To me, I couldn't care less whether another world truly exists or not. The question has no practical value in my life. Its existence wouldn't change anything, nor would it affect the life I'm already content with. Because of that, I never saw the point in spending time thinking about something that has no tangible impact on me. However, if the idea of another world is simply used as a topic for conversation, debate, or speculation with someone interesting, then I can genuinely enjoy discussing it. Not because I'm particularly fascinated by the concept itself, but because the person I'm talking to can make the subject come alive. What truly interests me isn't the topic—it's the exchange of ideas. Strangely enough, I enjoy debating with people who think in unusual, unconventional, or even seemingly insane ways far more than I enjoy debating with those who are completely logical. The reason is simple. People like that tend to defend what they personally believe to be true from their own perspective, rather than merely what is considered the most rational conclusion. Their thoughts often leap in unexpected directions, presenting viewpoints I would never have considered on my own. Even if most of their arguments are difficult to prove, that's precisely what makes them fascinating. Ironically, from someone else's point of view, I would probably be considered a fairly—or perhaps even extremely—logical person myself. On the other hand, debating someone who shares the same logical framework often becomes predictable. The conversation usually follows a path that can already be anticipated, constrained by the same facts, evidence, and rules of logic. It's orderly and sensible, but rarely surprising. I prefer conversations that occasionally step beyond the boundaries of conventional logic. Not because I believe in irrational ideas, but because even the most impossible-sounding concepts can become the spark for entirely new perspectives. As long as it's nothing more than a discussion, there's no harm in allowing imagination to wander farther than reality. Perhaps that's because, to me, the purpose of a discussion isn't always to determine who is right and who is wrong. If all I wanted was the correct answer, then reading books, journals, or research papers would often be more than enough. Most questions already have answers for those who are genuinely willing to look for them. But people don't discuss things solely to find answers. People discuss things because they want to understand how others see the world. I've always found the way someone thinks far more interesting than the conclusion they eventually reach. Two people can arrive at the same conclusion through completely different thought processes. Likewise, two people can employ the same logic yet reach entirely opposite conclusions simply because they began with different assumptions. That's where I find enjoyment. I don't particularly care whether I end up changing the other person's opinion, or whether mine is the one that changes. To me, a good discussion is one that reveals how another mind works. That's also why I dislike people who reject an idea simply because it sounds impossible. To me, "impossible" is merely a judgment based on the limits of our current knowledge—not an absolute truth. Human history has repeatedly shown that many things once considered impossible eventually became reality as our understanding advanced. Of course, that doesn't mean every impossible-sounding idea is true. Most of them are false, and many are nothing more than fantasies. But as long as someone can construct a consistent argument and defend it with clear reasoning, I still believe they're worth listening to. To me, a conversation doesn't become boring when one side is wrong. It becomes boring when there's no longer any possibility of discovering a new perspective. When everyone simply repeats the same line of reasoning, discussion gradually turns into repetition rather than exploration. And perhaps that's why I enjoy talking to people who dare to think beyond conventional boundaries, even if I don't believe a single word they say. But now, if someone were to argue that another world truly exists, I would no longer have any reason to dismiss them. In fact, I might even be the first person to believe them. The reason is simple. What I once regarded as nothing more than a theory has now become the reality I'm experiencing myself. Whether anyone would believe my story is no longer my concern. The fact remains that I am truly in another world. Not as someone who was transported here with his own body. Rather—or at least, this is the explanation that makes the most sense—my consciousness has possessed the body of someone who genuinely belongs to this world. My gaze slowly drifted toward the window on my left. The faint reflection in the glass revealed the person who had become the vessel for my consciousness. The face staring back at me was completely unfamiliar. The man in the reflection had jet-black hair that fell in a messy fringe, reaching the nape of his neck. His dark crimson eyes stared back without the slightest hint of emotion, giving him an unapproachable, almost icy presence. His face was youthful, yet his jawline was far sharper than my own had ever been. His skin was pale, nearly flawless. His body was lean, dressed in a plain white shirt that hung loosely over his frame. Even so, the shape of his shoulders and arms made it obvious that this wasn't the body of someone weak. There were subtle traces of training etched into his muscles—enough to show that the original owner had disciplined his body, though not to the point of becoming heavily muscular. It wasn't my face. It wasn't my body. And it certainly wasn't me. I instinctively raised one hand. The figure reflected in the window did the same. My fingers brushed against my cheek before sliding down to my jaw, tracing every unfamiliar contour beneath my fingertips. The sensation was real—far too real to be dismissed as a dream. Without realizing it, I frowned slightly. I tore my gaze away from the window and began observing my surroundings. I wasn't in my office. Nor was I in a hospital or some mysterious laboratory like the ones so often depicted in fiction. Instead, I found myself seated inside a colossal auditorium built like a massive tiered amphitheater. The hall was so vast that my eyes could barely reach its farthest corners. Towering pillars supported a ceiling covered in intricate carvings, while magnificent crystal chandeliers hung overhead, scattering warm golden light throughout the chamber. Elegant ornaments adorned the walls, creating an atmosphere of wealth that wasn't ostentatious, but refined and dignified. Rows of desks and chairs were arranged in broad arcs facing the central stage. Dozens—perhaps even hundreds—of students had already filled their seats. Unlike any school I had ever known, they weren't dressed in matching uniforms. Each person wore clothing of a completely different style, ranging from tailored formal suits and long ceremonial robes to aristocratic attire and outfits that resembled the gear of seasoned adventurers. Some listened attentively. Others stared blankly into space, whispered quietly with the people beside them, or simply rested their chins on one hand with bored expressions, as though the ongoing speech was nothing more than a formality they had to endure. My attention eventually shifted toward the stage. A young woman stood behind the podium with impeccable posture. She possessed snow-white hair neatly tied into a bun at the back of her head. A pair of thin-framed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose, lending an intellectual elegance to her nearly flawless face. She was breathtakingly beautiful—almost unreal—but her expression remained calm and professional. Her lips moved without pause as she delivered her speech in a firm, clear, and authoritative voice. With every word she spoke, I gradually began to understand the situation I had found myself in. Today was the entrance ceremony for the new students of the University of Cardinal, one of the most prestigious universities in this world. And the young woman standing on the stage... ...was the university's headmaster. How did I know that? The question crossed my own mind. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, trying to calm the countless possibilities racing through my thoughts. Perhaps I was dreaming. Perhaps I had lost my memories. Or perhaps my senses were simply deceiving me. Yet the more I thought about it, the clearer one conclusion became. I recognized this place. Not because I had ever been here... ...but because I had read about it. My eyes drifted back toward the white-haired woman on the stage. Every word coming from her mouth felt strangely familiar—not because I had ever heard it spoken before, but because I had once read it in a novel. University of Cardinal. That name became the trigger. The hazy memories buried within my mind suddenly flooded back with remarkable clarity. Scattered fragments of information rapidly connected themselves—the university's name, the layout of the entrance hall, the headmaster's speech... ...and even the name of this world. Everything matched. Perfectly. Without realizing it, I let out a slow breath. How did I know all of this? The answer was simple. Because the University of Cardinal, the world known as Chronicles, and even the very events unfolding before me... ...all originated from a work of fiction I had once read. A novel titled Prince of Heaven. I remembered it surprisingly well. Not because it had been my favorite novel. Quite the opposite. I had only read it several years ago to pass the time. Yet for some reason, the author's world-building had been so expansive, and its power system so meticulously crafted, that it had left a lasting impression on me. I still remembered the protagonist. I still remembered several important characters. I even remembered some of the major events that would one day shake this world's history. That said, my memory wasn't perfect. Many minor details had faded away. Several names had become hazy, and the chronological order of certain events had begun to blur. All that remained was a broad understanding of the overall story. But there was one thing I remembered with absolute certainty. The entrance ceremony at the University of Cardinal was one of the earliest chapters of the novel. And now... ...I was standing right in the middle of it. That realization didn't make me panic. On the contrary. My mind became far calmer than before. Because if this world truly was Prince of Heaven, then at the very least, I wasn't wandering through a place that was completely unfamiliar. I might not know every detail. But I knew this world had a future. And I... ...knew a small part of that future. "And now, it is time to introduce this year's representative of the incoming class..." "Luca Celeste. Please step forward." The headmaster's voice echoed throughout the enormous hall. A moment later, a young man rose from his seat. His dark-blue hair was neatly combed, swaying gently with each step he took. A pair of warm brown eyes looked straight ahead without showing the slightest trace of nervousness. He was undeniably handsome, though not in an overwhelming or arrogant way. There was a natural gentleness in every expression he wore, one that instinctively put others at ease. Each step he took was steady and composed. Perhaps it was merely my imagination. Or perhaps it wasn't. But his very presence seemed to radiate a quiet warmth that slowly spread throughout the auditorium. It wasn't the suffocating pressure carried by rulers or conquerors. Instead, it was the kind of calm presence that made people instinctively want to trust him. It was no wonder that the majority of the students watched him with admiration. My eyes followed him until he came to a stop at the very center of the stage. I knew that young man. Perhaps better than anyone else in this room. His name was Luca Celeste— the protagonist of Prince of Heaven. At this moment, he was nothing more than an ordinary first-year student. But one day... ...he would change the course of history itself. In the future, he would inherit the legacy of the Angels, awaken his sacred bloodline, and eventually earn the title Prince of Heaven—the very title that gave the novel its name. Yet even that title would be only the beginning. By the end of the story, Luca would surpass all of his predecessors, ascend as the ruler of Heaven, and become the Lord of the Angels, the supreme sovereign of the entire Angelic race. If the story remained unchanged... ...then the calm young man currently standing on the stage would one day become one of the most powerful beings ever born into the world of Chronicles. Yes. One of the most powerful. Not the most powerful. That distinction was something many readers had overlooked. Most people who read Prince of Heaven believed that Luca Celeste represented the absolute pinnacle of power within the world of Chronicles. It was an understandable assumption. Throughout almost the entire story, there was virtually no one capable of matching him. By the novel's conclusion, he stood alone at the summit of the world, ruling Heaven as the Lord of the Angels. However, they overlooked one important detail. The novel never stated that Luca was the strongest being in history. It only said that he was the strongest of his era. The two statements may sound similar, but they carry vastly different meanings. Throughout the story, the author occasionally inserted fragments of ancient history. They appeared only briefly—almost like footnotes that were easy to overlook. Most readers dismissed them as little more than world-building, something meant to enrich the setting rather than play any meaningful role in the plot. Yet it was within those forgotten passages that a single name was hidden. A name that had always fascinated me. The being said to be the strongest entity ever born into the world of Chronicles. Strangely enough, the author never truly introduced him. There was no illustration. No description of his appearance. No explanation of his personality. Even his name appeared only a handful of times in ancient historical records, as though his existence had become nothing more than a legend slowly eroded by the passage of time. Only one fact was certain. He had once existed. And in an age far older than the birth of the modern kingdoms, that solitary figure had stood alone at the very summit of the world. So high above everyone else that even Luca Celeste at the height of his power was never directly compared to him. Whether the author intentionally kept him hidden as a mystery... ...or intended to tell his story in another work that was never completed... I never found the answer. Perhaps I never will. Whatever the reason, one thing was certain. I wasn't someone who was never supposed to exist in this world. The body I now occupied had always existed within the story. It wasn't an extra character born from a butterfly effect. Nor was it a mysterious outsider who had suddenly appeared beyond the novel's original narrative. On the contrary... This person had been a part of the world of Prince of Heaven from the very beginning. His role, however... ...was almost insignificant. I searched my memory for the original owner's name, piecing it together with the scattered fragments I still remembered from the novel. Yes... I remembered him. Not because he was exceptional. Not because he possessed extraordinary power. And certainly not because he had ever changed the course of the story. Quite the opposite. He was merely a minor character who appeared during the novel's opening chapters, his name mentioned only a few times as life at the University of Cardinal began. After that... ...he gradually disappeared from the story, as though he had never existed at all. There was no dramatic death. No betrayal. No noble sacrifice. No remarkable achievement worthy of remembrance. He simply... ...faded from the readers' attention. A supporting character who fulfilled his role before quietly making way for people far more important. If this novel were a stage play... Then Luca Celeste was the leading actor forever standing beneath the spotlight. The original owner of this body... ...was merely one of hundreds of extras who briefly appeared at the edge of the stage before being forgotten. Most readers probably couldn't even remember his name after finishing the first few chapters. And honestly... Before all of these memories returned to me, I had almost forgotten him myself. Koraemon Tempest. That was the name of the man whose body I now inhabited. A name that appeared in only a handful of the opening chapters of Prince of Heaven, before quietly sinking beneath the weight of hundreds of other characters. He wasn't the protagonist. Nor was he a rival, a mentor, or an antagonist whose existence shaped the story. He existed merely as another piece of the world the author had created— proof that the University of Cardinal was filled with students from countless different backgrounds— before vanishing without leaving behind any meaningful trace. I wasn't even sure whether he had graduated from this university... Whether he had died somewhere along the way... Or whether he had simply lived an ordinary life until the end of his days. The novel never answered those questions. The only thing I knew for certain was this: After the opening chapters, the name Koraemon Tempest was scarcely mentioned ever again. He was a character too insignificant to influence the story... ...yet significant enough to be given a name. And now... I was Koraemon Tempest. Someone who, according to the original story, was destined to become nothing more than a footnote in the protagonist's life. A character destined to be forgotten. But from the moment my consciousness awakened inside this body... ...one thing had already changed. I might still bear the name Koraemon Tempest. But the person who would live under that name... ...was no longer its original owner.

Chapter 01