The study alcove was silent.
Not the peaceful silence of a library.
The heavy, crushing silence of a conversation gone horribly wrong.
Marcus sat in the velvet chair.
Seraphina sat opposite him.
She watched him with a patience that was more terrifying than anger.
She was waiting for an explanation.
Marcus took a breath. He needed to pivot. He needed to deflect. He needed to get the focus off himself and back onto the protagonist.
"Professor Ashwood," he said. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Seraphina. You're meant to be with Theo."
Seraphina blinked.
Her expression didn't change. It just... stopped.
Like a clock whose gears had suddenly seized.
"Theodore?" she asked.
"Yes. My brother. The one with the sword."
"I know who Theodore is, Marcus." Her voice was very quiet. "He is my student."
"Right. Exactly. Your student. Who is... destined for you."
Seraphina leaned back.
Her confusion shifted. It warped. It twisted into something that looked a lot like horror.
"Theodore Aldridge?" she repeated. "Your seventeen-year-old brother? My seventeen-year-old student?"
"Well, yes. But he's mature for his age! He knows a lot about... minerals."
Seraphina stared at him.
Her eyes were ice blue. They were cold. They were cutting.
"Marcus," she said. "I am twenty-eight years old."
"Age is just a number!" Marcus quoted. It was a bad quote. He knew it as he said it.
"In a legal and ethical sense, it is a very specific number," Seraphina corrected sharply.
She crossed her arms. Her posture went rigid.
"Are you suggesting," she said slowly, "that I, a tenured instructor at the Royal Academy, should pursue a romantic relationship with a teenager under my direct supervision?"
"It's not... when you say it like that..."
"How else would you say it?"
"It's destiny! The prophecy! The Golden Route!"
"Is the 'Golden Route' a fast track to losing my teaching license?"
Marcus opened his mouth. No sound came out.
He looked at Seraphina. Really looked at her.
She wasn't a character in a book. She was a woman. An adult woman. A professional.
She looked disgusted.
"I would never," she said. Her voice was steel. "I would never compromise a student's safety or trust. I would never abuse my position of power."
"But the book..." Marcus whispered.
"What book? What kind of book advocates for predation?"
"It wasn't predation! It was romance!"
"It sounds like a crime report."
Marcus froze.
His brain started to spin. It spun faster and faster until it felt like it might fly out of his ears.
He thought about "Destiny's Harem Knight."
He thought about the cover art.
He thought about the "Mature Content" warning he had glossed over.
Oh no.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
The novel aged them up.
The novel set the story in their twenties. Or maybe it just ignored laws entirely.
But this isn't a novel. This is reality.
And in reality, a twenty-eight-year-old teacher dating a seventeen-year-old student isn't a romance arc.
It's a scandal.
Marcus sank lower in his chair. He wanted to merge with the upholstery.
"I... I think I misunderstood the source material," he mumbled.
"You think?" Seraphina raised an eyebrow.
"I skimmed it. On a client's recommendation. I didn't finish it."
"Skimmed what? A manual on how to ruin your career?"
"The story! The prophecy!"
Seraphina sighed. She rubbed her temples.
"Marcus, listen to me. Closely."
She leaned forward. Her gaze was intense.
"Healthy adults do not pursue teenagers. Especially those in positions of authority over them. It is forbidden. It is unethical. And frankly, it is gross."
She paused.
"I am a widow. I loved my husband. I found purpose in teaching after he died. I would rather walk into the Demon Realm naked than betray my students."
The words hung in the air.
Marcus felt sick.
He had been pushing for this. He had been scheming for this.
He had been trying to set up a woman he respected with a boy who was essentially a child.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't... I didn't think."
"Clearly."
"I just thought... because of the destiny..."
"Destiny does not override consent or law," Seraphina said firmly.
She looked at him. Her anger seemed to fade, replaced by concern.
"Marcus, what is going on? Why are you so obsessed with this idea?"
Marcus couldn't answer. His mind was reeling.
If Seraphina's route was impossible... what about the others?
He thought about Catarina.
The Perfect Duchess. Twenty-six. Ruling a territory.
Would she really look at a seventeen-year-old boy who liked swords and think "Yes, this is my equal"?
He thought about Vivienne.
Thirty-eight. A mother. A legend.
Would she date a boy her son's age?
Oh god. The MILF route wasn't a route. It was a fetish tag.
Marcus put his head in his hands.
"I broke it," he muttered. "I broke the whole plot."
"What plot?" Seraphina asked.
"The timeline! The relationships! Everything I've been trying to fix was wrong from the start!"
He looked up at her. His eyes were wide with panic.
"If you don't date Theodore, who forms the alliance with the Academy?"
"I do," Seraphina said. "As his instructor. And his brother's friend."
"But the prophecy says 'bonds of heart and soul'!"
"Friendship is a bond. Mentorship is a bond." She looked at him pointedly. "Honesty is a bond."
Marcus stared at her.
"Friendship?"
"Yes. It's quite popular. You should try it sometime."
She reached out. She poured him a glass of water from the carafe on the small table.
"Drink," she commanded.
Marcus drank. His hands shook.
"So," he said, wiping his mouth. "You aren't interested in Theodore."
"No."
"Not even a little."
"He is a promising student. He has excellent form."
"That's it?"
"That is the appropriate level of interest for an instructor."
Marcus let out a long, shuddering breath.
"Okay. Okay. So that plan is dead. Buried. Cremated."
"Good."
"Now what do I do?"
He asked the question to the room, to the universe, to the author of the terrible webnovel he had skimmed.
But Seraphina answered.
"You stop lying," she said.
She leaned back in her chair. She crossed her legs. She looked regal, even in a dusty library alcove.
"You stop trying to manipulate people based on a book you clearly didn't understand."
"I was trying to save the world," Marcus defended weakly.
"By matchmaking a teenager?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time!"
Seraphina shook her head. A small smile played on her lips. It wasn't mocking. It was... soft.
"You are exhausted, Marcus," she said. "You are running in circles chasing a ghost."
"I'm chasing a happy ending."
"For whom?"
"For everyone! For Theo! For you! For the kingdom!"
"And for you?"
The question stopped him.
"What?"
"What about your happy ending?" Seraphina asked. "Where are you in this grand design?"
"I'm... I'm the guide. The coach. The side character."
"Stop saying that."
"It's true!"
"It is a label you gave yourself." She leaned forward again. "Marcus, look at me."
"You have spent weeks trying to orchestrate other people's lives. You have hid in archives. You have lied about flowers. You have panicked about sword oil."
"It was a lot of oil," Marcus mumbled.
"Why?"
"Because..."
"Because you think you don't matter?"
Marcus looked away. He looked at the rows of books.
"Because I'm not the hero," he said quietly. "Heroes get what they want. Side characters help them get it."
"Is that a rule?"
"It's a trope."
"I hate tropes," Seraphina declared. "They are lazy writing."
She reached out. She took his hand.
It was the second time she had done it tonight. It still felt like touching a live wire.
"Forget the book," she said. "Forget the prophecy. Forget Theodore for five minutes."
"I can't. The demons..."
"The demons aren't here. We are."
She squeezed his hand.
"Marcus," she said. She used his name like it meant something. Like it had weight.
"Whatever strange ideas you've had about what 'should' happen—set them aside."
She looked deep into his eyes. Her gaze stripped away the panic, the plotting, the desperation.
"What do YOU actually want?"
The question hung in the air.
It was a simple question. Four words.
Marcus had asked it a thousand times.
Sarah, what do you want?
Mr. Henderson, what do you want from this merger?
Identify your desire. Pursue it.
It was the first rule of life coaching.
But no one had ever asked him.
Not his parents. Not his ex-girlfriend. Not his clients.
And certainly not the author of "Destiny's Harem Knight."
"I..." Marcus started.
He stopped.
What did he want?
Did he want to go home? To his empty apartment and his ergonomic chair and his lonely heart attack?
No.
Did he want to be a hero? To swing a sword and slay dragons?
Not really. Sword maintenance seemed tedious.
Did he want to save the world?
Yes. But that was a duty, not a desire.
He looked at Seraphina.
He looked at her platinum hair, loose from its bun. He looked at the ink stain on her finger. He looked at the concern in her eyes.
He wanted...
He wanted to not be alone.
He wanted someone to know he existed.
He wanted to sit in a library alcove and talk about turnips and grief.
He wanted her to keep holding his hand.
But he couldn't say that.
Because if he said that, he wasn't just a side character anymore. He was a participant. He was real.
And real people could get hurt.
"I don't know," he whispered.
It was the most honest thing he had said since arriving in this world.
"I don't know."
Seraphina didn't pull away. She didn't look disappointed.
She nodded.
"That's an acceptable answer," she said. "For now."
She stood up. She pulled him up with her.
"Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Home. You need sleep. Real sleep. Not napping in a map cabinet."
She smiled and led him out of the alcove. Out of the library.
Into the cool night air.
Damien Blackthorn was waiting by the gate. He was leaning against a statue, eating another apple.
He saw them. He saw their joined hands.
Marcus walked beside Seraphina.
His plan was in ruins. His meta-knowledge was garbage. His worldview was shattered.
He had no idea what to do next.
But for the first time in weeks, he wasn't looking at a map or a diagram.
He was just walking.
And he wasn't walking alone.