In a sterile hospital room, Torry slips away at 35-terminally ill, forgotten, done. One breath. Blackness. Then... eyes snap open. Not his body. A 15-year-old heir, Hegio Franksterio-rich, healthy, doomed. Supporting villain in some half-remembered novel, slated for a tragic end he can't even recall. "Fuck that goddamned plot!" he snarls at the heavens. "Damn ending! I refuse! If there's a god here, let me live my way!" A voice echoes from the void: "Then write your own story, child. Your actions... change everything." Second life. No more fiction. This is reality. Hegio's rewriting the villain's arc-one defiant choice at a time.