// Welcome, Kiyel! //
The words floated before me, stark and bright against an infinite darkness.
I blinked, my mind scrambling to make sense of the glowing text. "What… what is this?" I whispered, my voice trembling. The sound seemed to vanish into the void, swallowed by the oppressive silence.
"This has to be a dream," I muttered, shaking my head. A brittle laugh escaped my lips, sharp and hollow. "I've been reading too many novels. That's all."
But the words remained, pulsing softly as though alive. Their unrelenting glow felt too real to ignore.
// Bro, you died in your world. Your soul is now in my custody. //
The sentence hit me like a punch to the gut. My legs buckled, and I crumpled to the nonexistent ground.
"What?" My voice cracked, panic clawing its way up my throat. "No… no, this can't be happening."
I looked down at my hands, desperate for some anchor to reality, but my heart stopped. My fingers were translucent, faintly glowing like mist caught in moonlight.
"No. No, no, no." I stumbled back, clutching at my chest. The movement felt hollow, my touch as weightless as smoke. "This isn't real. This can't be real."
Tears welled in my eyes, but when I tried to wipe them away, my hands passed through my face. A cold dread settled deep in my core as the screen's glow pulsed again, dragging my attention back.
// Novels are not mere figments of imagination. The omniscient god creates worlds for every story imagined by authors, breathing life into them. These worlds are real—teeming with characters, landscapes, and endless possibilities. But what happens when these novels are abandoned? Left incomplete? //
The words dimmed, as though sharing a quiet sorrow.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "Abandoned? What happens to them?"
// These unfinished creations are known as Manuscripts. When neglected, forgotten, or left incomplete—whether due to writer's block, disinterest, or the death of their authors—they become frozen in time. The inhabitants remain alive, trapped in a loop, unable to move forward. They are bound by the stories that gave them life. //
I stared at the screen, the weight of its words pressing down on me. "And... what does this have to do with me?"
// You have been chosen to enter one of these Manuscripts. Your task is to reignite the story and guide it to its conclusion. //
"Wait, what?" My voice rose, disbelief mingling with panic. "You're telling me I'm supposed to fix someone else's abandoned novel? With what, some kind of cheat skill?"
// None. //
"None?" I echoed, my voice breaking. "You've got to be kidding me. How am I supposed to survive?"
// Your presence will act as the catalyst. By disrupting the stagnation, you will allow the story to progress. Complete it, and you will be granted one wish. Any wish. //
The promise hung in the air, tempting and cruel.
"And if I fail?"
// Failure means your soul will remain trapped in the Manuscript forever, unable to reincarnate or escape. //
A heavy silence followed, the weight of those words suffocating.
// However, because you were brought here without consent, you are given a choice. You may decline this mission. If you do, your soul will return to the natural cycle of reincarnation. No punishment. No strings attached. Yes or no—choose now. //
I stared at the glowing screen, my mind racing. Declining meant freedom. I could leave this nightmare behind, move on to a new life.
But... the thought of those trapped worlds, those lives suspended in limbo... Something twisted in my chest.
And then there was the wish. A chance to rewrite my fate, to shape a destiny of my choosing.
I clenched my glowing hands, my resolve hardening. "Yes," I said, my voice steady despite the chaos within me.
// Thank you for your decision. //
The void rippled, the screen's glow intensifying.
// Initializing... You will be transmigrated into the story Counting Stars as a member of a fallen sect within the Athanasios Empire. //
"Wait! I still have questions—"
// Good luck, Kiyel. //
The words blinked out, and the void shattered around me.
-----
Flick
"Ouch!" A sharp flick to my forehead jolted me awake.
"I told you to focus, not shout," a calm, authoritative voice said.
My eyes snapped open, and I gasped. The suffocating darkness was gone, replaced by the warmth of sunlight. A meadow stretched before me, vibrant and alive, with papers scattered at my feet.
Standing over me was a boy, not much older than me. His presence was commanding—his pristine noble attire adorned with silver embroidery, his dark hair framing sharp, angular features. His piercing eyes carried an air of quiet authority.
"What..." I trailed off, my words caught in my throat. Then, I noticed something strange. Floating beside him, glowing faintly, were the words:
Yen Von Sumidra — Male Protagonist.
My jaw dropped. "Protagonist?!" I blurted out.
Yen's brow furrowed. "Have you lost your mind?" he asked, his tone sharp and measured.
Before I could respond, the world around us froze. The vibrant colors faded to gray, and time itself seemed to halt.
The screen reappeared before me.
// From this moment onward, you are part of the Manuscript. You are a side character—a servant from a fallen sect who worked tirelessly to join the Von Sumidra household. Your role is to serve Yen Von Sumidra, the youngest son of the noble family. Stay close to him, ensure the story progresses, and survive. This is your mission. //
I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. "Do I really have to stick to him the entire time?"
// Complete the story, and you may leave. Fail, and your soul remains trapped. //
With a soft pop, the screen vanished.
Time resumed, and Yen's glare sharpened. "If you're done with your theatrics, gather your things. My training begins shortly."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel, his movements precise and deliberate.
Scrambling to gather the scattered papers, I stumbled after him, my feet tripping over themselves.
Yen radiated an intimidating authority, even in silence. Just being near him felt suffocating.
I swallowed hard, struggling to keep up.
What kind of protagonist was I stuck with?