The Protagonist Who Used to Live in Peace

Lying on that ridiculously soft bed, so fluffy it felt like it was hugging me with absurd tenderness, I closed my eyes and tried to piece together what was left in my head. Something—anything—that could give me a clue about how the hell I ended up here. Because even if I’d already accepted that this was real, my brain was still searching for a crack in the logic. A loophole. A reason.

As expected, my memories didn’t come back clearly. They came in fragments, like badly cut scenes from a low-budget movie.

It must’ve been two or three weeks ago. Just a regular afternoon. We were waiting for dinner at home when Daniela, my little sister, started up again—as always—going off about that game she was totally obsessed with. By that point, I was beyond tired of hearing about it. And that’s saying something.

"Daniela, I’ve already told you I don’t like NSFW otome games," I said while scrolling through my phone, more to avoid the conversation than because I had anything important to check.

"But this one’s different, I swear! It’s got story, drama, deep characters... it’s amazing!"

"Yeah? Let me guess," I raised an eyebrow, turning lazily on the couch. "It’s about some small-town girl with secret magic powers who, for absolutely no reason, becomes the center of the universe and all the princes fall in love with her, while the villainess is some over-the-top rich brat who dies in the last chapter so the MC can get her happily-ever-after?"

"I mean... yes, but also no."

That was enough to make me pull a theatrical grimace of disgust.

"Yeah, no thanks. Not touching that with a ten-foot pole."

She puffed her cheeks like an offended hamster.

"Come on, Julia! I’m serious. Don’t judge a game just because it’s NSFW."

"What’s NSFW?" Mom asked from the kitchen as she finished setting the table. Her voice was super casual, like she didn’t just lob a live grenade into our conversation.

Daniela and I froze. That kind of frozen where your brain disconnects and you can only stare at your sibling with desperate silence. The look you share when neither of you wants to explain something awkward to a parent.

"It’s... uh..."

Mom turned around with a mischievous smile and burst out laughing.

"I’m kidding! Even I know what that means. I’m not that old, okay?"

"So mean!" we both shouted at once, in that perfect synchronized way only sisters have when they’re being roasted by their mom.

Dad, who’d just been quietly listening the whole time, sat at the table and took off his glasses.

"I do want you to explain it to me," he said seriously, though the twinkle in his eyes gave him away—he was just trying to make us squirm a little more.

...It hasn’t even been a full day since I landed in this world, and I already miss my family. The feeling wasn’t full-on sadness. More like a pressure in the chest, the kind that comes when you're holding back tears for no real reason. A soft, annoying emptiness. Almost tender.

Better to keep remembering.

After that dinner, I ended up giving in to Daniela’s pestering. Not because her arguments convinced me, but because she played her most powerful card: she said Yoshikage was the illustrator.

Damn it. That was a low blow.

That man could draw sensual men, ethereal women, and backgrounds so beautiful even the settings menu felt like a masterpiece. So, I downloaded it with the intention of playing for a bit before bed. That’s it. Just to kill time. And, well... it worked.

I reached the first choice with the heroes. I remember they were talking like they were God’s gift to the world, I picked a random option... and just fell asleep. Not because I was tired. They just failed to stimulate even one brain cell. They had all the charisma of a wet sock.

Next morning, while I was lazily putting on my shoes, Daniela popped in with that puppy-dog smile and sparkly eyes.

"So? Interesting, right?!"

"Yeeaah… we’ll talk later. Gotta go! Kick-boxing calls."

I fled. Like a true heroine. Of the coward variety.

Instead of heading to class, I crashed at a friend’s place and, with my pride in shambles, opened the game again. Not because I was actually interested… but just so I’d have enough context to fake enthusiasm next time Daniela asked something.

Didn’t want to make her feel bad. She wasn’t super social, didn’t have many people to share her interests with. That’s actually why I became an otaku in the first place—to understand her better.

So I played. Sort of. Had to take a lot of breaks. Yawns, stretches, waves of boredom—I barely managed to get through the route with that annoying prince and his half-psycho villainess fiancée.

Now that I think about it... Kathryn was probably right at the start of that route when I got isekai’d into her body. Oh, god. The timing really sucked. It all fits now.

Anyway, the story had its moments, I guess. But they got buried under an endless flood of hero dialogues. Just a nonstop cacophony of empty words, full of metaphors about justice and honor that made me want to set the whole damn castle on fire.

Shame my brain remembered more of the bad than the good.

Still, I kept playing. Because yeah, the illustrations were just that good. The art design was basically the only thing keeping me awake. And so, I spent two full weeks on that otome—napping through boring dialogues and piecing together the story through forum summaries written by much more patient players.

But I did it. I unlocked all the CGs. Every single one. And for an otaku like me, that was worth more than actually knowing the story.

Of course, my attitude didn’t sit well with Daniela. She hated that I didn’t have much to say about the plot, and honestly? I don’t blame her. I just really didn’t see what she saw in that game. If I’d had the choice, I would’ve picked one of the visual novels I actually liked. One where I could choose freely. Where the villainesses weren’t so over-the-top… and the princes didn’t make me cringe so hard.

So then... what happened?

I remember chatting with Daniela and Dana, one of my best friends ever. We were in the living room, backpacks tossed around, TV playing in the background though no one was really watching. One of those warm sunsets where everything feels like it’s been dipped in golden syrup, and time slows down.

"Come on, let’s go," I said with the kind of confident grin only I could pull off. "Kick-boxing might be brutal, but it pays off big time! Just look at this!"

With over-the-top flair, I slapped my butt in front of them like I was in one of those before-and-after commercials. I said it with pride. That mix of teasing and self-love.

Daniela and Dana both looked at me at the same time. That look friends give you when you say something they really didn’t need to hear… but can’t help silently judging. Cringe. Maximum.

"That look was pure envy," I thought, half-convinced.

"Nah. I’m good not having that much back there," Dana said, shrugging with fake chill. "Besides, I don’t wanna deal with Teo teasing me during training."

"I’m not really the moving type. Sorry, sis," Daniela added, throwing herself dramatically onto the couch like the world had wronged her personally.

I let out a long, theatrical sigh.

"Ugh, y’all are so boring! We’re in the prime of our youth. Enjoy it!"

"I still have years of youth left," Daniela replied haughtily, pointing at me with a half-eaten fry. "So go bother Dana, not me."

Dana brushed her bangs aside with an exaggerated sigh.

"I refuse. I’m not turning into one of those gals you like so much, Julia."

I rolled my eyes and flashed a sarcastic smile.

"Booooring~" I sing-songed, like spelling it out made it more real. "Fine then. I’ll go alone."

Daniela sat up a little, her expression softening just a bit with worry.

"Take care, okay? Don’t let Teo get cocky."

“Call me if anything happens,” Dana added, with that half-serious, big-sister tone she pulls out sometimes.

“Whatever you say,” I replied, already headed toward the door, waving indifferently as I slung my backpack over my shoulder.

And just like that, I left. The sun was beginning to hide behind the buildings, staining the sky orange and purple. I took the usual route—through the park, past the shops… everything normal.

I went to those classes.
And then… what?

I closed my eyes. The memory fades. I can barely make out the shapes, as if—Agh… my head hurts when I try to remember.
Like my mind is refusing, like something inside me is resisting completing the puzzle. Like it knows, deep down, that after that moment… the world stopped being the same.

But come on, I know I can. I just… I just need to calm down. I pressed my hands to my forehead and began gently massaging my temples. The pain throbbed, sharp, behind my eyes, like something was trapped in there, clawing to get out.

I need to know what happened.

It was around nine o’clock at night, more or less. The sky was already darkening, and the air felt thick and dense, heavy with that humidity that asphalt brings after a hot day. The kick‑boxing session had wrecked me; every muscle ached as if I’d just returned from a hundred‑year war. I just wanted to get home, take a hot shower, and let the world turn off with me.

I was walking slowly, headphones on. Just like someone who thinks nothing can happen to them, as if I had some invisible shield of routine and youth.

And then—a voice.
A disgusting, raspy voice sounded from behind me.

“Move and you die.”

I froze. The voice was female, but that coarse, broken tone came from someone who’d smoked their whole life… and from the nauseating smell that hit me seconds later, it was clear those weren’t ordinary cigarettes.

Before I could react, I felt something cold, sharp, and dangerously real pierce my side. The touch of the blade made me gasp. She shoved me into a narrow, dark alley filled with trash bags and damp shadows.

“Give me everything you’ve got,” she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“O-Okay…” I squealed, trembling, as my hands loosened the straps of my backpack. My voice came out weak, broken, like it wasn’t mine.

As I handed it over, I dared to turn slightly—just enough to see her face.
And I wish I hadn’t.

She was… horrible. I don’t say it out of cruelty. She honestly was. Her body was an empty shell: skin so thin you could see the whiteness of her cheekbones, yellowed, sunken eyes like two damp, dark caves. She looked like a zombie skull wrapped in torn flesh.

“Phone and wallet too!” she demanded. I nodded like an automaton and emptied my pockets.

I don’t know if it was my expression of fear or that I stared at her too long, but her face twisted with burning rage…

“You… look at me like you think you’re better than me… you think you’re better than me?! EH?! Ms. high‑end, with her beauty and youth… bitch… bitch!”

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t even tell her it wasn’t true. I just froze, unable to breathe, as if an invisible hand was squeezing my throat.

And then—the knife—it slid into my neck with grotesque smoothness. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t clean. It was like someone tearing a sheet of paper right down the middle—slowly, with cruelty.

The world seemed to stop. She ran off. Just like that.

Instinctively, I pressed my hands to the wound as if I could patch myself back together, as if I could hold my soul with my fingers… They trembled. My fingers were soaked in warm blood, so hot I thought I was on fire… but at the same time, I felt cold—a cold that seeped from the wound and spread through my entire body like black ink in water.

Nausea came next, mixed with panic. My legs gave out. I collapsed to my knees, the sound of my blood hitting the pavement like a storm no one could hear. I tried to speak. To call for help. But all that came out was a gurgling sound. Oh, that damned gurgle. Every time I tried to speak, a gush of blood came out of my mouth.

Someone… anyone… I don’t want to die.

I wanted to scream it. Beg it. But there was no one.

No one heard me. No one saw me.

I blinked. The world turned blurry. Not from crying. But because the blood was clouding my vision. Or maybe because I was… fading away.

This couldn’t be my end. But it was.

So… that’s how I died. I was killed… by an addict, just because—

“Fucking… bitch! My life was good and you took it just like that! Fuck you! Fuck you wherever you are!”

The scream tore from me, like it had been brewing deep in my gut, gathering every piece of rage, powerlessness, and pain… until it exploded.

And then, chaos. My hands began tearing down everything within reach. A porcelain figure smashed into pieces; cushions flew; the mirror nearly toppled from its frame; and the stuffed animals—innocent witnesses to my tragedy—were thrown mercilessly across the room.

The tears burned, but didn’t dare fall. My throat was dry. My breath was a mix of gasps and stifled sobs.

Every strike, every object I broke, was an attempt to rebuild myself. But it didn’t work. There was no catharsis. Only exhaustion.

In the end, my legs gave out, and I collapsed sitting in the middle of the wreckage. My hair clung to my face, my clothes were a mess, and my heart kept pounding as if it wanted to escape my chest. I hugged my knees and took a deep breath. One. Two times.

Not for peace. Just from inertia.

“Alright… this decides it,” I murmured, a shaky half‑smile curling on my lips. “I really am going to live a good life here. Far from danger, far from pain, far from everything that sucks about the real world.”

My voice was barely a whisper. A broken promise before it was born.
But I didn’t care.

“I’m going to reclaim at least one piece… just one… of the happiness that was stolen from me.”

I just… want peace… Please…