Chapter 1: A World of Fate
Pain. That was the first thing I felt.
Cold marble pressed against my cheek, and my body ached as if I had been thrown down a flight of stairs. My uniform was damp, my vision blurred, and the distant sound of laughter echoed in my ears.
"Still breathing, huh?"
I forced my eyes open. The towering chandeliers above cast a golden glow over the grand hall, their light reflecting off pristine floors that had just been tainted by my presence. Around me stood a group of elegantly dressed students, their gazes filled with amusement, indifference, or outright disgust.
I knew these faces. I knew this place.
This is… the Imperial Academy.
The realization sent a jolt of ice through my veins. I had written about this very hall, these very people. The prestigious academy that only the most elite of nobles and prodigies could enter. The setting for the story I had painstakingly crafted.
But why was I here?
A rough kick to my ribs tore me from my thoughts.
"Don't ignore me, lowborn."
I gasped, curling in on myself as pain flared through my side. The voice belonged to Darius Vermillion, a character I had written to be the perfect noble antagonist—cold, ruthless, and with an unshakable belief in superiority.
In my novel, he had tormented the weak, crushed the powerless, and ruled the academy with an iron grip.
And now… I was one of those weaklings beneath his heel.
No. No, no, this isn't possible.
I gritted my teeth, trying to push myself up, but my body was sluggish, as if unfamiliar to me. My limbs felt weak, my muscles untrained. As I looked down at my trembling hands, another realization struck me.
This wasn't my body.
It wasn't the body of the protagonist or any major character I had written.
It was an extra's.
A nameless, disposable student whose only purpose was to serve as a stepping stone for the strong.
Darius let out an irritated sigh. "Tch. How dull. I thought you'd beg for mercy." He flicked his wrist, as if swatting away an insect. "Don't show your face in my presence again."
With that, he turned and walked away, his entourage following behind him, their laughter fading into the distance.
For a long moment, I stayed there, motionless.
This has to be a dream. A nightmare.
But the dull throb in my ribs, the cold air against my damp clothes, the lingering sting of humiliation… it all felt too real.
I forced myself to my feet, gripping the nearest pillar for support. The students passing by paid me no attention, stepping around me like I was nothing more than an obstacle in their path.
I needed answers.
Staggering forward, I moved through the academy halls, my mind racing. If this really was the world I had created, then there had to be a reason I was here. Had I been reborn? Summoned? Was this some sort of divine punishment?
As I turned a corner, my foot hit something solid. I nearly stumbled, but as I looked down, my breath caught in my throat.
A book.
A thick, leather-bound tome sat on the ground as if waiting for me.
With trembling hands, I picked it up and flipped it open. The pages were empty—except for one line written in bold, crimson ink.
"Rewrite your fate."
A shiver crawled down my spine. My heart pounded.
Was this a joke? A test? Or was this my only way out?
Hesitantly, I reached for a quill that had appeared beside the book.
If this was the only thing I had… then I would use it.
Taking a deep breath, I pressed the tip to the paper and wrote:
"The pain in my ribs disappears."
The moment the words formed, a strange warmth spread through my body. The dull ache in my side faded, vanishing as if it had never existed. My eyes widened.
It worked.
This book… it could change things. Not everything—I could already tell that there were limits. But if I could alter small details, even in minor ways…
Then maybe I had a chance.
I wasn't the protagonist. I wasn't a hero.
But I was a writer.
And I would find a way to escape my own story—before it consumed me.