Marcus woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the distinct sound of someone buttering toast.
For a moment, he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling of his lodgings.
The heavy velvet canopy was a stark reminder that he was not in his efficient, minimalist apartment on Earth.
He was in Silverwood Manor's townhouse in the capital. He was Marcus Aldridge.
And yesterday, his reality had shattered.
He sat up. His head throbbed with a dull ache.
It was the specific kind of hangover that came from emotional exhaustion rather than alcohol.
"You're awake," a voice said. "Good. The scones are fresh."
Marcus looked toward the small sitting area by the window.
Damien Blackthorn sat in a plush armchair. He looked irritatingly composed.
The young heir wore a crisp black shirt and his signature smirk, though the expression didn't reach his eyes.
"How did you get in here?" Marcus asked.
His voice was rough. He cleared his throat and swung his legs out of bed.
"I told your housekeeper I had urgent matters to discuss regarding an upcoming tournament," Damien said.
He took a bite of a scone. "I also slipped her a silver coin and complimented her apron. She thinks I'm charming."
Marcus rubbed his face. "You bribed my staff."
"I optimized my access," Damien corrected. "Sit down, Marcus. Or should I call you Coach?"
The reference to his old life sent a jolt through Marcus. It was still surreal.
The person sitting across from him wasn't just the arrogant rival character from a webnovel.
He was Jason Mitchell. A marketing executive from Earth.
A man who had died in a car crash and spent eighteen years trapped in the body of a fictional antagonist.
Marcus pulled a chair opposite Damien. He poured himself a cup of coffee. It was black and strong.
"Okay," Marcus said. He took a sip. The heat grounded him. "Let's do this. The inaugural meeting of the Transmigrator Support Group."
Damien snorted. " catchy name. We can workshop it later."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick, leather-bound notebook.
The cover was worn, the edges fraying. It looked old.
"What is that?" Marcus asked.
"My lifeline." Damien said.
He placed it on the table with a heavy thud.
"I've been writing in this since I learned to hold a quill again. It contains every detail I remember from the novel.
Every plot hole. Every character beat. And every deviation I've noticed since you showed up."
Marcus stared at the book. "You've been documenting everything?"
"I was an infant with the mind of a twenty-five-year-old," Damien said.
His voice lost its mocking edge.
"I had to do something to keep from going insane. I analyzed the data. I tracked the variables. It's what I did before... before the crash."
Marcus looked at Damien. really looked at him. He saw the tension in the younger man's shoulders. He saw the shadows under his eyes.
"Eighteen years," Marcus said softly. "You've been pretending for eighteen years. That must have been incredibly lonely."
Damien's hand froze halfway to his coffee cup. He looked away, focusing on a painting of a landscape on the far wall.
"You have no idea," Damien said.
"Living in a world where everyone follows a script. Knowing exactly what people are going to say before they say it. It's like being trapped in a rerun of a bad sitcom."
He looked back at Marcus.
The vulnerability vanished, replaced by business-like efficiency.
"Ground rules," Damien said.
"Rule one: Complete honesty between us. No more masking. No more generic noble polite-speak.
If we're going to survive this narrative train wreck, we need to be transparent."
Marcus nodded. "Agreed. No lies."
"Rule two," Damien continued.
"Coded language in public. If I talk about 'market fluctuations,' I mean the plot is changing. If I mention 'supply chain issues,' I mean a heroine is acting out of character."
"Simple enough," Marcus said. "And Rule three?"
"We fix the plot," Damien said.
He tapped the notebook. "We get this story back on the rails. We get Theo his harem. We get the alliances. And we stop the apocalypse."
Marcus sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"About that. I might have accidentally engaged in some aggressive market disruption."
Damien laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.
"Disruption?" Damien opened the notebook.
"Marcus, you didn't just disrupt the market. You crashed the stock exchange."
✧✧✧
Damien pushed the plates aside.
He opened the notebook to a page covered in dense, frantic handwriting.
"Let's confirm the baseline," Damien said.
"We are definitely in 'Destiny's Harem Knight'. The trashy webnovel written by 'DarkBlade69' or whatever his handle was."
Marcus winced. "I only skimmed it. A client recommended it as a way to disconnect. I didn't think I'd literally connect to it."
"Trust me," Damien said. "It's the one. The geography matches. The magic system matches. The names match. Even the prophecy."
Damien recited from memory.
"When the dark moon rises, the Child of Destiny shall awaken. Sword in hand, heart open to four winds, he shall bind the fractured lands through bonds of love and steel."
Marcus groaned. "It sounds so cheesy when you say it out loud."
"It was cheesy on the page too," Damien said. "But it's the operating system of this world. And we need to understand the source code."
Damien drew a crude timeline on a blank page. He marked a point at the beginning.
"The original plot," Damien explained.
"Act One: Theo enters the Academy. He's dense, talented, and brooding. He meets Seraphina, the hot teacher.
He impresses her with his potential. She mentors him.
Eventually, they fall in love. That secures the support of the Academy and the Ashwood influence."
Damien drew a line.
"Act Two: The diplomatic mission. Theo goes to the Roselle Duchy. He meets the younger sister, Liliana.
But he actually charms the older sister, Duchess Catarina, by saving her from an assassination attempt.
She falls for his strength. That secures the Duchy's military."
Marcus rubbed his temple. "Okay. Standard protagonist behavior."
"Act Three," Damien continued.
"The tournament. Theo fights me. I'm the arrogant rival. He beats me.
I realize the error of my ways and become his loyal best friend.
My mother, Vivienne, watches the match. She sees his spirit. She decides to come out of retirement to mentor him.
They bond. She joins the harem. That secures the Adventurer's Guild."
Marcus choked on his coffee. "You mean... your mother?"
"Don't make it weird," Damien said. "In the novel, she was a 'mature beauty'. It played to a specific demographic. But yes. She falls for him."
"And the elf?" Marcus asked.
"Act Four," Damien said.
"Iris Silvermoon. The spy. She observes him. She gets fascinated by his 'human spirit'.
She abandons her mission to be with him. That secures the Elven alliance."
Damien drew a big circle at the end of the line.
"Act Five: The Demon Invasion. The Demon Lord Azathon invades.
The kingdoms are united because Theo is sleeping with all their leaders.
They fight. The Power of Love prevails. World saved. Roll credits."
Marcus stared at the diagram. It was simple. It was linear. It was a classic power fantasy.
"It's terrible writing," Marcus muttered. "The women are just trophies. They're political tokens."
"I know," Damien said. "I hated the book. The dialogue was wooden. The pacing was awful. But that terrible writing is the only thing standing between us and total annihilation."
Damien tapped the table with his pencil.
"Here's the problem," Damien said.
"The timeline for the invasion was supposed to be three years from now.
But I've been tracking reports from the border. Monster activity is up. The dark mana concentration is rising."
Marcus frowned. "Why?"
"Narrative pressure," Damien said.
He used the term like a marketing buzzword. "The world knows the story is breaking. You're breaking it.
The 'System' or fate or whatever controls this place is trying to force a climax.
It's accelerating the threat to force the hero to step up."
Marcus felt a chill run down his spine. "So because I'm messing up the romance, the demons might invade early?"
"Exactly," Damien said. "We don't have three years. We might have one. Maybe less.
And right now, humanity is fractured. The heroines aren't united around Theo. They're... distracted."
Damien looked pointedly at Marcus.
Marcus sank lower in his chair. "I didn't mean to distract them. I was trying to help."
"We'll get to that," Damien said.
"But first, we need to address the elephant in the room. Your character."
.
.
.
A/N:
If you liked this chapter, the universe demands a Power Stone sacrifice.
If you didn't like it, the universe demands an honest Review explaining why.
I'm just the messenger!