The city did not care that Phillip had survived.
Above the ruined tunnel, skyscrapers still glowed like towering beasts of glass and steel. Traffic flowed. Advertisements pulsed. People laughed, argued, lived—completely unaware that reality had almost torn itself apart beneath their feet.
Phillip lay on cold concrete, staring up at flickering lights, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps.
He was alive.
That fact alone felt wrong.
Every nerve in his body screamed in protest as medics dragged him from the rubble. His ears rang. The smell of burnt mana clung to his clothes like a curse.
"Hey—hey! Stay with me!"
A woman's voice. Sharp. Familiar.
Aria Vale crouched beside him, one hand gripping his shoulder. Her expression was tense, controlled—but there was something else there too.
Confusion.
"You shouldn't be breathing," she said under her breath.
Phillip laughed weakly, then coughed hard enough to taste blood.
"Wow," he rasped. "Not even a congratulations?"
Her eyes snapped to his face.
"You were at the epicenter," she said. "I saw the collapse. No one survives that."
I know, Phillip thought.
Out loud, he forced a shrug. "Guess I'm stubborn."
Aria studied him for a long moment. Her gaze wasn't hostile—but it wasn't warm either. It was the look of someone observing a variable that shouldn't exist.
A glitch.
"Get him topside," she ordered the medics. "Now."
Phillip woke up in a white room.
Real white. Sterile. Corporate.
The ceiling lights hummed softly. Machines beeped in steady rhythms beside him.
For a terrifying second, he thought he was back in his old world.
Then he tried to sit up.
Pain reminded him where he was.
"Easy."
Aria stood near the window, arms crossed, city lights stretching endlessly behind her.
"You've been unconscious for six hours," she said. "Internal damage, mana poisoning, cracked ribs. Nothing fatal."
Phillip stared at her.
"You sound disappointed."
She didn't deny it.
"You don't remember your name, do you?" she asked suddenly.
His heart skipped.
In the original story, the miner never had a name.
Phillip opened his mouth—and hesitated.
If he gave the miner's name, he would cement the role.
If he gave his own—
"My name is Phillip," he said.
Aria's eyes narrowed.
"That wasn't in your file."
Phillip swallowed. "Guess someone forgot to write it down."
Something flickered in the air.
Just for a moment, Phillip saw thin black lines ripple across the wall, like ink disturbed by water.
Aria didn't react—but Lilith's words echoed in his mind.
You're different.
Aria stepped closer.
"You work for Black Vein," she said. "You're in debt. You volunteered for a suicide escort. And yet you ran in the opposite direction of protocol."
Phillip met her gaze.
"Because I wanted to live."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Aria sighed.
"Rest. We'll talk later."
She turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"You know," she said quietly, "heroes aren't the only ones who change stories."
Then she was gone.
Phillip lay back, heart pounding.
The main character is suspicious already.
That was fast.
He felt it again.
A burning sensation along his forearm.
Phillip lifted the hospital sleeve and froze.
Black symbols—thin, elegant, written in no language he recognized—had appeared beneath his skin, faint but unmistakable.
Ink.
Real ink.
"I changed the plot," he whispered.
The symbols pulsed once, then faded.
Phillip clenched his fist.
"So that's the price."
Night fell.
The city outside glowed brighter, drowning the darkness in artificial stars.
Phillip couldn't sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Lilith's smile.
Live. I want to see what you become.
A shadow moved near the window.
Phillip's breath caught.
The glass did not break.
The woman simply stepped through it.
Lilith Nocturne landed lightly on the floor, as if gravity itself respected her.
She looked amused.
"You're harder to kill than I thought."
Phillip tried to move.
His body refused.
Mana pressure crushed him into the bed.
Lilith approached slowly, brushing her fingers over the machines.
"So fragile," she murmured. "And yet… fascinating."
She leaned close, her silver hair spilling over him like moonlight.
"You ruined my scene," she whispered. "Do you know how annoying that is?"
Phillip forced himself to speak.
"You let me live."
She smiled.
"Because I want to see how far you'll break the story."
Her fingers traced the ink beneath his skin.
"And because I think I might fall in love with the mistake."
Phillip's heart raced.
"Please tell me you're joking."
Lilith laughed softly.
"Oh, Phillip," she said. "I never joke about fate."
She stepped back, her form dissolving into shadow.
"Survive twenty chapters," her voice echoed. "Then we'll talk."
The room returned to silence.
Phillip lay trembling, staring at the ceiling.
The heroine doubted him.
The villainess desired him.
And the story had only just begun.