Aly’s Wish
Ugh. I’m bored.
I tossed my phone onto the bed.
Chapter 200—and the hero and heroine were still dragging out their romance like they had all the time in the world. No tension, no excitement. Just sickly-sweet fluff that made my brain numb.
I needed dopamine, not this.
Two nights ago, I was screaming with excitement, devouring chapter after chapter. The plot? Chef’s kiss. The art? Incredible. But now? Total snoozefest.
I sighed. Time to find a new comic.
I didn’t know why I loved these stories so much. Maybe it was the fantasy—the thrill of escaping into a new world and starting over.
A heroine waking up as a villainess. A girl disguising herself as a boy. Gold.
I think I loved the possibility of it.
Because my real life?
A complete disaster.
I’m a thirty-something NEET, living at home, hiding in my childhood bedroom like some kind of recluse.
If my family dragged me out of here and forced me into rehab, I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve seen that kind of thing in social media reels—relatives calling the cops to forcefully remove their shut-in sibling. Lol.
I spend all day in bed, curled up with my phone, buried in comics and novels. I barely move except to shift positions.
But inside those stories? I’m alive.
I feel things. I live and breathe with the characters. I laugh when they laugh, cry when they cry.
Then, when I do crawl out of my cave—to grab food, mostly—I’m painfully aware of how unreal my own life feels.
My body stiff, my hair a tangled mess, I creep through the house like a cavewoman emerging from the shadows.
And my family?
They stare at me.
Pitiful. Concerned.
Like I’m some tragic figure, wasting away.
They don’t realize that I’m rushing—hurrying back to the good part of the story. The moment when the hero realizes the heroine is actually a girl? Peak storytelling. That’s what I live for.
But they wouldn’t get it.
No one would.
Maybe I really am a manga addict.
I shifted in my bed, careful not to kick my phone, my book, or my pen—all tangled together in a chaotic mess. My stuffed toy was probably buried in there too. If it were alive, it would have run away by now.
And my hair? Forget it. My comb was lost to the void, and I was too lazy to look.
Ugggg.
A knock at the door.
I groaned, pulling my blanket over my head.
My sister.
I usually don’t let anyone in, but she doesn’t count. Still, the state of my room was bad, even by my standards.
She stepped inside, unimpressed, picking up an empty pizza box like it personally offended her.
She was younger than me but looked like the kind of girl who should be the heroine in one of my comics. Pretty. Put-together. But miserable with men.
Not that I blamed her. None of her exes even came close to the second male leads in my stories.
Yet another reason to hate reality.
“Aly,” she sighed, her voice serious. “You need help.”
I froze.
“Mom and Dad are worried about you. You’re making things hard for everyone. Please. Get some help. Try to have a normal life.”
I didn’t look at her.
I couldn’t.
Instead, the moment she left, I frantically started searching for a new comic. My hands shook slightly. Like an addict looking for their next fix.
I needed out.
I needed to escape.
But then, my phone screen lit up.
A notification.
And in the reflection—
I saw myself.
I hadn’t left this room in a week.
I hadn’t looked in a mirror in even longer.
My hair, tangled and wild. My face, dull and pale. And my body—
I poked my cheek.
Soft.
I knew I had gained weight, but seeing it… acknowledging it…
My stomach twisted.
Even cavemen probably had better physiques than me.
No wonder my sister was worried. No wonder my family kept staring.
I knew this wasn’t healthy.
I knew I was a mess.
I was practically a junkie—except instead of drugs, I was hooked on fiction.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
But what else was there?
What was the alternative?
I hated this world.
I wished—
I wished I could be reborn.
I wished I could wake up as a princess in another world. A hero. Someone important.
I wished I could start over.
Please.
Just once.
Just—
I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing with every part of me.
Until the exhaustion took over.
And I drifted into sleep, still praying that somehow, this time—
It would work.
Thrown into Chaos
A wave of heat crashed over me.
Intense. Suffocating. Like I was standing under a stage spotlight—or trapped in an oven. Sweat clung to my skin.
Am I sick? Running a fever?
A sharp, burning pain shot through my waist, followed by a strange warmth trickling down my skin.
I groaned, my mind hazy, the edges of my thoughts blurring. Distant voices murmured around me, their words tangled and indistinct.
No. No one is supposed to be in my room.
I flailed blindly, shoving aside what I thought were empty cans and crumpled tissues. Panic surged through me.
I forced my eyes open—
Bright light blinded me.
“I told you no one could enter my room!” I screamed.
A deep, booming voice cut through the chaos.
“Keep your distance!”
The sheer command in those words sent a shiver down my spine.
My vision adjusted—
And my breath caught.
A massive figure loomed over me. Clad in gleaming silver armor, a dark cape sweeping the ground behind him. I had to crane my neck to see his face.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, studied me as if I were some kind of beast.
His hand rested on the hilt of a sword. A scar cut across his perfectly chiseled jaw, adding to his fierce, battle-worn appearance.
My pulse spiked.
Holy—
He was beautiful.
Not in the fragile, pretty-boy way of my comics, but in a deadly way. Sharp. Dangerous. Real.
Too real.
A jolt of excitement shot through me, followed by a rush of dopamine.
If this was a dream—
I never wanted to wake up.
Except—
The pain.
My waist throbbed, a searing-hot agony that nearly stole my breath. I screamed, clutching my side.
The world around me shook.
Dust. Blood. The stench of iron and sweat.
Men on horseback, their armor glinting under a sky choked with smoke.
Screams. Metal clashing against metal. The thunder of hooves.
I gasped for air.
This isn’t real. It can’t be real.
I glanced down.
I was still in my pajamas—my dad’s oversized T-shirt (for strategic snack consumption without judgment) and my baggy sweatpants.
But my shirt was soaked—not with sweat.
With something dark. Sticky.
I lifted my trembling hand—
Blood.
“Am I bleeding?!” My voice cracked with panic.
A fresh wave of pain pulsed through me.
My breath hitched.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself awake.
“Wake up, Aly! It’s just a period cramp. Just a really bad cramp—”
But no.
I wasn’t waking up.
I was still here.
I forced my gaze back to the dark-haired knight. His intense eyes flickered between wariness and disbelief.
Someone nearby mumbled in an unfamiliar language.
A sudden splatter—a foul, warm liquid rained over me.
I gagged.
More blood.
Another scream ripped through the air.
I turned just in time to see a man get run through with a sword.
Oh my god. Oh my god—
My stomach lurched.
I swayed where I sat, trying to process it all. My heartbeat pounded everywhere—in my throat, my ears, my wound.
I felt lightheaded.
I wiped my face with my already-filthy T-shirt—instantly regretting it.
The world froze.
Dozens of eyes snapped to me.
Wide. Stunned.
The knight in front of me stiffened, his gaze darkening.
Then—
“Keep fighting!” he roared at his men.
And then, to me—
“You!” His sword flashed, the tip pointed directly at me.
My breath hitched.
His voice was thick with anger. With accusation.
“Are you trying to seduce my men, you creature?!”
I blinked.
Wait.
WHAT?!
My mind short-circuited.
I was covered in blood. Dressed in rags. Looking like a deranged swamp monster.
And this dude thought I was—
Trying to seduce them?!
I gawked at him, utterly baffled.
Then I glanced down.
My oversized T-shirt had shifted.
The baggy fit I always relied on to hide my body—was betraying me.
It had lifted just enough to reveal the curve of my waist. My hips. The hourglass shape I loathed and always tried to cover.
Oh.
OH.
Realization slammed into me like a truck.
These medieval war guys?
They’d never seen a woman dressed like this.
Loose, flimsy fabric. No corset. No layers. No restrictions.
And I’d just lifted my shirt right in front of them.
Oh my god.
They think I’m naked under this.
Heat roared to my face.
“Cover her.” The knight’s voice was sharp, filled with disgust.
A heavy fabric whipped around me. A thick, scratchy robe, far too big. Before I could react—
My vision spun.
The ground rushed away.
A startled yelp tore from my throat as I was hoisted into the air—
Slung over a shoulder.
Like a damn sack of potatoes.
A World of Giants
Agony shot through me with every movement.
The knights surrounding me were massive—easily two meters tall. Their broad shoulders and towering frames made me feel like a child in a world of giants.
The heavy robe wrapped around me felt suffocating, thick with the scents of sweat, dirt, and something earthy—like leather and steel. I tried to press my hand against my injured waist, but the rough fabric hindered me, clinging to my damp skin.
Then—
I was tossed.
Flung onto the back of a horse like an afterthought.
The shock rattled through me, forcing a strangled gasp from my throat.
What the hell—?!
Pain exploded from my waist. I couldn’t even breathe for a moment.
The knight muttered something in his language—probably cursing my uselessness—before adjusting my position. His grip was firm, his hands large as he shifted me into place.
The motion sent another wave of agony rippling through me.
I clenched my jaw, determined not to cry out.
The horse’s stride was a fresh form of torture, every movement jolting my wound.
A heavy hand pressed against my back—not roughly, but steady. Holding me up. Keeping me from slumping forward.
It was… oddly grounding.
I should have been terrified. But exhaustion was winning.
After what felt like hours, the pace slowed.
The man behind me stiffened.
A new presence.
I barely had time to process it before—
I was ripped away.
Another set of hands seized me, and suddenly, I was on a different horse, my back slamming against the hard saddle.
A sharp, disgusting sensation crawled over my body.
Hands. Unfamiliar hands.
They moved over me aggressively, pressing against my stomach, my chest—
A triumphant laugh—
Then—
A sickening thud.
The weight on me vanished.
Something warm splattered my face.
I gasped.
Through the flickering firelight, I saw it—
An arm, flung aside.
A body. Headless. Armless.
I choked on a scream. My stomach lurched.
I would have thrown up if I’d eaten anything.
Before I could even process what happened, I was on another horse.
Not tossed. Placed.
A black steed beneath me.
A familiar presence behind me.
Arms—larger, stronger—wrapped around me.
The commander.
I knew it was him before I even turned my head.
And for some insane reason—
I felt safe.
Not because I trusted him. Not because he was gentle—he’d just executed a man without hesitation.
But because the chaos had stopped.
My body relaxed against his solid frame.
I buried my face into the rough fabric of his robe, inhaling the scent of leather, sweat, and something faintly smoky.
Anything to drown out the stench of blood.
Anything to block out the nightmare I’d just witnessed.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Wake up. Please, wake up.
I pictured my bed, my messy room, the comforting hum of my phone screen as I scrolled through comics.
I imagined a hot shower. Fresh clothes.
I begged for it.
But the steady rhythm of the horse’s hooves told me the truth.
I wasn’t waking up
Dark Knights of Ojan Moon
The battlefield was silent after a long night of bloodshed.
The Dark Knights of the Ojan Moon Kingdom stood amidst the fallen, their armor soaked in crimson. The acrid scent of iron clung to the air, mixing with the damp earth beneath their boots.
General Lord Commander Claudius Ojon kept his sword raised, his dark eyes scanning the field for movement. The enemy had been crushed, yet his instincts remained razor-sharp.
Then—
A flash of blinding light split the sky.
Thunder roared, striking the earth with a force so intense that even the hardened knights recoiled.
And in the center of it—
A creature lay sprawled on the bloodied ground.
It was clad in white—too white, too clean, an unnatural contrast against the filth and carnage surrounding it.
Claudius narrowed his eyes. He had never seen anything like it.
A woman?
Her golden-brown skin glistened in the dim light, and colorful curls cascaded over her face, their shades unlike anything he had ever encountered.
The last time his army had seen a woman was over two years ago.
His men, frozen in place, stared.
The delicate curve of her waist, the smooth expanse of her exposed skin—it was otherworldly among battle-worn warriors.
Then—
A blade tip brushed against her waist.
Claudius tensed.
A shallow cut appeared instantly, blood welling at the surface.
So fragile.
The knight holding the blade gasped, amazed at how effortlessly the skin had broken.
Then—
Her eyes opened.
Large, expressive, and dark as twilight, they fluttered as she stirred.
Her face was small, with a straight, delicate nose and soft lips. She blinked rapidly, her gaze darting across the unfamiliar scene.
Then—
A severed head rolled past her.
The blood splattered across her skin in sickening streaks.
Claudius expected a scream.
Instead—
She froze.
Wide-eyed. Horrified.
Her small hands trembled as she wiped at the blood, her soft mouth opening in silent shock.
Then, as she moved—
His soldiers stiffened.
Her robe had slipped, revealing a glimpse of soft, plump blooms.
A hush fell over the men.
Heat surged through Claudius’s veins.
This was dangerous.
His army had been starved of softness for too long.
He clenched his jaw.
“Keep fighting!” His voice rang across the field like a blade.
The men snapped to attention.
His glare swept over them, hard and merciless. “If anyone loses focus, I will take their head myself.”
Silence.
Satisfied, he turned back to the woman—her body still shaking, her gaze frightened yet filled with something else.
Curiosity?
He threw his heavy robe over her. Cover her. Hide her from their eyes.
Then, to his right-hand knight, he ordered:
“Take her. Bring her to the base.”
The warning in his voice was lethal.
“If anyone touches her, they lose their hands and head.”
His word was law.
—
The March Back
The battle was won. The enemy was broken.
Now, Claudius’s focus turned to strategy—securing the city before winter.
Yet, his thoughts kept drifting to her.
The creature—this woman.
She made soft, distressed sounds, shifting uncomfortably in the knight’s grasp.
Claudius exhaled sharply. “Slow down.”
His knight obeyed, adjusting her position to keep her from jostling against the horse’s movements.
Yet—
Laughter erupted from the back of the troop.
A messenger approached, his face pale.
“Some of the men…” He hesitated. “They are trying to play with the creature, my Lord.”
Claudius’s blood ran cold.
He was moving before the messenger finished speaking.
When he reached them—
A knight held her, grinning as his hands lingered where they shouldn’t.
Claudius didn’t speak.
Didn’t warn.
One swift motion—
The knight’s arm fell to the ground.
A heartbeat later—
His head followed.
The body crumpled.
Before she could fall, Claudius caught her.
With firm, unyielding hands, he pulled her forward—seating her in front of him on his own horse.
Her small body trembled.
He braced for screams, for terror, for her to shrink away.
Instead—
She relaxed.
Her body melted into him, the tension in her limbs fading.
Then, as her curls tumbled into his robe—
Claudius felt it.
A shift in the air.
A sense of relief.
His grip tightened on the reins.
Not a single soul dared to speak.
The only sounds were the rhythmic clatter of hooves against the earth and the distant echoes of war fading behind them.
Blood still dripped from his blade, a stark reminder of his swift and merciless judgment.
Yet, in his arms, the strange woman remained still—unafraid.
This woman—this creature—did she… trust him?
The thought sent a strange, unfamiliar sensation curling in his chest.
As they rode beneath the vast galaxy, the dark expanse of stars stretching endlessly above them, Claudius realised—
Tonight’s battle had changed more than just the tide of war.
How did you feel about the chapter overall?
