Extra's Survival Manual: I get 10x Weight daily until Explode?!

A raindrop slipped from the bloated clouds above, falling in a lazy arc through the thick, muggy air.

It caught a sliver of light as it dropped, cutting through the atmosphere without a sound, like the world had pressed pause for just a moment.

The drop kept tumbling, pushing its way through the still air until it finally landed on a young man's shoulder.

It hung there for a beat, sparkling a little, before sliding down the rough fabric of his coat.

He didn't flinch.

Lucian sat there, back turned to the world, seemingly unfazed by the rain's soft touch.

Compared to everything weighing on him, that drop didn't even register.

The scene around him wasn't much better—a graveyard, where gravestones stood in neat rows, and he was alone in front of the one that mattered.

The grave of the old man who had raised him.

He stayed quiet, letting the chill of the rain seep in with each drop.

The once-clean headstone was now dark and slick, blending into the gloomy sky overhead.

Lucian rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the weight of all the new responsibilities crashing down on him, especially on a day like this.

He had just turned eighteen, not even a week ago, and life had already tossed him into the deep end.

The old man—the orphanage's so-called caretaker—wasn't around anymore to play his part.

"Haa..." Lucian sighed, his voice breaking the silence.

"Old man, you finally kicked the bucket, huh?" There was a weird mix of affection and frustration in his tone. He glanced at the name carved into the stone, eyes lingering as if waiting for it to change.

"Figures," he muttered, his lips curling slightly. "Always knew you'd bail before the bill showed up."

Reaching into his bag, Lucian pulled out a stack of magazines, the edges beat-up and the covers looking worse for wear.

He held them up, shaking his head like he couldn't believe he was actually doing this.

"Brought your favorite mags from the bookstore. Thought I'd honor your memory the only way you'd appreciate—by dumping some R-18 stuff on your grave."

He set them down gently, like he was leaving flowers, giving them a quick pat for good measure. "Still don't get how you managed to convince everyone at the orphanage to let you keep these. Role model, my ass."

Lucian scanned the area, half-expecting the old man to pop up with some smartass comeback.

But the cemetery stayed quiet.

"Anyway, didn't cost me anything. They were tossing them out. So, you're welcome," he smirked, picturing the old man enjoying this bizarre gesture from whatever pervy afterlife he'd ended up in. "You'd probably still complain they weren't the latest issues."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "This is how I'm spending my day off, huh? Dragging dirty mags to your grave. But someone's gotta keep your twisted memory alive, right?"

Another sigh escaped him as he wiped a raindrop off his face—not tears, though.

Definitely just raindrops.

"Guess this is goodbye, then." He stood up, ready to leave, but something made him pause. He grinned, laughing quietly to himself. "Don't you dare haunt me for bringing the wrong issue. I'll burn them all if you do."

With that, Lucian gave the headstone one last look before walking away, leaving behind the magazines like some weird, rain-soaked tribute—complete with a cover featuring a woman flaunting some underboob, glistening in the downpour.

----

"You're late," a thin man with glasses and a slight hunch commented casually, handing the key to Lucian as he strolled away.

Lucian walked in, shaking off the rain and placing his umbrella in the holder by the door.

"Have a good day," Lucian replied, removing his blazer, while the bookstore owner grabbed his umbrella and headed home.

Lucian had taken a short break earlier to visit the old man's grave. But with a few hours left before closing, he had to clock in and finish up his shift.

The store was oddly quiet for this time of evening, and Lucian couldn't help but notice. Usually, the place had a steady stream of people coming in and out.

He took his seat behind the counter, scanning the aisles absentmindedly.

"Isn't Lucian a total jerk?"

"Yeah, at first I felt bad for him, but that fat guy really doesn't deserve any sympathy."

"Right? Such a douche."

'...Okay, that's new.' Lucian's brows furrowed as he overheard the couple chatting nearby.

For a second, he thought they might be talking about him, but then he quickly remembered—he wasn't exactly the chubby type they seemed to be describing.

Still, he couldn't resist shooting them a quick glance, just to be sure they weren't side-eyeing him while they trashed someone else with his name.

You never know when life throws in a weird twist to mess with you.

"Excuse me, can we buy this book?" The same couple approached the counter with smiles, holding up a novel for him to scan.

Lucian's curiosity got the better of him. "...Is Lucian a character in this book?" He asked, putting two and two together.

The title «Heroes Counterattack» was familiar enough, and it clicked—they weren't dragging his name, just some poor fictional soul.

The girl's eyes lit up as she leaned in. "Yes! He's the worst! The way he treats everyone like they're nothing? Total scumbag."

Her partner nodded with a look of disgust. "Exactly. And what he did to Lulu? I mean, come on, she deserved better."

"Ah... I see," Lucian definitely wasn't getting any of it, but they were excited and he was curious—a perfect combination to extract some information, and he did, which made him start asking questions about the story.

After all, who would not want to read the story of a character with the same name as you who is cursed by the readers?

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A few hours later, Lucian was bent over the counter, skimming through «Heroes CounterAttack», trying to figure out what made this Lucian dude such a jerk.

That couple wasn't lying—man was a real piece of work.

The more he read, the more intrigued he became.

This guy was so hated that he had an entire fanbase.

'A villain, huh?' Lucian held the same volume that the couple had purchased.

From what he heard from them, he could see what happened to that character, but his curiosity just couldn't stop.

Sharing the same name really hit home for him, making him feel part of the situation, but he also felt pity for the dude.

They revealed he was terminally ill, sure, but his personality was total garbage—like, molesting maids and killing random folks who bumped into him.

All his crimes just seemed like bottom-of-the-barrel nobleman stuff, not really the badass villain type you'd expect.

And he died before the end of Volume 1, which made his story rather short.

This prompted Lucian to ask more and more questions, leading him to know the summary of the whole volume 1 within a few hours which would have taken readers a week.

Additionally, he was surprised to learn that the novel had its own game and was the most popular novel among the new generation.

'By the way, what was his mother's name again?' While trying to take out his phone, Lucian attempted to recall the name of this particular character's mother. Even though those two had commented on how smart she was, he somehow didn't feel well about her.

badump

"Kugh!?—Thud." Suddenly, as if something had pierced his heart in an instant, he felt his entire body freeze with an overwhelming chill.

"Cough!?" He collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest as blood gushed from his mouth.

Suddenly, the lights in the shop started to flicker, as if everything was malfunctioning, including the electric banners outside the shop, which were also flickering on and off.

"Arrghh?!" His eyes trembled as he strained to look behind him, but all he could discern was the silhouette of a woman, 'A-a ghost.'

Only one thing came to Lucian's mind as he slowly felt his head becoming numb. He was falling, looking towards the woman's amethyst hair and lips cast in shadow, her face not completely visible due to the flickering light.

He definitely never believed in ghosts, let alone in the existence of something he had never seen with his own eyes.

He always used to say: I will not believe it until it happens to me.

Now that it has happened to him, he feels that he should have believed in ghosts earlier and could have worn a cross or some talisman before visiting that old man's grave.

'Curse you, old man!' The only thing he could think right now was that he might be meeting his end for visiting the grave of the old man to whom he needed to deliver the most important item.

After deleting the old man's browser history, as Lucian had promised him in his last moments, he was returning the remaining remnants of his memories—R-18 magazines.

But now, he had been stabbed by a ghost.

Just before he succumbed to eternal slumber, he heard her whisper softly, her words barely breaking through the haze that enveloped his mind, "re..tu...rn bac..k....my s..o..."