Marcus woke up with a new, simple resolution.
If he couldn't fix the plot, he would simply remove himself from it.
"It's brilliant," he told his mirror reflection. "If I'm not there, the romance flags can't trigger."
He packed a bag.
It contained necessities: beef jerky, a flask of water, three quills, and a large blanket.
He found Theodore in the training yard, practicing a disarming maneuver on a very patient wooden post.
"Theo," Marcus said gravely.
Theo stopped mid-swing. "Brother? Is there another patrol?"
"No patrol," Marcus said. "I have... estate business."
"Estate business?"
"Yes. Very complex. Lots of paperwork. Regarding the... lumber yields."
Theo nodded sagely. "Lumber is important. Good wood makes good hilts."
"Exactly. So I will be unavailable. For days. Maybe weeks."
Marcus adjusted his bag.
"If anyone asks... anyone at all, especially anyone female and attractive, tell them I am indisposed."
"Indisposed," Theo repeated. "Got it. Should I bring you food?"
"Leave it outside my door. Do not knock."
"Understood. Stealth delivery."
Marcus patted his brother's shoulder. He felt a pang of guilt.
He was abandoning the protagonist. He was leaving Theo to navigate the perilous waters of romance alone.
But it was necessary.
"Good luck, Theo," Marcus whispered.
He turned and walked toward the Royal Academy.
But not the front gate.
He took the servants' entrance. He slipped through the kitchens.
He headed for the one place where romance went to die.
The Deep Archives.
Located three levels below the main library, the Deep Archives were where the Academy stored books deemed too boring, too dangerous, or too heavy to move.
Dust motes hung in the air like suspended stars.
The silence was absolute.
Marcus found a corner behind a stack of treatises on "The Political Implications of Turnip Farming in the Third Era."
He spread his blanket. He opened his jerky.
"Perfect," he whispered. "No one will find me here."
He pulled a book from the shelf. Prophecies of the Ancients: Volume IV.
Maybe there was a loophole. Maybe the Child of Destiny didn't need a harem. Maybe he just needed a really good lawyer.
Nearby, a librarian's assistant was shelving books.
She had brown hair pulled back in a practical bun and glasses that slid down her nose. Her fingers were stained with ink.
She watched the noble lord construct a fort out of turnip manuals.
She blinked. She adjusted her glasses.
She quietly backed away, already formulating the story she would tell her colleague at lunch.
✧✧✧
Location: The Royal Academy Courtyard
Seraphina Ashwood paced the courtyard.
Her heels clicked rhythmically on the stone.
Click. Click. Click.
It was the sound of a predator who had lost the scent.
"Have you seen Lord Marcus?" she asked a passing student.
The student, a terrified first-year, clutched his books. "N-no, Professor! I haven't seen him!"
"Think carefully," Seraphina said.
Her voice was calm. Too calm. "Dark hair. Blue-gray eyes. Looks tired but kind."
"I... I think I saw him near the library yesterday?"
"Yesterday is not today."
Seraphina dismissed the student with a wave.
She checked her pocket watch. It was his usual time. He should be here.
He should be sitting on that bench, pretending to read a book.
She had planned her outfit for this. She had worn the blue scarf he liked.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
She walked to the main gate. She scanned the crowd.
Nothing. Just students and wind.
A thought occurred to her.
Is he avoiding me?
She touched the spot on her arm where he had brushed against her.
No. He wouldn't.
Unless he's playing a game.
A slow smile spread across her face. It wasn't her ice queen smile. It was something sharper.
"Hard to get," she murmured. "Bold strategy, Marcus."
She straightened her scarf.
"Challenge accepted."
✧✧✧
Location: The Roselle Duchy Embassy
Duchess Catarina Roselle stared at the messenger.
The messenger sweated. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. Specifically, anywhere that didn't involve an angry duchess.
"Repeat that," Catarina said softly.
"Lord Aldridge is... indisposed, Your Grace," the messenger squeaked.
"Indisposed."
"Yes. Estate matters. Lumber yields."
Catarina tapped her quill against the desk.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Lumber yields," she repeated. "In the middle of the social season."
"That is what his brother said, Your Grace."
Catarina stood up. She walked to the window.
She looked out at the capital city. Somewhere out there, Marcus was hiding.
"He's pulling back," she said to herself. "Why?"
She thought about their last letter. She had been vulnerable. She had admitted fear.
Did I scare him off?
No. He's the one who told me to be human.
She narrowed her eyes.
He's testing me. He wants to see if I'll chase him.
He wants to see if I value him enough to pursue him, or if I'll let duty consume me again.
She turned back to the messenger.
"Prepare my carriage," she ordered. "And tell the captain of the guard to clear my schedule for tomorrow."
"But Your Grace, the trade delegation—"
"Delegate it," Catarina said. "I have a hunt to plan."
Location: The Rusty Tankard Tea House
Vivienne Blackthorn sat at her usual table.
She had ordered two ales. One for her. One for the empty chair opposite her.
The foam on the second ale had gone flat hours ago.
She spun her dagger on the table.
"He's not coming, Viv," the barkeep said, wiping a rag across the counter.
Vivienne stopped the dagger.
"He's late," she said.
"He's been late for three days."
Vivienne looked at the door. She remembered the way he had fled. The panic in his eyes when she called him sexy.
"He's shy," she said. "It's adorable."
"He looked terrified," the barkeep corrected.
"Same thing."
She downed her ale in one swallow. She stood up.
She picked up her dagger and sheathed it with a sharp click.
"He thinks he can ghost a legendary adventurer?" Vivienne laughed.
It was a low, dangerous sound.
"I tracked a shadow beast through the Darkwall Mountains for six weeks. How hard can finding Marcus be?"
She threw a gold coin on the table.
"Keep the change. I'm going hunting."
Location: A Rooftop Overlooking Silverwood Manor
Iris Silvermoon sat perfectly still.
She blended into the shadows so completely that a pigeon landed next to her, mistaking her for a gargoyle.
Her violet eyes scanned the street below.
She watched the front door of the Aldridge townhouse.
She watched the back door.
She watched the windows.
"Target absent," she whispered.
She had monitored the mana signatures. Theodore's bright, chaotic energy was inside, currently eating dinner.
But Marcus's energy—that warm, steady hum—was missing.
"Fascinating," Iris murmured.
"Human social rituals involve periods of deliberate absence. 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder,' the proverb says."
She tilted her head.
"Is he attempting to induce fondness through scarcity?"
She closed her eyes. She expanded her senses.
She felt the city's heartbeat. The magical ley lines humming beneath the cobblestones.
She felt a familiar warmth. Faint. Distant. Buried deep.
"Underground," she realized. "He has gone underground."
She opened her eyes. They glowed faintly in the twilight.
"Hide and seek," she said. "A children's game. How delightful."
She stood up. She stepped off the roof.
She didn't fall. She caught the wind and vanished into the night.
✧✧✧
The salon of Lady Pembroke was suffocating.
It smelled of lavender perfume and desperation.
Nobles clustered in tight circles, sipping wine and trading secrets like currency.
"Have you heard?" Lady Pembroke whispered, her fan fluttering like a nervous moth. "Lord Aldridge has vanished."
"Vanished?" Countess Miller raised an eyebrow. "Like a magician?"
"Like a ghost! He was everywhere last week.
Charming the Duchess. Flirting with the Crimson Viper. And now? Poof."
"Perhaps he's ill," a baron suggested.
"Illness doesn't explain the smiles," Lady Pembroke hissed.
"Smiles?"
"Duchess Roselle smiled at a trade delegation yesterday. Actually smiled. It was terrifying."
"And Professor Ashwood hasn't given a detention in three days," another noble added. "The students are panicking. They think she's planning a mass execution."
From the corner of the room, Lady Thornbeck sniffed.
She was a large woman with a face that looked permanently offended by the existence of joy.
"The entire family is peculiar," she announced. "The younger one talks to swords. The older one is a wastrel. And now this disappearance?"
She took a sip of wine.
"Mark my words. They are up to something scandalous."
He was thinking.
Disappearing protagonist, he mused. Classic trope subversion.
Usually, the hero is omnipresent. He stumbles into events. He can't avoid the plot.
But Marcus isn't the hero. He's the mob character.
And mob characters can vanish.
He watched the nobles gossip. He watched them construct elaborate theories about Marcus's absence.
"He's trying to break the flags," Damien whispered to his glass.
"He realized he triggered the romance routes, so he's trying to reset the game by logging out."
Damien sighed
"Rookie mistake, Marcus. Absence doesn't reset affection points. It locks them in."
"And adds a multiplier for 'Mystery'."
He took a sip.
"This is going to be a disaster."
✧✧✧
Marcus had been living in the library for three days.
He smelled like dust. He tasted ink.
He had read fourteen volumes of ancient prophecies. But had found nothing about 'How to Untangle an Accidental Harem'.
"Maybe I'm looking in the wrong section," he muttered.
He was currently hiding in the Restricted Astronomy Archive.
It was a circular room at the top of the library tower. The ceiling was a dome of glass that magnified the stars.
It was beautiful. It was quiet. It was locked.
Marcus had picked the lock with a hairpin he found on the floor. (Life coach skill: Improvisation).
He sat on the floor, surrounded by star charts.
"Okay," he said, tracing a constellation with his finger. "The prophecy says 'Four Pillars.' North, South, East, West."
"North is Elves. South is Adventurers. East is Roselle. West is... wait."
He frowned.
"West is the Royal Family. The Academy is Central."
He pulled a map closer.
"If the Academy isn't a pillar, then Seraphina isn't a destined heroine."
His heart skipped a beat.
"But the novel said she was. The novel was explicit."
Unless the novel was wrong. Or simplified.
Or unless the "West" pillar wasn't a direction, but a person.
"West," Marcus muttered. "Western winds? Western mountains?"
He heard a sound.
Click.
The lock on the archive door turned.
Marcus froze.
He wasn't supposed to be here. If he was caught, he'd be expelled. Or worse, forced to attend a faculty meeting.
He looked around frantically.
There was nowhere to hide. Just tables and telescopes.
Except for one large cabinet in the corner.
It was labeled "Oversized Star Maps: Handle with Extreme Caution."
The door creaked open.
Marcus scrambled. He dove for the cabinet. He squeezed himself into the narrow space between maps
He pulled the cabinet door shut just as footsteps entered the room.
He held his breath.
Through the crack in the wood, he saw a figure.
It was an old scholar.
The scholar walked to a table. He set down the lantern. He sighed.
"Stars," the scholar grumbled. "Always moving. Never stay put."
He opened a book. He started reading.
Marcus closed his eyes.
This is my life now, he thought. I am a thirty-year-old man hiding in a map cabinet.
I used to have a career. I used to have an apartment with a coffee machine.
Now I am trapped in a cabinet that smells like formaldehyde.
He felt a sudden, crushing wave of absurdity.
Why was he doing this?
To save the world? Yes.
To help his brother? Yes.
But mostly, because he was terrified.
Terrified of the look Seraphina gave him.
Terrified of Catarina's vulnerability.
Terrified of Vivienne's directness.
Terrified of Iris's intensity.
He was terrified because for the first time in two lives, people were looking at him.
Not at Marcus the Life Coach. Not at Marcus the Failure.
Just Marcus.
And he didn't know what to do with that.
So he hid in a cabinet.
The scholar read for an hour. He mumbled about comets.
He ate a biscuit that sounded like crunching gravel.
Finally, he picked up his lantern.
"Useless stars," he grumbled. "Tell me nothing."
He shuffled out. The door clicked shut. The lock turned.
Marcus fell out of the cabinet.
He lay on the floor, gasping for air.
"I can't do this," he whispered to the glass ceiling.
"I can't live in a library forever."
He looked up at the stars. They twinkled coldly.
"I have to fix this. I have to confront them."
He sat up.
"Tomorrow," he promised. "Tomorrow I come out of hiding. Tomorrow I set the record straight."
He pulled his blanket around his shoulders.
"But tonight... tonight I sleep in the astronomy tower."
Because the stars were beautiful. And they didn't ask him for anything.