The Author appeared in the same public square where Marin would later arrive — but this was no ordinary coincidence. He had time-travelled. Not a flashy, lightning-bolt kind of time travel, but the quiet, sneaky type that lets you slip into the past without anyone noticing you've been missing from the present.
The square was mostly empty at this time of day. Stone tiles stretched out in neat patterns, dust from last night's wind still clinging to the corners. A few pigeons hopped lazily around a dry fountain, pecking at invisible food.
The Author looked around like a man on a mission… and that mission was to find a stick.
"Simple plan," he muttered to himself. "Stick. Hit. Done."
He spotted one lying near a bench. A perfect candidate. Except… the moment he picked it up, it snapped in his hands like a biscuit.
The Author stared at the broken halves. "Oh. You dare betray me?" he said, before tossing the useless remains over his shoulder.
Fine. Plan B.
He snapped his fingers and conjured an iron stick out of thin air. It gleamed in the morning light, solid and satisfying. "That's more like it."
With his new weapon in hand, the Author strolled off in search of Marin. He didn't have to look far — his little detour in time had placed him exactly one hour before Marin's original arrival here. He spotted the boy walking toward the square, completely unaware of the danger approaching from behind.
"Perfect," the Author whispered, creeping up silently.
Without a word, he swung the iron stick down… and promptly misjudged his own strength.
THWACK!
Marin's head didn't just get hit. It flew clean off his body.
The Author froze. "Ah. Oh. That… wasn't part of the plan."
Panic set in. "Think, think, THINK!"
He rushed over, scooped up Marin's head like a guilty shoplifter caught in the act, and immediately began scanning it for memories. Glowing lines of text and numbers floated in the air as the Author sifted through them.
"Too much world knowledge… too much awareness… ah, there. Let's just… delete half of this." He erased every unnecessary memory about the current world, keeping only the basic survival stuff.
Once done, he reattached Marin's head, muttered a quick resurrection spell, and stepped back. Marin's eyes flickered open.
He blinked a few times, rubbed the back of his neck, and frowned. "Huh… did I black out? Weird."
But he didn't remember how or why, so he shrugged and moved on.
The Author exhaled in relief. "Crisis… partially averted."
Now that Marin's "cluelessness" had been successfully restored, the Author turned his attention to another matter — Nathan Cole, who at that moment was locked in combat with a rogue fighter in a nearby alley.
The Author grinned. This was going to be fun.
He slipped on a Joker-style mask, bulked up his body with a few quick spells until he looked like a completely different person, and marched into the fight.
Landing in a perfect superhero pose between Nathan and the rogue, he shouted, "I am Dollarwise! Nathan Cole, strongest enforcer, I challenge you!"
Both fighters paused mid-strike. The rogue looked at him like he'd just sprouted extra heads, then promptly used the distraction to slip away. Nathan scowled. "What the hell are you—"
Too late. The Author, still in disguise, lunged forward and forced Nathan into a fight.
Nathan retaliated with bursts of shimmering energy — plot armor projections. They flared like translucent shields around him, deflecting blows that would have crushed lesser men.
The Author, meanwhile, went in for close-quarters combat. Between punches, he flicked open a small, floating game-like screen that tracked Nathan's plot armor levels.
"Seventy percent… fifty-five… ah, twenty-five," he murmured.
Once Nathan's reserves hit the sweet spot, the Author deliberately took a hard hit, staggered backward, and dramatically collapsed. "You… truly are… the strongest enforcer…" he gasped, before going still.
Nathan, without much concern for his fallen challenger, took off after the rogue. On his way out, he called the police. "Pick up the idiot in the mask."
Minutes later, the police arrived to collect the "body." But the moment they turned their backs, the Author sat up, altered their memories so they believed they'd already handled the cleanup, and strolled away without a scratch.
Back to the Present
The Author reappeared in his office in the present timeline. Dropping into his chair, he let out a long sigh. "What a day… and it's not even lunch."
AUDIENCE — the ever-watchful companion who always seemed to appear when least wanted — popped into existence and handed him a steaming cup of coffee.
"The gods," AUDIENCE said dryly, "are not happy with your post-war cleanup."
The Author nearly choked on his drink. "What?! I did a praiseworthy job!"
"Mm-hm," AUDIENCE replied, unimpressed.
The Author turned his gaze to the far wall, where a tall display stand held his collection: miniature, swirling black holes suspended in crystal orbs, each labeled with a name or event.
Two were now gone.
He stood, walked over, and carefully removed the labels from the empty spots: Clueless MC and Not-So-Strong Nathan. "At least I closed these plot holes before they became a head ache," he muttered.
With one problem solved, it was time for the next: assembling Marin's team for upcoming missions.
The Author flipped open a folder containing the nomination forms. His brows furrowed. The list was pitiful — far fewer names than he'd expected. Even the people he thought would be sure candidates hadn't applied.
"Well… guess I'll have to get creative."
He plucked a blank form from his desk and began filling it in: Elira Solen.
"Oh, she'll hate this," he said with a grin. "But that's the point. Enemies to lovers, baby."
Elira despised Marin, but the Author had no shame in forcing proximity for the sake of a trope. He'd shove them together even if it killed them both.
Once Elira was secured, he turned his attention to the other three slots. A few minutes of scanning and scribbling later, he had his full team.
The Author leaned back, imagining the scene to come: Marin and Elira side by side, glaring at each other while trying not to admit they made a decent team. The other members forming their own dynamics. The gods watching from above, oblivious to his meddling.
His grin widened. Then widened more. Until it was the kind of grin that would make any reasonable person back away slowly.
AUDIENCE appeared again, arms crossed. "Stop that."
"What?"
"You're giving off main villain vibes. The gods will get confused if you keep this up."
The Author's smile faltered. He slumped back in his chair, expression flattened. "…Fine."
With the enthusiasm of a child told to eat vegetables, he got back to his paperwork, finalizing the team briefing for their first mission.He even finalized the first mission for Marin's team .