Transmigrated as a Cannon Fodder Reject, Then Became a Movie Star Chapter 6: Breaking The Surface

VIP Ward – County General Hospital

Three days after the incident between two siblings from a prominent family—an event that took place at the birthday party of the Altheorn family’s third daughter—and just one day after a viral video exposed it all, Veyra, the girl at the center of it, stirred for the first ti in her hospital bed.

Sunlight stread through the wide window to her right, casting golden beams over Erisia’s resting form. The light ward her skin, softening the sharp edges of her profile.

Her breathing was slow, even. Her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm—until it didn’t.

A sudden inhale.

Veyra’s soul stirred within the body, sluggish and confused, like a swimr clawing her way to the surface of an unfamiliar ocean. Her fingers twitched beneath the sheet. Her eyelids fluttered.

Too bright.

A low hum filled her ears. Machines beeping. Voices beyond the door. That sterile, icy hospital air.

Her eyes cracked open.

The ceiling was a blur. White tiles. Harsh light.

Then, pain.

Not sharp. Not screaming in pain. A dull, heavy ache that roared inside her skull.

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest.

Her lips parted for a breath that didn’t feel like hers.

—

mories rose like bubbles breaking the surface.

Starting from that final mont—when her soul had slowly trickled out of her dead body on the operating table. Ti had passed after that... but how much, she couldn’t tell. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? Everything had blurred into an empty silence.

Until she opened her eyes again.

She was alive but not in her own body.

This body had been drowning. She rembered that now.

Then everything rushed back: the pool, the slap, the dizziness, the cab ride, the clothes shop, the collapse... and then, awakening.

Right.

She’d transmigrated into the novel she was reading in the hospital.

She was now Erisia Wrenford—the cannon fodder biological daughter of the Wrenford family.

A gentle girl written to be weak, pitiful, and stepped on.

’Who I am now,’ Veyra thought, lips curling wryly.

She leaned back into the bed and took in her surroundings.

Wait a minute...

This room was huge. Expensive-looking. Soft linens, modern lighting, a tray already set on the table.

Was this a VIP ward?

She blinked. Wow.

She hadn’t imagined that the stranger who found her would be both kind and loaded.

Not only had they taken her to a hospital, but they’d also shelled out for a private suite?

It seed her luck in this life was already off to a better start.

Although... thinking it through again, maybe this wasn’t luck—it was plot armor. In the novel, Erisia had tried to save Sierra at the party. But she hadn’t hit her head. She’d just fallen into the pool, caught a cold, and ended up bedridden for a few days. Not almost dead. Like Veyra was.

So the script had changed. At least, she guessed it had changed.

This ti, sothing had pushed Erisia harder. Had made her slip. Had cracked her head open and opened the door... for Veyra.

And the plot always had its little fixes. Which ant soone was bound to appear at just the right ti to rescue her.

Cue: mysterious handso stranger.

Now that she thought about it, in the book, even if Erisia hadn’t hit her head, she had still gotten sick from falling into the pool. Nothing fatal, though. Nothing story-changing. That had shifted.

Erisia still rembered the plot—at least the beginning.

Lyra, the female lead, was an orphan who studied business finance on a scholarship. She’d helped Sierra out of an academic scandal back in college, and that act of goodwill led to a twisted friendship. Sierra, born into wealth and legacy, dragged Lyra into her world. After graduation, Sierra was handed a position in her father’s company. Lyra, ever noble, declined the offer to work at the orphanage that raised her.

The male lead went to the orphanage through a charity initiative. He heard Lyra singing and recognized the voice of his long-lost childhood muse—except it wasn’t the girl he rembered. It was Lyra. He helped her soon after during a public altercation, and again at a boutique run by a designer nad Ian. With Sierra’s encouragent, Lyra auditioned for a music agency and failed. But a sharp-eyed scout, Diane, saw potential and signed her. Lyra’s music journey began with covers and training.

anwhile, Sierra’s family discovered their true daughter—Erisia—through DNA tests. Sierra kept smiling, but beneath it, she began to unravel. She isolated Erisia socially, then publicly frad her for pushing her into a pool at a party. One of Sierra’s obsessive fans hires thugs to attack Erisia. She is attacked and then killed in a staged car accident.

That was supposed to be the end. It created a dia scandal. Lyra, unaware of Sierra’s hand in it all, comforted her. Diane used the mont to launch Lyra. Her first single went viral. She soared.

The male lead quietly assisted her career—studio bookings, endorsents. Lyra began to fall for him.

anwhile, Sierra lost her grip. Her followers began supporting Lyra. Her family, too, praised Lyra more often. Desperation turned to delusion. She flooded Lyra with ssages. Lyra, buried in work and the male lead’s subtle pursuit, didn’t answer.

Then Sierra saw the truth: the male lead had fallen for Lyra. That snapped the last thread. She accused Lyra of betrayal and launched a sar campaign—rumors about sleeping with producers, exploiting charity, anything to destroy her. Lyra was nearly dropped from her company but Diane protected her.

Lyra fought back—not with words, but with a song that shattered the charts. She confronted Sierra. The friendship ended. The rivalry began.

And Asher—the male lead—finally got what he wanted. Lyra confessed first.

He accepted. But instead of love, he gave her pain. He compared her to a girl from his past. He pushed her into deals she wasn’t ready for, pressured her with praise that sounded more like mory than affection. His mother insulted her at a party. He said nothing.

Behind closed doors, he treated her like a crutch. A comfort. A substitute.

She saw the photo one day, labeled only "Muse." Then she understood everything. The person he was in love with wasn’t her, it was soone else.

When she confronted him, he gaslit her—called her insecure, said she was afraid he didn’t love her enough. He grabbed her wrist. Harder than he should’ve. Later, she lied to Diane about the bruise. Said she’d bumped into a door.

And that was as far as she rembered. The rest of the story blurred.

But one thing was clear—this world wasn’t ant to be kind to Erisia Wrenford. Not the original version, at least.

Too bad this wasn’t the sa Erisia anymore.

The door to the room creaked open, and two nurses walked in, mid-conversation. They both stopped in their tracks when they saw her sitting up, awake.

Their surprise quickly turned to bright smiles.

"Miss Erisia? You’re awake! That’s great!"

When Veyra tried to speak and push herself up a little more, they hurried to her side to assist.

They explained that they were just doing their morning rounds. After a quick check of her vitals and a few routine questions, they gave her a summary of what had happened.

She’d been unconscious for nearly two days. They’d treated the wound on her head and monitored her in a private room thanks to the man who brought her in.

"Oh! That reminds ," one nurse said suddenly. "The man who brought you in said his na was Roy Everand. He left his card."

"Honestly, you were very lucky to be seen by such a kind stranger." The older nurse patted her hand warmly. "He seed like so kind of head of security detail for a very prominent company or sothing."

"We know this because he left a card..." She turned to her colleague. "Rita, where’s the card?"

Rita, who had just finished writing down Erisia’s status in her clipboard, reached into her uniform pocket like she was digging through a magician’s hat. After a mont of wrestling with invisible depths, she finally pulled out a sleek, glassy gray business card and handed it to Veyra.

She took it.

The card glead faintly in the light, its edges rounded like cut crystal. At the top was a silver-stamped emblem—stylized, elegant.

Below that:

Argon Securities

Private Security Branch of Ashe-Borne Industries

Wait... Argon Securities? Ashe-Borne Industries?

She’d heard of them before—she was sure of it.

And then it clicked.

Ashe-Borne Industries belonged to one of the most powerful families in the story. Business rivals of the male lead’s family. And the CEO?

Kaelith Asheborne.

But calling him a "villain" didn’t fit. And "side character" was an insult.

His role?

To outshine the male lead. To make readers question the author’s judgnt. He was all elegance, power, and poise. Even though he had a rare illness that left him unable to walk—an illness that exists in real life—the author created a cure for it in the story, attributing this to the more advanced science and technology depicted in the story’s world compared to real life.

And yes—most people assud he was the male lead until the Author yanked the rug out from under everyone and announced that Asher Drexley was the Male protagonist.

Then later, halfway through the story?

Kaelith was assassinated.

It was ridiculous. Veyra and other readers had been furious with the dog shit author.

And now... the man who saved her was his head of security?

Unreal. Her luck had improved by several entire plot arcs.

•

After one nurse promised to bring her breakfast within the hour and reminded her to freshen up in the anti, they left.

Veyra exhaled, sinking back against the pillows. Her hand brushed the white gauze wrapped around her head, running from her forehead around to the back.

She got up, stretched with a groan, and shuffled into the bathroom.

Nearly twenty minutes later, she stepped back out, dressed in a soft t-shirt and joggers—clearly laundered. She pulled off the shower cap and lightly pressed the bandage to make sure it hadn’t gotten wet.

Thankfully, it was dry.

Breakfast arrived right on schedule. After eating with a decent appetite, she curled up on the couch and closed her eyes, intending to rest just a little—

[System Initiation Complete.]