THE TRANSMIGRATION BEFORE DEATH

The food was as bland as ever.No salt, no flavor, no joy — just the plain, soul-draining taste of boiled carbohydrates. The rice tasted like air pretending to be food; the vegetables, like they had been punished for existing. Even the egg — the egg, of all things — was flavorless, as if someone had sucked out its will to live.

Avin sat there chewing with the kind of frown that could curdle milk. His face said everything: betrayal, suffering, disappointment — the trifecta of every bad meal ever eaten. Still, he forced the rice down because his body was starving, even if his tongue wasn't on board with the decision.

Across the table, Eira and Sylas were still arguing, their voices climbing and dropping like birds that couldn't land. Avin had tuned them out completely; it was the only way to survive dinner. But even through the fog of boredom, one movement caught his attention.

Someone across the cafeteria was staring at him.

When their eyes met, the stranger jerked away immediately, turning his back as if nothing happened. Avin narrowed his eyes. The person limped slightly, holding one hand close to his chest like it was hurt.

"Weird people," Avin muttered and shoveled another forkful of bland misery into his mouth.

He was halfway through thinking about how lifeless this meal was when a sound echoed faintly in the distance — his name, maybe? It was so soft that he brushed it off. The cafeteria was big; people yelled names all the time. But the voice came again, louder this time.

And again.

And again.

Until there was no denying it.

Avin turned toward the noise, and there he was — Henry, standing at the far end of the hall, waving like he was stranded on an island, screaming Avin's name at the top of his lungs.

Every head in the cafeteria turned.

Avin froze, horror washing over him as people began looking between Henry and him, realizing who the human alarm system was yelling for.

"Oh no," Avin whispered.

Without thinking, he raised his hand, eyes flashing crimson. Mana surged from his heart to his arm, and the air around his hand rippled. He clenched his fist — and Henry's feet suddenly dragged across the polished floor, his scream warping into a muffled "Aaaav—!" before Avin's hand clamped over his mouth.

The entire cafeteria gasped.

Chairs scraped. Spoons dropped. Sylas leaned back in his seat, clearly amused.

"Are you insane?" Avin hissed, dragging Henry's head down onto the table.

"Mmmfph—" Henry tried to protest, but it came out as a whine.

Sylas rested his chin on his palm, smirking. "I think you drew more attention to yourself doing that, mate."

Avin glanced around. Everyone was still staring. His eye twitched. He released Henry and straightened up, pretending like nothing happened.

"I'll kill you," he muttered through clenched teeth.

Sylas's quiet laughter turned into a full grin. He was enjoying this far too much.

Henry coughed, fixing his collar like a man trying to reclaim dignity that no longer existed. "So… haha," he said awkwardly, forcing a laugh and sitting down beside Avin. "Dinner, am I right?"

Avin didn't respond. He just stabbed his rice with the ridiculous three-pronged fork and continued eating.

Sylas leaned toward Henry, gesturing. "This is Eira," he said, introducing her like the chaos hadn't just happened.

Eira tilted her head with a suspicious smile.

Henry, oblivious, reached across the table to shake her hand. "Pleasure to meet you," he said cheerfully.

"Uh-huh," Eira replied, shaking his hand but clearly studying him like he was a new species.

Then Henry, ever the master of bad timing, clapped his hands together. "So! About the letter—"

Avin froze mid-bite. Sylas looked up sharply.

Eira frowned. "Letter? What letter?"

Henry kept talking like she hadn't spoken at all. "So I was getting abused by the prince while I was trying to decipher—"

"Wait, what?" Eira interrupted, looking from face to face. "Letter? Prince? Decipher what?"

But Henry was unstoppable. "I've deciphered the title," he announced proudly, leaning forward. "It's some sort of instruction from someone — or something — called 'the Revolution.'"

Eira's eyebrows shot up. "Revolution? What letter?" she repeated, now louder.

"Instructions?" Avin asked.

Henry nodded, entirely too pleased with himself. "Yes. I couldn't decipher the entire contents yet, but I managed the header. Theo said when he saw the writing that it looked like a lost language."

"Theo?" Eira said again, her tone rising. "Who the hell is Theo?"

No one answered.

Henry kept going, his words spilling faster. "He said he'd seen similar characters in some ancient book from an outer library, and then he —"

CRACK.

The entire table split down the middle like someone had just struck it with lightning. Plates clattered. Food spilled. Everyone jumped back as the wood splintered apart, the sound echoing through the cafeteria.

Eira stood with one hand raised in mid-air, a small tremor of mana still flickering around her palm.

Avin stared at the destroyed table. "What the fuck was that?!"

Eira looked down at them, irritated. "Why is nobody answering me?" she snapped, completely unfazed by the shattered table under her hand.

"Why break the fucking table?!" Sylas shot back, standing now, exasperated.

"Caught your attention, didn't it?" she said with a smug tilt of her head.

Sylas sighed, rubbing his temple. "You are so unbelievably immature."

"Oh, I'm immature?" Eira retorted. "You've been glaring at me since I sat down!"

"I wasn't glaring!"

"Sure you weren't."

Henry looked between them like a spectator at a tennis match, mouth slightly open, clearly fascinated. The two kept snapping back and forth — insults, sarcasm, words too fast to follow — until it all blurred into muffled noise in Avin's head.

He placed his palm over his face and let out the most exhausted sigh of his life.

"What did I do," he muttered, "to deserve this?"

The argument grew louder. Voices overlapped. Someone laughed. Another slammed a hand on the broken table. And then, finally—

"OKAY, STOP!" Avin's voice thundered over them, his tone sharp enough to slice the noise in half. The room went silent in an instant. He was breathing hard, staring at all three of them.

Sylas raised an eyebrow, calm as ever. "Woah, bro. Relax. You're kinda pulling more attention to yourself."

Avin turned slowly, glaring at him. Then at the crowd of students who were once again staring. Then back at his "friends." His jaw clenched. For a moment, it looked like he was about to snap the nearest chair in half.

He took a slow breath instead.

"Henry," he said, his tone dangerously controlled. "Tell her."

Henry jumped a little at the sudden order, then quickly began explaining everything — how he and Avin had found the hooded man, the strange ash pattern, the fight, the explosion, and the letter. He talked fast, waving his hands like a scholar giving a lecture.

Eira listened, arms crossed, eyes darting between them.

When Henry finally finished, Avin turned to her, voice flat. "Better now?"

"Yes," she said sweetly. "Was that so hard?"

A vein popped on Avin's forehead.

He clenched his fist, breathing heavy. The way she said it — so casually, like she hadn't just broken an entire table — made his blood boil. His mouth opened, ready to unleash every insult he'd been saving for weeks—

—and then a new voice cut through the tension.

"The Prince requests your audience," the voice said firmly.

Everyone turned.

Standing at the edge of the chaos was Theo, his ever-neutral expression unchanged even as he looked at the wreckage of what used to be a table. His uniform was spotless, his posture perfect. His tone didn't waver.

"Avin and Henry," he continued, "you're to come with me. Now."

Silence blanketed the table. Avin blinked, the anger fading just enough for confusion to replace it.

"Wait— the Prince?" he asked.

Theo nodded once. "Immediately."