Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Varen Drakov.

The quintessential male lead trope that somehow managed to stand out in a genre overrun with cliché archetypes. As I remembered his earlier fight playing out in the arena, I found myself reflecting on the kind of character he represented. Unlike many of the others in this world, Varen was a character I couldn't help but respect—or, dare I say, even like.

In most female-oriented novels, you could practically predict the male leads by their personality templates. The cold, domineering CEO type who somehow melted into a doting puppy in front of the main character. The obsessed magician who buried himself in arcane studies and was willing to burn the world down for the heroine. The arrogant crown prince, treating everything as his possession until the MC inevitably humbled him. And, of course, the beastkin thug—wild, unpredictable, and strangely romantic when it came to the female lead.

Then there was Varen: the betrayed young man who had lost faith in the opposite sex entirely, only to have that faith gradually restored by the main character's kindness and determination. The trope wasn't new by any means, but it was his execution that made it different. He wasn't some mindless ball of angst or a brooding, two-dimensional archetype. He was layered, and the novel didn't shy away from exploring those layers.

Varen wasn't just angry at women because of his betrayal—he was angry at himself. He despised the naive boy he used to be, the one who had trusted so easily, the one who had given his heart away without hesitation. His pride, his dignity, and his sense of self had been shattered when he discovered his fiancée, Lira, in an illicit relationship with someone else. In a moment of blind rage, he had ended that man's life, a decision that set him on a path of bitterness and self-loathing.

He wasn't cold for the sake of being cold. His actions weren't motivated by some ridiculous need to dominate or control. He simply didn't trust anymore, not just women but people in general. And that mistrust extended to himself. He saw his failure to protect his pride and his naivety as weaknesses to be purged.

That's where Elara, the true female lead, came in. She didn't "fix" him, at least not in the traditional sense. She didn't swoop in and miraculously heal his wounds with her charm or beauty. No, her role in his story was to challenge him, to force him to confront the walls he'd built around himself. It was her unwavering resolve, her authenticity, that slowly chipped away at his cynicism. It was a gradual process, filled with tension and setbacks, but it was real.

And that's why Lira hated her.

Lira wasn't just jealous of Elara's talent or her connection to Varen—she was terrified of her. Elara represented everything Lira couldn't be. Where Lira had manipulated and deceived her way through life, Elara stood as a beacon of genuine strength. She didn't need to tear others down to rise. She just… rose. And in doing so, she made Lira's existence feel hollow.

But back to Varen. What I appreciated most about him was how grounded his character felt. His journey wasn't about becoming some perfect hero. It was about learning to live with his scars, to rebuild himself into someone who could trust again—not blindly, but cautiously, thoughtfully. His interactions with Elara weren't just about romance; they were about mutual growth. She wasn't there to "save" him, and he wasn't there to "possess" her. They were equals, pushing and challenging each other in ways that felt natural.

'Honestly,' I thought, leaning back as I watched the arena being prepped for my fight. 'He was one of the few characters I actually enjoyed following in the novel. A little melodramatic at times, sure, but at least his arc had depth.'

As I waited in the preparation room, the final match loomed ahead. My mind wandered, not just about the fight but about Varen Drakov, the man who was soon to be my opponent. As much as I respected his backstory, his growth, and the depth of his character, there was one thing that lingered on my mind.

Sure, Varen's distrust for women and his own self-loathing were understandable, given what he had gone through. The betrayal, the broken heart, the damage to his pride—those were powerful catalysts for shaping who he was now. But was it really only Elara who could fix him? Was it only the main female character who had the right to heal his wounds, to challenge his cynicism, and ultimately help him find peace?

I wasn't so sure.

I leaned back, glancing at the stone walls of the room, focusing on the thoughts that had been nagging at me. I understood why Varen turned to Elara. She represented everything he had been unable to reconcile: authenticity, trust, and emotional connection. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized something—Elara was simply a catalyst, not the cure.

Varen had to come to terms with his emotions himself.

Wasn't Varen afraid of feeling those same emotions he had once believed in so blindly? He had spent so much time hiding from them, burying them under layers of cynicism and anger. In doing so, he became just like Valeria in a way—someone obsessed with the concept of being righteous, following a good path, and upholding pride at all costs. But wasn't that just another way of avoiding the real issue? Wasn't he just escaping from the rawness of his feelings, just like Valeria had been running from her own doubts and fears about her place in this world?

For Varen, it wasn't just about letting someone in—it was about allowing himself to feel vulnerable again, to drop the walls he had built around his heart. He had internalized his fear so deeply that he isolated himself, turning to righteousness as a means to escape what he truly feared: feeling unworthy of love, or worse, needing love.

But in a way, wasn't that the same trap Valeria had fallen into? She believed that by following her family's honor and expectations, by always being the perfect knight, she could remain untouchable, and above reproach. She thought she could maintain control over her emotions, over her destiny. But that too was a form of escape—a way to avoid confronting the uncertainty and weakness she felt inside.

I almost smirked to myself, thinking of the paradox. Varen's journey of healing wasn't a straight path. It wasn't just about Elara "fixing" him or helping him regain trust in women; it was about his willingness to accept the vulnerability that came with trusting anyone again, even himself.

And that was something he would have to do on his own.

'As fellow men,' I thought, a smirk tugging at my lips, 'let's give each other a little push, shall we?'

Why should everything be left to Elara, after all? She might be the destined one to help him heal in the novel's grand scheme, but there was no rule saying I couldn't step in, was there? If anything, it would be rude not to. Varen might be a fictional character in another life, but here, he was a real man standing at a crossroads. And I had the tools to make him face what he'd been running from—his pride, his pain, and the fear he so desperately buried beneath his strength.

I stood, gripping the hilt of my estoc loosely, feeling the comforting weight of it at my side. The thought of the coming fight sparked a strange sense of anticipation in me. This wasn't just about the tournament anymore, nor was it about proving myself as some unbeatable contender. It was about what my master had always taught me.

My master… and his wish.

He had given me this power, the training, the teachings, not just to wield but to act. To change something in this world, to leave an impact. And wasn't this part of it? The girl he called her daughter, the girl destined to mend the wounds of the broken—Elara. She had a difficult road ahead, and knowing what might come for her, shouldn't I do something about it now? Lay the groundwork, if nothing else?

A chuckle escaped me as I adjusted my stance and headed for the door. 'Varen, this one's for you,' I mused silently, stepping into the hallway that led to the arena. The path was dimly lit, each step echoing softly against the stone walls. But with each footfall, my resolve solidified.

The faint roar of the crowd reached my ears, growing louder with every step. They were waiting for us, for the final match—the fight that would decide the champion. But for me, it was more than that. This was my stage, our stage, where truths would collide and walls would crumble.

As I neared the entrance, I rolled my shoulders, loosening the tension in my muscles. The light at the end of the tunnel grew brighter, the noise swelling to a deafening crescendo. The arena awaited, the sands ready to witness the clash of two wills.

'Now then,' I thought with a sly grin. 'Let's see if we can't break through that fortress you've built around yourself, Varen Drakov. You're not getting out of this one unscathed.'

With that, I stepped into the light, greeted by the roar of the crowd, my gaze fixed on the figure waiting for me at the other end of the arena.