Darkness enveloped me in the empty curtain of infinity.
"I can feel it… my chains are breaking!" I shouted into the immeasurable darkness that was purifying my mana channels.
I already knew it: the universe was testing me to see if I was capable of detecting the signs of mana in time. The ancient texts (manga) were right; the light at the end of the tunnel was the gateway connecting consciousness to the magic of the world.
With my new abilities, I'll write the greatest scripts in history; with my new abilities, I'll become the Phantom of the Opera; with my new abilities… Why am I a baby?
I could sense a beautiful woman carrying me in one of her arms.
I see… so this must be what they call reincarnation. I must have misjudged the mana reserve in my veins, causing my body to explode right in the middle of the street.
Another thing I realized is that my connection to magic seems to have stabilized, allowing me to sense the room's surroundings without having to get up.
Hmm, this is probably another test to see if I have what it takes to become the magnificent and unrivaled Phantom of the Opera, paving the way to perfection from childhood.
Oh, right, and there was also a baby in the woman's other hand… I think the woman just called her "Rin" while she was breastfeeding her.
I've heard that name somewhere before; maybe at a concert, or perhaps my piano teacher was named that… Or maybe… No, I think I'm just exhausted and my mind is making things up.
A middle-aged man opened the door to the room and cleared up a few details for me. First: judging by his clothes, I can deduce that we're not in the 21st century; those garments—if you can even call them that—seem to belong to the typical low-ranking noble family you come across from time to time.
Second, and most importantly: aside from the name "Rin," I don't understand a single thing. It seems the language pack didn't come pre-installed with my mana channels, but I'll figure it out in time…
I think I just peed myself.
"Waaah!"
***
This can't be... No, no, calm down, Rin... I'm sure it's just a dream. Yes, that must be it; that out-of-place truck is proof. There's no way a truck could fit on such a narrow road. As soon as you wake up, you'll be back to your normal daily life, and your body will be just as beautiful as before.
Huh? Why can I see the whole room from here? This must be what they call a lucid dream; it definitely is. When I wake up, Ban-kun will be at my feet. Yeah, don't worry—he'll admit that he's one of my fans and that's why he's trying to avoid me.
***
It's been five years since the last test the universe put me through, while I maintained my facade as the Phantom of the Opera.
During that time, I had to study tirelessly for hours on end to learn this world's complex language… Thumbs down for the terrible customer service; the mana DLC never arrived, so I could only train at night.
But all that is in the past now. Let's not beat around the bush; I also discovered that my new name is Vikir Ironheart, from a lower-class noble family—which fits my backstory perfectly.
As for magic… It's the reason I didn't curse the universe for having such a slow connection; unlike my previous world, where mortals were a bunch of clueless fools who dismissed the existence of magic, here it's common knowledge.
An ordinary mage could tear apart a shoddy production with a single spell, create special effects to set the scene, and, last but not least… the choreography: the endless possibilities for crafting a memorable battle.
My parents have high expectations for the family heir: the genius, the hero… which clearly isn't me.
BOOOM!
This girl with light brown hair and big, bright pink eyes is my twin sister, Rin Ironheart, and she's what this world calls a "heroine."
The heroes of this world are third-rate actors to whom the universe grants a unique ability so they don't ruin the script.
In my sister's case, it's the sun that will turn the Ironheart family's silver symbol into gold. Her unique ability is called "Narcissistic Mirror."
What's that? A magic mirror that's wasted on reflecting elemental attacks, when its best use would be to reveal the hidden boss of some haunted mansion.
***
"Stop wasting your time," I yelled at my stupid brother, who was lying on the sandy ground.
I sighed to myself as I put away the precious giant mirror.
At first, I thought it was all a bad joke my mind had played on me, triggered by stress, but—as if life had slapped me in the face—it turned out that it was all real.
My previous life had ended without me even managing to get him to say my name...
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Let's not dwell on what happened; in this life, everyone calls me by my name, my parents never stop praising me, and even Mana supports me, naming me one of the heroes of my generation: everything is exactly as it always should have been.
And then there's this mediocre brother of mine: average in his studies, average at sports, with an average affinity for mana. Sometimes I wonder if he's really my twin.
But, for some reason, he reminds me of him…
Despite being so ordinary, he has that look that seems to know more than he lets on.
When we train, I feel as if an invisible sword were piercing my throat for a few seconds; but when I look at him again, there he is, lying on the ground, looking ridiculous.
"It's just that you're really strong, sis," he said, brushing the dust off his clothes.
I watched him for a few seconds. The amount of blood at the corners of his mouth was much less than it should have been; plus, aside from the sand and a few drops of blood, his clothes didn't seem to have suffered the slightest damage despite taking her fireball head-on…
It seems his affinity for fire is weaker than I thought.
"Hmm. Make sure you train more," I ordered, heading back to my room.
"Yes, sister!" he replied.
***
That's right, I'm the mediocre one in the family: someone who isn't competent enough to attract attention, but not so weak as to be a lost cause either. The perfect role for a supporting character.
I turned toward the window and gazed at the cloudy sky, which was raising the curtain on the next scene.
"It looks like the script's already been written," I murmured, reappearing on the arena's ceiling, as wind effects made the hood of my new costume flutter.
***
Boom!
The thunderous claps of thunder echoed through the dark hallways. My gaze drifted toward the large windows, my expression vacant.
I don't think I should be doing this… No, if I quit now, it would be considered an act of betrayal against the sacred scriptures… I don't know what I'm doing with my life.
"How are you, Alec? You look exhausted," remarked the guard in the room.
I rubbed my temples, feeling my vision blur from overwork.
"Between hunting heretics, The Ash Stage running wild, and a hooded madman who calls himself 'The Phantom of the Opera' while destroying our facilities… don't you think I've had enough?"
With every passing day, I'm more convinced that I should quit this damn job. I swear, if I see one more piece of paper… No, let's just resolve this matter for now.
I walked through the door, mentally noting that I'd ask His Holiness for a raise after this.
I wonder when the heretic hunt began; His Holiness seems to have some sort of obsession with eliminating them from this world, simply because they awaken unique abilities despite not being heroes.
"Okay, okay, don't worry about that. Please, if you're going to hate anyone, hate me for being so powerless… Ah, I hate this."
Lying before me was a girl bound in bloodstained anti-magic chains, with deep whip marks scattered across her skin, staring at me with fury… Or so it seemed, since her eye sockets had been gouged out.
I lowered my sword firmly, trying to end that poor soul's suffering with a swift downward slash.
The door to the room burst open, halting my movements just inches from the girl's neck.
"Sir, we have an intruder!" the guard shouted, distraught.
I sheathed my sword slowly, casting a quick, reluctant glance at the girl.
At this moment, I don't know whether to be glad that you can live a little longer, or saddened that you have to endure this in such a state.
***
Crack!
The enormous blue iceberg shattered into a shower of colors, while the "Requiem of the Dead" loomed over us in a magnificent choreography.
Limbs flew everywhere, staining the walls with the purest red that permeated the place.
"Let us dance upon the scythe of death that looms over us!" I touched the improbable notes between my fingers, capturing our beautiful dance in a solemn melody. "And may our earthly souls embody the purity of the crimson abyss."
"Cover your ears—they're just auditory illusions!" ordered one of those present, cutting through the cadaverous illusions emerging from the bloodstained floor.
I spotted a sword of darkness aimed at my neck from behind… Ha, useless.
My neck was severed with a single clean stroke, and I fell to the ground with a loud splash as a melancholic note flooded the stage.
"Choose your targets more carefully in the afterlife, you brat!" exclaimed a burly man, letting his guard down just as the scene reached its true climax.
Tap, tap, tap!
"Oh, really?" I asked from behind, tensing the gloved fingers of my hand.
My invisible threads covered the area, forming an intricate web of black lines that enveloping the laws of causality.
What a shame… my entrance didn't carry enough weight in the plot. The lighting is a problem; next time I'll have to leave a few lamps on.
The boss is late; punctuality is important for a good production. This is another problem that will have to be corrected. We need workers who take their jobs more seriously.
"Are you the hooded madman who's left my desk overflowing with work?" asked a man with deep dark circles under his eyes, striding dramatically toward me while clutching the hilt of the sword at his waist.
My gaze swept the area, making sure everything was in its place before the battle began.
Hmm. I see. It seems you do understand how important aesthetics are when it comes to the choreography of the dead.
I began to walk slowly, hands in my pockets, raising the pitch of the elegy of eternal twilight as the distance between us grew shorter.
"Step aside, boy. The Church hasn't branded you a heretic yet," the man remarked, positioning himself a few meters away from me.
Well, that's what I expected. Finally, someone has read the script!... Ahem, calm down: we have to synchronize with the music.
"My name is of no importance, but the universe knows me as the Phantom of the Opera, the Laborer of Destiny, the Puppeteer…"—the moonlight spilled over me through the newly made hole—"But I consider myself a director who alters the laws of chance and who will correct the evils of the world."
"I see. That's a shame," he muttered to himself.
Clang, clang, clang!
***
What? I'm sure I imbued my sword with the elements of lightning and yin… unless his reflexes surpass even those of a master…
I took a step back, moving away from the mysterious boy, and glanced sideways at the illusions of corpses flooding the walls of the base.
This is strange. His Holiness never told me it was possible to obtain more than one unique ability. As far as I know, only heroes or heretics obtain a unique ability at age five… This boy is quite short; right now, he should be between 4 and 7 years old…
The boy appeared and disappeared with such unusual speed that it was difficult to land a single blow without being caught in a flurry of thrusts.
Clang, clang!
I used the moonlight and the building's dark walls to position myself in his blind spots, drawing my sword in a series of upward slashes that cut through the illusions rushing down from above.
My mind was working at full capacity, slicing through the illusions that seemed to slow down before my eyes.
I appeared behind the only one emitting a magical signature, ignoring the blood dripping from my nose as I slit his throat with a gleaming diagonal slash.
No, that was an illusion too… I think this is going to hurt.
***
Bam!
"You were a worthy opponent," I said, as I retracted my thread sword from his chest. "I'll remember you as the one who hit the final note of the elegy of eternal twilight."
I turned around dramatically and turned off the stage lights as I walked through the dark corridors of the boss's lair.