NOVEL NEXT Chapter 6 | Emily Lutin
"Let us get started."
Before Eathan's mind could even catch up to his body, he was already moving.
He shot up from his seat so fast that he nearly broke the chair's anti-tip anchors. Several heads turned back at the ruckus, but he paid them no mind. In one motion, he snatched the empty candy wrapper Luke had dropped onto the table and bolted toward the exit—the one furthest from the podium.
The furthest from him.
"Bro?!" Luke's confused shout followed him, but Eathan didn't look back.
He didn't dare.
He power-walked down the corridor like a man fleeing a politely smiling death omen. Legs stiff, posture awkward—trying to look casual while his soul screamed to sprint and never stop.
If he weren't about to piss himself from sheer survival instinct, he probably would have sprinted.
He plunged into the nearest stall, slammed the lock, and slumped against the cool metal wall like a crash-landed simulation. The chill of the tiled wall seeped into his forehead as he rested it there, slightly grounding him. Static flickered across the stall's interface panel, probably residual "aura lint" from too many stress responses.
His heart was pounding too loudly to think straight, so Eathan squeezed his eyes shut.
Because why the hell was that man—that thing—from last night calmly uploading lecture notes like he hadn't just tried to collapse a storefront with divine aggression twelve hours ago?
How was this possible?
How was this real?
Why was reality allowing this?
Eathan inhaled, counted five, and exhaled longer. Again. When he opened his eyes again, his heart rate had returned to normal.
Okay, logic time.
This was 2044. Perhaps the guy was some off-brand AR influencer with a creepy aura mod. Perhaps he was a spiritual actor running an extended immersive ad campaign. Perhaps—Eathan was just having a nervous breakdown caused by too many sleepless nights and unresolved trauma from [SYSTEM] boot-up hallucinations.
Eathan blinked.
Or perhaps… it didn't matter.
Because the truth was simple: if he couldn't fight it, and he couldn't understand it, he didn't have to acknowledge it.
That was how people survived haunted vending machines, subway time-loops, and phantom playlist inserts in this city.
With that quiet mantra, Eathan pushed himself upright.
He tossed the crumpled candy wrapper into the trash on his way out of the stall. The moment it hit the bottom of the bin, a soft ping echoed in his head.
[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION
You have completed [Side Quest]:
Helping Hand! (3/3)
You have been rewarded: +30 Karma, +15 Qi Tokens, 3% Integrity
Another translucent panel floated into view, soothing blue against the pale restroom lights.
[SKILL ACQUIRED!]
▸ SKILL: Calamity Radar β
▸ USE: Early detection of high-danger anomalies within 15 meters. Alerts host to targeted hostile intent within proximity. (β Version: Partial Detection Only.)
▸ COST: N/A
▸ COOLDOWN: 5 seconds
[Integrity] has increased by 3% (7% → 10%)
[Humanity] has decreased by 1% (97% → 96%)
Host [Level]: Lv. 2 → Lv. 3
Eathan swiped the panel aside—and froze. Under the [Passive Anomalies] was another subsection, [Skill Tree]—a subsection which was no longer empty.
| SKILL TREE |
▸ Receipt Printer (Lv. 1)
The bold, cheery font felt like a thumb in his eye. [Receipt Printer]. The thing that had mutated the store's barcode scanner to cough out a talisman when that black-haired menace had nuked COZMART and Mister White went full nonhuman-mode. Not a dream. Not food poisoning. The [SYSTEM] had logged it as casually as a syllabus update.
The edge of the door creaked under his grip. Anger flared—stupid, helpless anger—then ebbed into a long, shaky breath.
On a typical day, Eathan might have been thrilled to unlock a new skill. But in the current moment, standing in a university bathroom stall while his legs trembled and his mouth tasted like concrete, he couldn't summon the energy to even give them a second glance.
The last twenty-four hours had drained him dry.
His legs still shook slightly from residual fear, and he gripped the sink edge tighter than necessary.
A thought flickered across his mind, half-formed and reckless.
Stolen novel; please report.
Call Mister White.
Tell him everything. Ask if the [SYSTEM] was his doing. If the black-haired man with a metaphysical grudge was supposed to be another part of his shift day.
But his hand stopped, hovering inches from his wristpad.
What if Taeril White didn't know about any of this?
Worse—what if he did know, and simply chose not to say anything?
The way the black-haired stranger had spoken last night, the way they'd fought, like two ancient archenemies picking up a centuries-old argument, made Eathan hesitate. And suddenly, he realized with unpleasant clarity that the only people he could even consider calling—
Luke?
Emily (wtf)?
Anyone from his group chat?
He grimaced.
They were as mortal as he was, and throwing them into whatever supernatural mess he'd stumbled into would be murder.
His pulse pounded against his temples, a beaded sweat sliding down his neck. It was then Eathan realised belatedly that he hadn't eaten all morning.
Not exactly ideal conditions for clear thinking.
Muttering under his breath, he exited the building toward the nearest cafe. He needed food. Preferably something greasy enough to drown his existential crisis in oil and carbs.
Except, he didn't make it that far.
Because leaning against the humanities building's outer wall—looking for all the world like a melancholy playlist cover—was Emily Lutin.
Today, her honey-brown hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and the light breeze played with the wispy strands around her face. She looked up the second he appeared—and smiled.
That small, worried, slightly shy smile that always knocked something loose behind Eathan's ribs.
"Hey," she said, stepping forward, clutching the strap of her tote bag. "You don't look so good. Are you okay?"
For a moment, Eathan just stared at her like she'd stepped out of a VR simulation. Maybe she had. Maybe he'd died last night and was currently ghost-looping through some parallel reality designed by bad romantic writers.
Because right now, under the soft spring sun, Emily Lutin looked heartbreakingly real.
Not a speck of supernatural malice, no halo of anomaly or warped audio signature.
Just a girl, asking if he was alright.
Eathan mentally slapped himself back to reality.
Pull it together, idiot.
He coughed awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Uh—yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he said, voice hoarse.
He glanced at her tote bag.
"Shouldn't you be in class?"
Emily shook her head, her earrings catching the light with a soft glint.
"I wasn't feeling great either," she admitted sheepishly. "Professor Long said I could go grab some air."
She hesitated—then smiled again, a little brighter.
"Together?"
***
If this is what the afterlife embodies, then I'll gladly dive into it.
That was the only thought Eathan had, standing atop the humanities building's rooftop.
The breeze pulled gently at their clothes, and the city stretched wide beyond the railings, muted by distance and haze. They said nothing, just stood side by side, leaning lightly against the fenced railing, letting the spring air tangle between them. Eathan shifted slightly, sneaking a glance at the girl from the corner of his eye. The sunlight painted her hair gold, a halo effect that made her look even more ethereal.
The [SYSTEM]. The explosion. The toothache-level terror from being stared down by a deity cosplaying as a lecturer. For a moment, it was just him and the girl he'd admired from an emotionally safe distance for almost two years.
He cleared his throat, awkwardness creeping up his spine. "You feeling any better?"
Emily turned toward him, the movement gentle.
"A little," she said, smiling faintly.
If Eathan had been more awake—if his brain hadn't been run through a blender of panic and supernatural revelations—he might have noticed something strange. Be it the way she waited for him outside the bathroom, or the way she suggested they come up here together.
Emily Lutin knew he existed, sure. They'd exchanged a few casual words before.
But this—this warm, almost intimate concern—it didn't fit.
Eathan wasn't the type to overthink his chances. In fact, he'd always preferred one-sided crushes, admired from a distance, safe from rejection or humiliation.
Today, however, clarity was not on the menu.
His heart still raced from the confrontation in the classroom, and his brain was running on empty. Most importantly (and embarrassingly), the idea, this fantasy, was just too beautiful to resist.
Without warning, Emily turned to face him fully.
The city wind played with the ends of her hair. Her eyes, usually a soft brown, seemed darker somehow, gleaming with something Eathan couldn't quite discern. She studied his face with a tilt of her head, as if memorizing the lines of his expression. At her intense gaze, Eathan's cheeks burned up. He could feel the heat crawling from his ears all the way down his neck.
"Now that I think about it," she said, voice light and teasing. "You're actually pretty cute."
Something exploded inside his mind.
Cute?
She said I'm cute?!
The words hit him like a battering ram. The entire timeline of their imagined relationship unfolded at light speed:
Handholding on autumn walks.
Graduation selfies.
Engagement rings glinting under fairy lights.
A wedding where Luke probably got too drunk giving a best man speech.
He decided then and now that their first child's name was going to be Glory.
Completely, utterly flustered, Eathan barely noticed when the [SYSTEM] pinged again in the corner of his vision.
[SYSTEM] NOTIFICATION
[Hidden Quest] Unlocked!
Discover "Emily Lutin"'s secret!
Reward: Provided upon completion of Hidden Quest
But he didn't register the "secret" part at all. His brain only filtered through one crucial interpretation:
She likes me back!
I'm finally escaping the single-since-birth status!
Eathan practically floated where he stood. After twenty long years of being single, after endless third-wheeling, after Luke's constant jabs—
He. Was. Winning.
Then, a soft gust swept across them.
It was still spring in New York. The air barely clawed its way above 60 degrees Fahrenheit, and the rooftop was completely exposed. Emily shivered involuntarily, wrapping her arms loosely around herself. As if on cue, Eathan instantly snapped back to partial functionality.
"You're cold," he said, trying to sound casual. "Wanna head back inside?"
Emily tilted her head, eyes gleaming.
"No need," she murmured. "I know a better way to stay warm."
Before Eathan could ask what she meant, he felt a pair of slim arms wrap around his waist. He froze, brain-to-body neural connections severing instantly.
Emily Lutin is hugging me.
If he had any remaining rational thought, it promptly abandoned ship.
THE Emily Lutin is hugging me.
All the fear and tension melted into pure, sugar-coated euphoria. Eathan barely registered the world anymore.
The girl he'd always admired from a distance, whose laughter he had memorized from three rows back without intending to, whose name he had once scrawled in the margins of his physics notes when finals got too mind-numbing.
The sunlight clung to the edges of his vision, and for a fleeting second, Eathan thought once again that he might actually be dead. It felt impossible. Unreachable. Like he had fallen headfirst into someone else's life.
Yet her arms around him were real. The warmth against his jacket was real.
A thousand reckless dreams flooded his head. Eathan could almost see it: smiles over cheap takeout, inside jokes whispered on subway rides, quiet companionship that asked for nothing but existence.
A breathless laugh almost escaped him, giddy and raw.
But something else tangled with the joy. Something sharper, colder, hidden deeper in his ribs.
Truth be told, Eathan wasn't used to people choosing him. Not really. Not beyond convenience, or politeness, or circumstance. He could help people, sure. He could smile, joke, work shifts, and lend a hand when others needed it; that part was easy.
Being needed was easy.
But being wanted, being seen—that was something different, like a foreign language he never learned to speak.
Deep down, Eathan didn't believe he was the kind of person who was meant for happiness. At least, not the permanent kind. He was the type who watched from a distance, who carried groceries up flights of stairs for strangers and listened more than he spoke.
The kind of person people forgot when the scenery changed.
But still—right now, standing here on the rooftop with Emily's arms around him, he didn't have the strength to question it. This moment alone felt real enough to drown in, and for now, that was enough.
He could pretend, just for a little longer.
Amidst his joy-drunken euphoria, he barely noticed the [SYSTEM] blinking a muted warning at the edge of his vision.
Nor did he see the faint, unnatural gleam that flared in Emily's soft hazel eyes—the flicker of pink that didn't belong.
So naturally, he also failed to notice the two sharp fangs that began to emerge, growing longer as they hovered just above the sensitive skin of his neck.