Danny woke up, sweating. It felt like his chest was breaking apart, as every breath he took felt like poison. He needed fresh air.

Struggling to move his legs, he opened the glass door that led to the terrace, standing on it.

He had seen nothing quite like the view he was seeing. It made him forget about his pain, as he stared, slack jawed, at the lights that shone. It was only then he realised he was in a mansion, but he didn't mind. Those lights, they were natural. He felt like he could stare at it for hours. Then, a melancholic thought rose: He still wasn't in his house. He was still in the novel, he guessed.

But the pain quickly snapped him from that thought. Finally, his knees buckled, as his hands quickly went over his heart. Something soaked into his shirt. His sweat, he realised, yet he hadn't looked at it. Not like he was doing now.

The liquid wasn't actually sweat. It was more like steam, as it rose from his skin. It burned.

It was over faster than he thought it would take. He was on the ground, breathing in as much air as he could. It felt thinner, somehow.

He flipped himself onto his back. He stared at the night sky, which seemed to glitter at him.

Silently, he took out the phone. He looked through it, properly this time, and found several oddities.

Firstly, there was a saved document that seemed to detail another's life. Danny could recognise the name August Reginald VI, which only briefly appeared. "Well, shit," Danny mumbled.

Danny stood up with great difficulty, still huffing. He looked around the room, quickly finding what he was looking for. A weapon.

He found one, glittering brightly inside a large dusty case. It shone so brightly through the cracks in the case that he thought it was a light.

The weapon was gold that reflected off the light. It had the shape of a sword, though he didn't know what type. It had a curved, one-sided blade, what seemed like a long blade, and a decorated hilt. It seemed like it was suitable for what Danny wanted to do.

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He stood in the middle of his room, holding the hilt. He slowed his breathing, filling and emptying his lungs. Then, as if deciding that he was good enough, he tried to quickly take out his sword.

However, it got caught up in the scabbard. Clicking his tongue, he told himself, "It's alright. You're not the main character."

He repeated the same actions, just at a much slower pace. He successfully took out the sword, slowly swinging horizontally then vertically in one motion. It wasn't well done, almost like a child would do. But Danny grinned, with eyes as sly as a fox's. Quickly, his expression cooled down, as he repeated the same actions.

Once, twice... ten times... 100 times...

He stopped at 150 times, though he may have lost count at a point. Still, he only stopped because of his arms that felt like they were bruised.

The Sun was rising. Danny smiled at the scene, though he quickly fainted afterwards.

"Young Master," Ron called. There was no answer. "Young Master, I have your breakfast." Again, there was no answer. Ron found that weird, as his Master, August, never skipped out on a meal. "Young Master!" he yelled. Ron's heart sunk, as he easily kicked down the door at least twice his own size, and found his Master's body on the ground.

Ron rushed up to him, feeling for signs of life. He was still alive.

But there was something weird next to him; a sword Ron wasn't sure he'd seen before. He went to grab it, but an intense aura pushed his hand away.

He briefly looked at his hand, seeing a small scar that quickly healed before dripping any blood. He froze for a second.

"Young Master," Ron gently called, again receiving no answer. Gulping, he reached for the sword again. He was blown away, losing half of a finger. "Mana," he whispered, noting what happened.

He checked for wounds on August's body, finding nothing. He picked August up, placing him on his bed.

He lingered at the doorway, though his gaze was fixed on the sword. "Illusion," he whispered. The sword disappeared, as though it was never there.

He tried closing the door, forgetting that he had blown it clean off its hinges. He nervously chuckled, as he pressed on his ear.

"What is it, Ron?" a gruff voice asked him, sounding particularly angry. "We can't just act on any of your fears. Especially for him."

Ron only laughed away his worries, saying, "He needs a new door, as I kicked it down."

The voice grumbled, though he didn't agree. "It's coming out of your pay, got that?"

Ron's face hardened. "Please, Geoffrey, don't do that to me."

"Quite your whining. We both know you'll survive even if you had just your head and heart left. A little measly compensation is nothing."

Ron walked away, trying to convince Geoffrey.