leaned in, squinting into the distance.
"Is that… Venisha?"
A stunned beat passed.
"WHAT?!"
He straightened up at once.
"Why is she here?!"
Another pause.
"And why is she so…"
He coughed awkwardly and quickly corrected his posture.
"Ahem. One second."
Turning back toward the unseen viewer, his expression grew serious.
"Okay. I might actually know where I am now."
He stepped slightly to the side and gestured forward with one hand.
"But forget that for a second."
His voice dropped, almost reverent.
"Just… look."
The scene shifted.
In the center of the garden stood a woman of striking elegance and undeniable presence. A dark, finely tailored jacket rested perfectly over her shoulders, every line and detail radiating power, status, and quiet danger.
Her mere existence seemed to command the world around her. The wind stilled. The flames grew hushed. Even time itself appeared to hesitate in her presence.
From somewhere in the background, the boy's voice returned—calmer now, tinged with nostalgia.
"…This world," he said with a faint sigh, "is a complete mess."
A soft chuckle followed.
"A mage world. Full of chaos, complicated power systems, broken characters… and absolutely unfair mechanics."
He paused.
"I used to play it as a game."
Silence settled for a moment.
Then, almost under his breath:
"…The Hell Force."
---
The boy's voice returned, casual now, almost nostalgic.
"A U.S. game. Came out sometime after 2040. I used to play it nonstop back in my school days."
He gave a small shrug.
"Nothing too crazy. Pretty simple, actually."
Silence stretched for a moment.
Then his tone changed, sharpening.
"But what made it hell…"
The flames around him flickered unnaturally, twisting higher.
"…were the villains."
The moment the words left his mouth, the image of Venisha glitched.
For a single, jarring split second, she wasn't the same woman. A different figure stood in her place—bound in burning chains, flames coiling around her like living serpents. Her presence was heavier, darker, suffocating, as if the air itself recoiled from her.
Then the vision snapped back to normal.
"Yeah," he said flatly. "Venisha."
A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"The main villain of the first arc."
He turned his gaze straight ahead again, eyes calm—far too calm.
"So…"
A brief pause.
"…should I kill her?"
---
No one's perspective.
A boy engulfed in flames walked slowly through the garden. Each step was steady. Unhurried. Inevitable.
At the center stood Venisha—breathtaking, elegant, untouchable.
The instant she noticed him, her expression shattered. Shock. Confusion. Fear.
She instinctively stepped back, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.
But it was already too late.
He reached her in three unhurried strides and caught her hand.
His grip was firm. Unyielding.
"Hey, Venisha."
"Senior Arthur Flamebout—what are you doing?!" she blurted out, panic bleeding into her voice. "When did you awaken your flames? Why are you burning like this?!"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, his expression darkened, the playful mask from moments earlier vanishing completely.
He stepped closer.
Closer still.
Until the heat of his breath brushed against her skin.
Her body tensed.
"Senior… you're hurting me—"
Her voice trembled now, a raw mix of pain and rising fear.
The flames around him roared louder, hungrier, licking at the air between them.
But his grip did not loosen.