Damien watched Theo start another set.
"He fights like a protagonist, doesn't he?" Damien said.
He dropped the word casually. Like a stone into a pond.
He watched Marcus's face.
He saw it.
The freeze. The widening of the eyes. The sudden cessation of breath.
And for a split second, Marcus wasn't a noble.
He was a guy from Earth hearing a familiar term.
Then the mask slammed back down.
"A protagonist?" Marcus asked. His voice was too high. "Like... in a play?"
"Yeah," Damien said. He didn't look at Marcus. He kept his eyes on Theo.
"Like the main character. The one with the plot armor. The one who gets the girl."
Marcus flinched.
"Theo is certainly... central," Marcus said carefully. "He attracts attention."
"He does," Damien agreed. "But lately, the spotlight seems to be shifting."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the audience is looking at the wrong actor."
Theo finished his set. He sheathed his sword with a loud click.
He wiped his face with a towel and trotted over to them.
"Brother!" Theo beamed. "Did you see the reverse grip?"
"I saw it," Marcus said. "Very dynamic."
"Damien!" Theo nodded to his rival. "Good evening. Did you come to spar?"
"Not tonight," Damien said. "Just talking to your brother."
"Well, I'm going to the baths then. The steam helps the lactic acid."
"Good idea," Marcus said. "Go. Soak. Optimize recovery."
"See you tomorrow!"
Theo waved to Damien and jogged toward the bathhouse.
He left a cloud of dust and sweat behind him.
Marcus stood up.
"I should go too," he said. "Long day. Very tired."
"Sit down, Marcus," Damien said.
It wasn't a suggestion.
Marcus hesitated.
"I really need to sleep."
"You need to talk," Damien corrected.
He looked up at Marcus. He dropped the friendly smile.
His green eyes were sharp. Calculating.
"You need to explain why you know what 'plot armor' means."
Marcus froze halfway to standing.
He looked at the exit. Then he looked at Damien.
He slowly sank back onto the bench.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Marcus said.
Damien turned on the bench to face him fully.
"We are alone, Marcus. Theo is gone. It's just you and me."
"And?"
"And I'm tired of the act."
Damien leaned forward.
"You're acting weird. You've been acting weird since the semester started."
"I decided to turn my life around," Marcus said defensively. "Is that a crime?"
"Turning your life around is fine," Damien said.
"But you didn't just change your habits. You changed your personality."
He started counting on his fingers.
"One. The original Marcus hated Theo. You treat him like a golden calf."
"I saw the error of my ways."
"Two," Damien continued, ignoring him. "You act like women are terrifying."
"I respect women!"
"You run from them. I saw you hiding in a bush at the garden party. A bush, Marcus."
Marcus flushed. "It was a tactical retreat."
"Three," Damien held up a third finger. "You use words that don't exist here."
"I have a large vocabulary."
"Marketing," Damien said. "Demographics. Return on Investment."
Marcus opened his mouth.
"Those aren't noble terms," Damien pressed. "Those aren't magic terms. Those are... something else"
Marcus went silent.
His shoulders slumped. The fight seemed to drain out of him.
He looked exhausted.
Not just physical exhaustion. Soul exhaustion.
"What do you want, Damien?" Marcus whispered.
"I want to know what's going on."
"Why?"
"Because you're making a mess," Damien said bluntly.
"I'm trying to fix it!" Marcus snapped.
The sudden anger surprised Damien.
"Fix what?"
"Everything!" Marcus waved his hands at the empty training ground.
"The relationships! The alliances! The stupid, broken routes!"
He stood up and began to pace.
"They're supposed to like him!" Marcus shouted. "Seraphina. Catarina. Vivienne. Iris."
"They are the Four Pillars! They need to be with the Child of Destiny!"
Damien watched him.
He was ranting. He was raving.
It was glorious.
"But they don't look at him!" Marcus continued. "They look at me! And I'm nobody!"
"I'm the extra! I'm the comic relief! I'm the tutorial NPC who dies in Chapter Three to motivate the hero!"
He stopped pacing. He grabbed his hair.
"And I don't want to die," he whispered.
Damien felt a pang of sympathy.
Just a small one.
He stood up. He walked over to Marcus.
"You're not going to die," Damien said.
"You don't know that," Marcus argued.
Damien almost laughed.
He knew the story better than anyone.
He had hate-read the entire webnovel. He had written lengthy forum posts about the plot holes.
He knew exactly how dumb the original story was.
"You know nothing," Marcus shot back. "You're just a..."
He stopped. He looked at Damien.
"You're the rival," Marcus said slowly.
"Supposed to be," Damien shrugged.
"You're supposed to challenge him. You're supposed to push him to get stronger."
"I do my part," Damien said. "I spar with him. I make snarky comments."
"But you're not mean," Marcus noted. "In the... in the source material... Damien was cruel."
"Maybe Damien grew up," Damien suggested.
"Or maybe Damien changed too."
Marcus looked at him closely.
He was using that S-Rank emotional intelligence. Damien could feel it. It felt like being scanned.
"You're not cruel," Marcus murmured. "You're bored."
Damien blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You look at everything like it's a joke. Like you're watching a play you've seen a hundred times."
Marcus took a step closer.
"You called it 'plot armor'. You called it 'cutscene'."
"I have a colorful imagination," Damien said.
"No," Marcus shook his head. "That's not imagination. That's reference."
The air between them grew heavy.
This was the tipping point.
Damien knew he had pushed hard. Maybe too hard.
If Marcus panicked, he could run. He could deny everything.
But Damien was betting on exhaustion.
He was betting on the loneliness of the taking the burden alone.
"You're risking a lot," Marcus said quietly. "Confronting a noble like this."
"I'm a Blackthorn," Damien said. "We take risks."
"If I report you for harassment..."
"You won't."
"Why not?"
"Because you need help," Damien said. "And I'm the only one who speaks your language."
Marcus stared at him.
"My language?"
"Yeah. The language of 'routes' and 'flags' and 'bad endings'."
Damien took a deep breath. He decided to go all in.
He dropped the biggest hint he could without holding up a neon sign.
"I'm asking because I need to know if you're a threat to the timeline," Damien said.
He watched the word hit.
Timeline.
That settles all doubts, Marcus thought.
It wasn't a word used in the Valerian Kingdom. They used "history" or "prophecy."
"Timeline" implied alternate realities. It implied structure. It implied sci-fi.
Marcus stood very still.
The wind rustled the banners around the training ground.
The magical torches flickered.
Marcus looked at Damien's green eyes.
He looked for the noble rival. He looked for the arrogant boy from the novel.
He didn't find him.
He found someone intelligent. Someone cynical. Someone who was looking at him not as a character, but as a peer.
Marcus let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for months.
His shoulders dropped. The tension left his jaw.
He looked at Damien with a mixture of terror and hope.
"What if I told you," Marcus whispered, "that I know exactly what you mean by 'timeline'?"
Damien smiled.
It was a genuine smile.
He reached into his pocket. He pulled out another green apple.
He tossed it to Marcus.
Marcus caught it reflexively.
"Then I'd say," Damien replied, "that we have a lot of work to do. Because this story is broken, and the devs aren't releasing a patch."
Marcus stared at the apple.
He looked at Damien.
"The devs?" Marcus asked weakly.
"The developers. The gods. The writers." Damien shrugged. "Whatever you want to call the idiots who built this world."
Marcus laughed.
It was a hysterical, jagged sound. But it was real.
"Okay," Marcus said. He took a bite of the apple. "Okay. Let's talk."
"Good," Damien said. "But first, tell me you have a plan for the Demon Lord. Because if your plan was 'Theo flirts with everyone,' we are going to die."
"That was Plan A," Marcus admitted.
"We need a Plan B," Damien said.
"I think," Marcus said, looking at the stars, "I think we just started Plan B."
Damien clapped him on the shoulder.
"Welcome to the party, player two."
Marcus didn't correct him. He didn't say he was an NPC.
For the first time, standing in the dark training ground with a fellow outcast, he felt like he might actually be part of the main cast.
And that was a start.