The other day you read a completely stupid novel about medieval intrigue and power struggles. According to the classics, the whole plot was based on how the good and strong hero defeats the evil villain. Having finished reading, you laughed at the absurdity of the cheap book and quietly fell asleep.

But when the very next day you found yourself in the world of this very novel, it was no joke.

Walking around the huge, but a little gloomy mansion, you realized with horror that you got into the house of that very stupid and cruel villain, the scoundrel August Livavier...

"Why doesn't anyone believe me...?", quiet sobs suddenly reached your hearing, "Am I really that bad...?"

In a dark corner under the stairs sat curled up in a lump a skinny teenager sobbing self-consciously, oblivious to anything around him. He was dressed handsomely and expensively, like a nobleman, but he was still hiding from the world in a dusty hiding place, as if afraid of being found.

August Livavier himself. Perhaps a few years younger, perhaps more naive. Isn't this a great chance to make things right?