NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 16: ...Who Am I?
Harry's eyes blinked open to the faint glow of firelight dancing along rough, gray stone walls. The scent of burning wood and faint herbs lingered in the air, mixed with something metallic—like old iron.
His brain felt sluggish, as if he had just woken up from a dream he couldn't quite piece together.
It took him a moment to register his surroundings: a medieval-style room with heavy wooden beams overhead, a simple bed beneath him, and a sturdy wooden door across the way.
"Woah-ar-!"
He groaned, sitting up with a wince. His hand automatically rubbed the back of his head. Everything ached—a dull, throbbing soreness in his chest and limbs—but there was no sharp pain.
No sign of the injuries that should've left him on death's door.
"What the…" he muttered, flexing his arms. Not a single scratch. His body was in perfect condition—aside from the soreness, which felt like he had spent a whole day getting tossed around like a ragdoll.
"Did I… dream that?"
A loud, grating snore shattered the quiet.
Harry flinched. His head snapped to the side, where another bed was pressed against the stone wall.
On it sprawled a figure, one arm tucked behind his head, the other dangling off the side. His expression was serene, almost peaceful, the flickering firelight casting soft shadows across his face.
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
"M-Max?" he whispered, voice hoarse.
There was no mistaking it—it was definitely Max. But something was... off. His face looked sharper, his presence heavier, like an eerily perfect painting of himself. Even his posture was unnervingly still, despite the obnoxious snoring.
Harry squinted.
'He looks like he's in a freaking movie poster,' he thought, half-annoyed.
The longer he stared, the more the unease gnawed at him.
Swinging his legs off the bed, Harry planted his feet on the cold stone floor. He tested his limbs—bending, twisting—still nothing wrong.
"Okay, should I be happy that I'm not dead?" he muttered.
His gaze flicked back to Max, who remained motionless.
Frowning, Harry stood and crossed the short distance between their beds. His footsteps echoed faintly in the quiet room as he leaned down and poked Max's arm.
"Hey, Max. Wake up."
No response.
Harry huffed and shook his arm fully this time. "Come on, man. You can't just—"
"—!"
Max's eyes snapped open.
Harry barely had time to react before a vice-like grip clamped around his wrist. His breath hitched as his arm was twisted—not painfully, but with enough force to send every survival instinct into overdrive.
"Ouch!"
"L-Let go, you idiot!" Harry yelped, jerking back.
For a split second, Max's sharp, predatory gaze locked onto him, unreadable and unnerving. Then, just as quickly, the clarity returned to his eyes. His grip slackened, and he released Harry's wrist, sitting up with unsettling smoothness.
Harry staggered back, cradling his arm, glaring. "What the hell, man?! Are you an assassin or something?"
Max tilted his head, blinking at him. "What is an ...assassin?"
"Huh?" Harry's glare wavered.
'That was… not the response I was expecting.'
He squinted. Max sat eerily still, his posture unnaturally perfect, his gaze steady and unwavering.
'He reminds me of a trained dog or something,' Harry chose not to speak out loud.
"Whatever." He let out a frustrated sigh and plopped back onto his bed. "Where are we? And what happened back there?"
Max's brow furrowed slightly, as if sorting through fragmented memories.
"I saved you," he said after a pause, his tone flat and matter-of-fact. "They saved us and told us to sleep here."
Harry stared. "Super clear, thanks. Who's 'they'?"
Max shrugged. "I don't know."
"You don't—" Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. That's really reassuring."
Then his brain caught up to something.
"Wait—did you just say you saved me?"
Max nodded.
Harry blinked. Then, his lips curved into a grin, and he reached out to pat Max on the shoulder. "Then I owe you one. Thanks for saving me, man. I'd be a goner if it weren't for you."
Max stiffened slightly at the contact but nodded again, expression unreadable. For a second, something flickered in his eyes—something unnameable.
Then, out of nowhere, he asked:
"Who am I?"
Harry's grin froze mid-pat. His brain screeched to a halt.
"...What?"
Max's gaze remained steady.
"Who am I?" he repeated, his tone calm but deliberate.
'...He's messing with me, right?' Harry's stomach did a weird flip. "...Max? Are you seriously checking if I have amnesia or something? Don't worry, you are Max, the loner of our class."
"...I see." Max tilted his head slightly. "Then... what is this… amnesia?"
"0-0" Harry's stare turned blank.
"...You're joking, right?"
Max shook his head, completely serious.
Harry let out a long, drawn-out groan and dragged a hand down his face. "No way. You don't even know what amnesia is? "
Max stared expectantly, like a student waiting for a lecture.
Harry exhaled, feeling a headache coming on. "Alright, fine, I'll tell you—just stop looking at me like a confused puppy."
Clearing his throat, he started, "So, amnesia is when you lose your memories. Like, completely blank. You don't remember who you are, where you're from, nothing. It's like your brain just… wipes itself clean." He gestured vaguely. "Sometimes, people lose some memories instead of all of them. That's more common. I think."
Max absorbed the explanation in silence.
Then, his expression shifted ever so slightly. The faintest flicker of unease passed through his otherwise calm demeanor.
After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice quieter but deliberate:
"It seems… I am experiencing this amnesia thing."
Harry's jaw dropped.
He stared at Max, mind scrambling for a response.
"...Seriously?"
Max nodded.
Silence stretched between them.
"...Seriously?" Harry repeated, just in case his brain had short-circuited.
Another nod.
"...Okay. Okay." Harry clasped his hands together and inhaled. "On a scale of one to what-the-actual-hell, this is about a screaming-into-the-void level situation."
Max blinked.
Harry let out a nervous laugh, rubbing his temples.
"..."
"..."
"..."
"...Shoot."