Chapter 1: The Call That Changed Everything

My little sister’s family got wiped out in a car accident. In her last moments, she called me from the hospital, begging me to take care of her daughter.

Even as grief clawed at my chest and stole my breath, I was still struggling for words when suddenly, it was like my brain glitched and a flood of online comments scrolled in front of my eyes—like I'd stumbled into a livestream of my own life.

"Dude, your sister's totally faking it. She wants you to raise her kid so they can scam you later."

"Bro, don’t fall for it. That niece will go full TikTok drama queen on you."

"So sad! Say yes and you’ll work yourself into an early grave—then she’ll trash your name."

"Right, the ungrateful kid will accuse you of abuse in the future, saying you adopted her just to satisfy your own twisted desires."

...

The messages kept coming, each one prickling my skin and sending a cold shiver down my spine. It felt like doomscrolling through a conspiracy thread—every comment more insane than the last, but a tiny voice in my head whispered, what if they’re right?

Meanwhile, my sister’s voice trembled on the phone, barely audible but so desperate it nearly broke me. My promised reply got stuck somewhere between my throat and my heart, panic taking over:

"Hello? Hello? Bad signal—what did you say? I can't hear you."

1

"Bro, I was in a car accident. I can't make it... I'm entrusting Hannah to you, please..."

Her voice, so weak it sounded like it could slip away any second, came through again.

I squeezed my eyes shut, her words pounding in my head. The on-screen comments swelled, a virtual crowd shouting over my every thought.

"Don’t agree with her. If you do, you’ll be doomed forever."

"They couldn’t even fake the car accident well enough to get money. You mustn’t agree."

My heart hammered, threatening to burst out of my chest, and my right eyelid twitched uncontrollably.

What if they’re right? What if I say yes and ruin my life? But how can I say no to my dying sister?

I immediately hung up the phone.

Instantly, the comments erupted in celebration.

"Damn! Why is the main character acting differently than in his last life!"

"I've got a bold idea... Main character, main character, can you see our comments? If you can, raise your left hand."

My hand hovered, unsure, but some weird urge—like I was being puppeteered—made me lift my left hand, confusion etched across my face.

The comments exploded.

"Oh my god, I’ve become an NPC! First time being part of a novel, I’m so excited!"

[excited+10086]

[excited+10010]

[excited+10001]

The barrage made it feel like my life was being broadcast live, like a TV drama for the world to judge.

Now, it seems, I’m experiencing a second life.

In my first life—which I can barely remember—I lived a miserable, ill-fated existence.

Not only was I ruined by my sister’s family, but when my niece grew up, she accused me of abuse and destroyed my reputation.

Staring at the surreal scene before me, my fists clenched tighter and tighter. My mind drifted back to vague, half-remembered flashes: whispered accusations, cold stares from neighbors, the sting of betrayal. My jaw locked with the memory.

Next, the comments gave a warning:

"That wicked stepmom of yours is coming. She’s working with your sister and wants to split your money—be careful."

Knock, knock, knock—

As soon as those words appeared, a loud banging rattled my door.

I rushed over and looked through the peephole, only to see my stepmom’s sorrowful face—and my niece standing beside her.

"Ryan, open the door! Your sister and brother-in-law are in big trouble! Hurry!"

"Don’t open the door. The old witch is a master at guilt-tripping—don’t give her a chance."

"But you can’t NOT open the door. I see the old witch is hiding a video recorder. If you don’t open up, she’ll use it against you."

"Everything’s changed. The main character can see the comments, and now all the other characters are acting differently, targeting him."

The comments broke out in heated debate.

The hallway reeked of microwave popcorn and someone’s burnt pizza from last night. Doors creaked open as neighbors peeked out, hungry for drama.

Through the peephole, I watched my stepmom turn to knock on the neighbor’s door.

"Mrs. Carter, are you home? Ryan’s sister’s whole family died in a car accident, and Ryan won’t open the door. What should we do?"

My mind buzzed.

Mrs. Carter across the hall is notorious for gossip, always able to stir up trouble from nothing.

With my stepmom fanning the flames, if Mrs. Carter added fuel to the fire, I wouldn’t be able to stay in this apartment complex anymore.

It was that kind of old building where everyone knew everyone, and the walls were paper-thin—one juicy rumor, and I’d be a pariah overnight.

Helpless, I could only open the door, stride over, grab my stepmom by the collar, and shake her hard, glaring as I demanded:

"What happened to my sister? What happened to my sister?"

Sometimes, you gotta out-drama the drama queens.