Hi. My name is Park Johan and I'm…
...23, Korean, unemployed, and—wait, what did you just say? Virgin?
Pffft. Of course not. Of course not.
I mean, I could be lying... or maybe I'm just really good at hiding my relationships...
Okay, okay, fine! I'm a virgin! Capisce?!
So what?
(Life hasn't exactly given me a lot of chances, alright? I barely get remembered by convenience store cashiers, let alone potential dates. I'm like a background NPC in my own life.)
Anyway.
There I was, sighing dramatically for no reason, scrolling through my phone like every other night. I had just finished reading this obscure horror webnovel called "The Secret Horror Club"—some creepy story about kids trapped in a cursed school, full of monsters and death and other light bedtime reading.
And then it happened.
Right as I blinked back to reality, a notification popped up—glitchy, flickering like some kind of old CRT screen.
[Congratulations! You've been selected out of millions of people reading this.]
[You are the only one.]
I stared at the message.
"...the hell?"
I tapped the screen. Nothing. I tried to scroll. Nothing. I pressed the power button.
Black.
The entire screen just went pitch black. And not the usual phone-shut-down black. I mean void-of-existence black. The kind of black that feels like it's staring back at you.
Then I felt it—like something behind the screen was reaching out. Not physically, but mentally. Like someone just pressed their finger into the center of my forehead... from the inside.
And then I fell.
No wind. No sensation. Just falling. Like gravity suddenly forgot how to work, and I was being dragged down into a loading screen created by Satan himself.
Then I opened my eyes to the soft hum of ceiling lights and the faint scent of chalk dust.
Clean desks. Neatly arranged rows. A bright, sunlit window to my left. Walls covered in posters about history class and upcoming tests. The fluorescent bulbs above flickered softly—but not in a creepy way, just the kind of lazy flicker you'd find in an old school.
It looked normal. Almost... too normal.
Then—
Sharp pain.
Like someone jammed a metal spike into my skull.
"Ghh—!" I hissed, clutching the side of my head as a wave of nausea hit me. My vision blurred. For a moment, the classroom warped—sounds twisted, lights stretched, and I could feel a pressure behind my eyes, like a memory trying to punch its way through my brain.
And then it hit.
I wasn't supposed to be here.
This classroom. This desk. This name—
Jake Coleman.
I'm Jake Coleman.
Jake Coleman. Age 14. Second-year middle schooler at Arkwood Academy.
An average kid. The kind that barely shows up in plot summaries. A supporting character with nothing special going for him—except maybe a decent sense of humor.
No—I was Park Johan.
Korean. Professional nobody. An expert in reading webnovels and ignoring real-life responsibilities.
But now... I was here. In this body. In this classroom.
In the story.
(What the hell is happening...?)
My hands were smaller. My voice felt lighter. I reached for the desk—no phone, no earbuds, no clue.
And beside me—
A familiar voice:
"Jake." it said, calm and low. "You okay?"
I turned my head—and froze.
James Foster.
Blond hair. Pale blue eyes. Tall for his age. Sharp features that looked like they were AI-generated to appeal to every teen girl's taste. Clean skin, perfect posture, and that vibe—that "I walk away from explosions without looking back" energy.
Even in a dusty death-trap classroom, this guy looked like he belonged on a magazine cover.
And he was popular.
Ridiculously popular.
Girls whispered when he walked by. Guys admired him or resented him—depending on how insecure they were. Teachers liked him. The principal once gave him candy for no reason. And why? Because he was handsome. Mysterious. And above all—
Different.
Because under that golden boy surface, James Foster had secrets. Big ones.
He could move objects with his mind. Read thoughts. Sense danger.
Telekinesis and telepathy.
A born protagonist.
And me?
I was his best friend.
We'd been close since first year. I—I mean, Jake—had defended him when bullies tried to mock him for spacing out in class or blurting out answers before the teacher even finished asking. He was weird, sure, but not in a creepy way—just… off. Quiet. Like his brain ran on a different frequency.
But somewhere along the way, that all changed.
By the middle of first semester, James had gone from 'that quiet kid' to one of the most popular guys in school.
Why? Easy.
He was stupidly handsome.
Like, movie-protagonist-level handsome. Blond hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial, eyes that were somehow both calm and intense, and this annoyingly perfect skin that didn't know what acne was.
Then came gym class.
Turns out, the kid was a freakin' athlete too. Basketball? Nailed it. Sprinting? Fastest in the year. Soccer? Don't even get me started.
And despite being quiet, he had this way of talking to people—soft but confident, like he actually listened. The girls loved him. The teachers praised him. Even the former bullies suddenly decided he was their best friend.
But through all that, he never stopped talking to me.
We still hung out after school. Played old RPGs. Read books under the bleachers like losers with a secret library.
He stayed James. My best friend.
Even now, sitting beside him in this bright, normal-looking classroom… it hit me like a brick to the chest:
I'm not supposed to be here.
I wasn't Jake. I was Park Johan.
Somehow, I had been dragged into the horror novel I just finished reading.
And not as the hero.
James was the protagonist.
The one protected by plot armor. The chosen one with secret powers and subtle angst and a dark past that's gonna unravel in some dramatic chapter down the line.
Me?
I'm the comic relief. The support. The side character.
The extra.
[ATTENTION-SEEKER SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]
[Survive by being seen. Earn points by gaining attention.]
[You will die in this world if not for me.]
[Shop locked. Need 10 attention points.]
(...well, shit.)
I stared at the blinking text in front of me, silently begging for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. What kind of sick joke was this? A "survival system" in a horror world where the goal was to literally be seen? Couldn't I just go sit in the corner and wait for the credits to roll?
But before I could spiral further, James turned to me, his sharp blue eyes narrowing just slightly. "Something wrong?" he asked, his voice calm but full of that underlying concern that made him, well, James.
I blinked, feeling the pressure of his gaze. (Right, gotta act normal. Just play it cool, Jake. You're supposed to be his best friend. You're not some background NPC. Wait… what was I even saying?)
"No… nono... I was just thinking about food," I blurted out, forcing a laugh. (Great. Genius. Really selling it.)
James didn't buy it, but he smiled anyway. The kind of smile that could melt anyone's heart. It's like he had this endless supply of charm tucked away, ready to use on demand. (Dammit, why did he have to be the one with superpowers? Why not me?)
He sighed, shaking his head. "You're always thinking about food, Jake." he said, a trace of amusement in his voice.
And that's when it happened.
A loud voice sliced through the moment, calling out from across the room. "James!!"
We both turned to see a girl with a ponytail waving excitedly at us. Her smile was bright and confident, her posture like she was the main character of some romantic drama. Her name? Sophie Tanaka. Aka Sophie. One of the important characters from the novel.
"Ugh, here we go," I muttered under my breath.
Sophie approached us, her steps almost gliding. She was the kind of girl who made every movement look deliberate—like she was starring in her own personal movie. Tall, rich, and undeniably attractive, she carried an aura of a "bishoujo princess," the kind of girl you expected to get swept off her feet by the handsome hero.
"I already told you my feelings, can you tell me yours?" she asked, her voice sweet but with a hint of desperation. She looked directly at James, eyes shimmering with hope.
(And here it is. The classic "love confession" scene. I could practically hear the violins playing in the background. Too bad this isn't some rom-com. This is a horror genre, sweetheart. You're gonna need more than a confession to survive here.)
James simply smiled softly, his eyes gentle but firm. "I... only think of you as a friend," he said, his tone respectful but indifferent. It wasn't cruel, just... honest.
Sophie's face fell, her lips trembling slightly. It was a rejection, plain and simple. The kind that stung, even in a novel, but here? In this real life? It felt like one of those moments that would just spiral into something darker. This wasn't a typical romance.
I couldn't help but watch the scene unfold, my thoughts drifting. (Damn... he really rejected Sophie... just like in Chapter 1 of the novel. That was supposed to be a turning point. The start of their twisted relationship... and now, here I am, stuck in the middle of it. But this isn't supposed to happen this way. What if things change? What if I...?)
Sophie, the once popular, spoiled rich girl, stood there for a second, blinking as if trying to process the words that just shattered her world. She was quiet for a moment, her shoulders slumping slightly.
Then, she tilted her head and gave James a faint smile. "I see..." she said softly, her voice small, almost defeated. "Well, I guess we're just friends then, right?"
James gave a small nod, his gaze soft but distant. "Yeah, just friends," he repeated.
The words hung in the air between them, a heavy silence that felt like it would stretch on forever. Sophie, always the epitome of confidence, had that faint, controlled smile on her face. But I could tell. Behind her eyes was something darker—a simmering frustration that had nowhere to go. She was spoiled, yes. But more than that, she was used to getting what she wanted, and James… well, he wasn't just any guy. He was her guy, in her mind. And now? She wouldn't just walk away.
(She's not going to give up. I can already feel it. Sophie's the type to dig her heels in and make everything revolve around her.)
Before I could process any further, the door to the classroom suddenly slammed open. The sound was deafening, making everyone flinch in surprise. The gust of cold air that followed was sharp, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of something rotten—like decaying meat, something that shouldn't be in a place like this. The temperature in the room seemed to drop by a few degrees, and I could see Sophie shiver despite her best efforts to hold it together.
A shrill, echoing screech filled the hallway, its pitch so high it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. But it wasn't the sound that had me frozen in place. It was the next sound—the unmistakable scrape of something large dragging across the floor. Something big, something that shouldn't be moving.
(What the hell is that?)
Sophie's face paled, her fingers trembling at her sides as she looked toward the door, her eyes wide with fear. The confidence she'd been exuding just moments before vanished, replaced by a look of pure terror. She took a small step back, almost tripping over her own feet.
"I—what is that?" she whispered, her voice shaky.
I swallowed, but I couldn't speak. My blood ran cold as my eyes darted toward the door. Something was coming. Something wrong. Something that shouldn't belong in this world.
Before any of us could react, James was already standing, his movements quick and decisive. His eyes were sharp, his expression unreadable, but I could see the way his body tensed, like he had already anticipated something like this. He stepped forward, placing himself between Sophie and the door, his posture defensive but ready for whatever was coming.
My heart raced as I felt that sense of impending doom sink deeper into my gut. (This is it. This is the start of the novel's plot. This is where everything changes.)
To be continue