Chapter 7: Before the Sun Rises
The next day, early in the morning before the sun had even risen, I quietly got ready to go out. At this hour, even the servants were fast asleep—except for a few with important responsibilities. All others were resting. I had already offered my Fajr prayer, so now I was free to train for the next two to three hours.
I looked at Mustafa, sleeping soundly and hugging the pillow I'd stuffed into his arms in place of myself. I didn't kiss him on the cheek. I remembered reading somewhere that kissing children while they're sleeping can make them irritable upon waking.
Creak—
The heavy metal door opened slowly, almost like something out of a horror movie. I still tried my best to minimize the noise by placing my hands on both sides of the door, hoping to dampen any vibrations. Finally, once it seemed to have quieted down, I stepped out.
The corridor was dim, but the flickering wall torches cast enough firelight to create dancing shadows on the cold stone walls. I moved through my own home like a thief, my heart pounding—the only part of me not cooperating. No matter how much I tried to console myself that I wasn't doing anything wrong, just going to train, it still felt unsettling. After all, this was my first time sneaking out. Add to that the eerie quiet of this castle's corridors and my own cowardice from my previous life, and I had to muster every ounce of courage to move forward. Maybe it was all just a dream, I thought.
I had tried many things to "wake up"—telling myself I was dreaming, falling to the floor, even trying to inflict pain. But I had forgotten that sometimes, even in dreams, pain could be felt without any guarantee of waking up. So now, all I could do was hope my real family found a way to wake me, or pray to Allah to shorten this test if I had more years left to live.
And if I was destined to die and never return, then I prayed for a swift end. I have other siblings who need care. The ICU bills are too heavy for my father, the only breadwinner in our family.
"بسم الله الرحمن الرحيم"
("In the name of God, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.")
It's a sacred phrase, one we utter before starting any action—especially something significant. It begins almost every chapter of the Quran, except the ninth. Then, I began repeating another powerful verse in my heart:
"Allah! There is no god but He—the Ever-Living, the Self-Subsisting by Whom all subsist. Neither slumber nor sleep overtakes Him. To Him belongs whatever is in the heavens and the earth..."
It was Ayatul Kursi. I kept repeating it silently, offering strength to my heart and soul to stand firm against whatever might be lurking in the darkness. I've always been terrified of the dark.
Finally, I reached the palace gardens. They were vast and silent. I always wondered—if the inside of the palace was so beautiful, why did the outside, where civilians lived, look so dull in the dramas? Not a patch of grass, no greenery. Only the noble Pashas seemed to enjoy such beauty. Was water really that rare back then? Or were private wells a luxury?
Shiver—
I couldn't help but tremble. Inside, I hadn't felt the cold, but now, wearing only loose clothing—almost like pajamas—I regretted it. Still, I believed that a good run would heat me up.
I scanned my surroundings. Only my father's chamber light was on, and I noticed Uncle Ibrahim standing on his balcony, playing the violin. My Aunt watched him with soft eyes full of affection. Honestly, if this world were written by those Xianxia or Wuxia novelists, then Uncle Ibrahim would be the ideal protagonist. Women just seemed to fall for him effortlessly—my father's sister, who was older than Aunt Hatice, still loved him despite now being married.
She won't appear in the story until much later, after Uncle Ibrahim and all his enemies are long gone. Even Nigar Kalfa—if I remembered her name correctly—was placed inside the harem by him to spy and gather information. And even she couldn't help falling in love with him.
Is love really found so easily? In truth, all the women here seemed loyal to their husbands, even if they had their first loves and crushes. The men, though… if I could curse, I would—but Allah forgive me—I'll just say it in my heart. The men in this timeline are complete scumbags.
…
I stood on the clean stone path cutting through the massive garden. If I had to estimate, the garden alone could be half the size of a football stadium. I've never seen one in person, but given their 30k+ capacity, it had to be massive.
I did some very basic stretching—nothing advanced, just enough to warm up. I was still just a kid, after all. And in this huge garden, spotting me would be like finding a needle in a haystack. I had noticed Aunt Hatice and Uncle Ibrahim only because I knew where to look; they hadn't noticed me.
"Should I go full throttle?" I muttered, assuming the stance Olympic runners use. The only issue was my shoes—they weren't made for running. I had placed them on the grass. Now I was barefoot. The cold stone underfoot felt oddly pleasant. A few dewdrops fell on me, refreshing and cool.
Slap—slap—slap.
The sharp rhythm of bare feet echoed across the stone path. The sound was raw, skin against marble. Every step was a whisper of urgency—a sound you only hear when someone forgets their shoes but remembers their fear.
I shifted my stride, running on the balls of my feet to reduce the sound. The slap of feet was loud—loud enough to stir birds from their nests. I sighed mid-run, but the breath came right back at me, forced down by the wind from my own pace.
I did have a system, but it wasn't very helpful. It didn't tell me how far 5 or 10 kilometers was. Sprinting the entire way was impossible. My body naturally switched from sprinting to endurance mode. I ran and jogged for what felt like 50–70 minutes—exactly how long an average adult might take to complete such a run.
Pant—pant—
"Haa... Haah..."
My whole body was overheating. I had never felt anything like it. My legs were numb. I collapsed in the middle of the garden, not caring if someone saw me or reported me to my parents. The sun had risen—it was now shining directly onto my sweat-soaked face. I glanced down at my chest, rising and falling rapidly, and wondered if my heart might just jump out of my body.
[Choose One of the Following Options]
Option 1: Look back toward the Sultan's gallery and meet his gaze, showing him that you sense his presence — Reward: Peerless Sword
Option 2: Crawl toward the bushes and hide yourself from the Sultan's line of sight — Reward: Immediate Recovery in Stamina
Option 3: Keep lying down and let the Sultan see you himself — Reward: Recovery in All Depleted Stats
I read the system options and couldn't help but laugh inwardly. It was turning this into a puzzle. I was just about to go with Option 3 on instinct. Luckily, I held myself back. Who knew what might have happened?
"Option 2." I whispered, beginning to drag my nearly paralyzed body toward the nearest bushes. I had just enough strength—maybe 1%—to inch forward.
Ding—
[Reward: Immediate Recovery in Stamina]
Suddenly, I felt something magical surge through me. It instantly nourished my aching muscles, bringing me back to full strength, as if I hadn't just completed a 10-kilometer run.
Now that I had recovered, it was time to continue my regimen—100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 100 pull-ups. The 100 sword swings would have to wait until I found a more secluded place. I wasn't going to train in front of everyone. I didn't want to do anything that might attract the opposite gender.
I was content being a good brother and a dutiful son. I wished happiness for all my siblings. I had no desire to drag anyone into my fate. I already knew I was going to die—how could I let a girl become a widow, or let children be born only to become orphans?
If I hadn't known about my impending death, it might have been different. Death comes to everyone. I wouldn't have cared. But since I do know…