The sound of Seong-wu's body hitting the ground was not just a thud.
It was a rupture.
The air bent around the impact, the stone courtyard cracking like paper split in half. Dust rippled outward in concentric rings, as if the world itself was shocked that its chosen protagonist could be forced down.
Blood slicked the corner of Seong-wu's mouth.
Not much. Just a line of red against the perfection of his face.
But the cadets staring around the crater went pale. Because the idea of Seong-wu — the destined hero, the shining blade of every path — bleeding, was something that should have been impossible.
"…What did I just see?" one cadet whispered, knuckles white against his staff.
"No… that's… the protagonist. That can't—"
"But it happened. He—he actually fell."
The disbelief cracked into panic.
Because if a protagonist could bleed, if he could be forced down—then what held the story together?
Do-hyun stumbled two steps back, his shield trembling in his grip. His golden flame aura flickered weakly, uncertain. He looked between Seong-wu and Hae-won as though torn in two.
"…This is wrong. This is so damn wrong…" he muttered. His eyes were wild, seeking something to cling to. "Hae-won, what the hell are you doing?!"
But Hae-won only stood there, breathing ragged, every vein in his body trembling with inkfire.
He had not just struck Seong-wu.
He had struck the story itself.
And the story hated him for it.
The whispers of Narrators scratched at the edges of hearing, frantic, uneven:
"The unbound must be erased."
"Protagonist conflict destabilizes all paths."
"Correction required."
But the correction wasn't coming fast enough.
Arin staggered forward, her silver glow trembling. Her hand half-reached for Hae-won, half-trembled toward Seong-wu.
Her lips parted—words she couldn't decide between: his name or the protagonist's.
"…Hae-won…"
Her voice broke on the second syllable.
Hae-won turned his head toward her, and for an instant the madness in his eyes softened. Just an instant. Enough to show he still heard her. Enough to hurt her worse than anything else.
Then Seong-wu moved.
The protagonist rose from the crater like a lion roused from slumber, his silhouette gleaming with the burning script of destiny. The crack of his knuckles echoed like war drums.
"…So this is what it feels like," he said quietly, voice calm but taut with fury. "To be struck by something not written."
The dust swirled as he lifted his gaze to Hae-won. The air bowed toward him. Even the Narrators' whispers steadied, as though reassured by his presence.
"You're not supposed to exist."
And yet, for the first time in the cadets' lives—someone stood across from him, unflinching.
Hae-won's grin split his bloodied face, wild and thin.
"Guess you'll have to deal with it."
The courtyard crackled with two impossibilities facing each other.
Behind them, the cadets began choosing with their eyes, even before they spoke.
• Do-hyun's shield angled toward Hae-won. Not out of hatred—out of fear.
• Ha-young leaned against her cracked spear, smirking faintly, her crimson chains rattling. She didn't care who won. She cared about what she could steal.
• Arin's fingers shook around her thread of silver light, her eyes tearing between the two boys, torn so sharply it was like she might split in half herself.
And then—
The system chimed.
[ Warning. Narrative Instability Detected. ]
[ Protagonist vs. Unbound Conflict registered. ]
[ Next Scenario Advancement accelerated. 2 Days → 1 Day. ]
The whispers of the Narrators turned into a roar.
The story could not hold both.
The air was taut enough to snap.
Seong-wu brushed the blood from his lip with the back of his hand. His expression was unreadable, as if even bleeding couldn't mar the calm of the story's chosen vessel.
"You're not part of this world," he said evenly. "You're a mistake. An unbound variable."
Hae-won's chest heaved, black ink still trembling in his veins. He didn't flinch. Didn't step back. His laugh cracked through the courtyard, harsh, almost broken.
"A mistake, huh?" His grin split wider. "Then maybe it's about time your perfect little story learned to live with its mistakes."
The words weren't shouted. They didn't need to be. They carried because every cadet was holding their breath, waiting to see which way the scale would tip.
Arin's lips parted, her silver glow flickering uncertainly. "Stop… please, both of you—"
"Arin." Seong-wu's voice cut across hers. It was sharp, commanding, the voice of someone who had always been obeyed. "Step away from him."
She froze. The glow around her faltered.
Her eyes darted to Hae-won, searching.
But Hae-won only whispered, ragged and hoarse, "Don't." His eyes burned, not at her but at the story itself. "If you choose him… you'll never be free."
Her throat tightened.
The ground between the two men seemed to stretch, a chasm opening in the cadets' hearts.
Do-hyun gritted his teeth, stepping between the lines, his shield trembling with golden fire. "Enough! We can't—this isn't the time for you two to tear each other apart!"
"Move, Do-hyun," Seong-wu said. His tone wasn't cruel. It wasn't even angry. It was absolute. The kind of tone that had been written into him. "He shouldn't exist. You feel it too."
Do-hyun's knuckles whitened on the shield. His jaw clenched. "…I don't know what he is. But he fought with us. He bled with us. He—he saved me." His voice cracked at the end, torn between fear and conviction.
Seong-wu's eyes softened, almost pitying. "You don't understand. He isn't saving you. He's unraveling everything."
"And what are you doing?" Ha-young's voice cut in, sharp as broken glass. She leaned against the wall, her crimson chains rattling lazily. Her grin widened at the tension. "Playing hero while you bleed for a script that doesn't even ask what you want? You two are pathetic."
"Shut up, Ha-young," Seong-wu snapped, his calm finally cracking.
But she only laughed, eyes sliding to Hae-won. "At least he's interesting. You? You're just a pretty cage."
The courtyard erupted in murmurs. Some cadets stepped subtly behind Seong-wu, others shifted uneasily toward Hae-won, drawn by his defiance.
The lines were forming.
And then—
The system's chime rang again, louder this time.
[ Narrative Conflict Unstable. ]
[ If resolution is not achieved, collapse probability: 47%… 68%… 92%… ]
The whispers of the Narrators were no longer whispers. They were voices screaming into the cadets' skulls:
"Choose. Choose. Choose."
"Only one path may remain."
Seong-wu's gaze sharpened. His aura flared, a blaze of destiny that lit the courtyard in gold.
"You heard it," he said, voice steel. "This story can't hold both of us."
He pointed his blade at Hae-won.
"So I'll do what has to be done."
Hae-won lifted his ink-stained sword, his grin a slash of defiance.
"Finally," he rasped. "Something honest."
The courtyard shook.
The cadets trembled.
And the story itself bent, waiting for one of them to break it.
The first strike came not from steel, but from words.
[ Narrative Duel Initiated. ]
[ Primary Conflict Identified: Cha Hae-won vs. Yoo Seong-wu. ]
[ All Incarnations must choose their path. ]
The notification split the courtyard in two. Threads of glowing script snaked down from the heavens, linking themselves to the cadets one by one. Silver, gold, crimson—colors of their chosen narrators.
Arin clutched her chest as the silver tether pulsed violently, demanding choice. Her knees nearly buckled under the weight of it.
Seong-wu moved first. His blade shimmered, glowing lines of narration wrapping around it like a halo. Every swing he made seemed preordained, written before it even touched air.
"You can't win, Hae-won," he said. "The world won't allow it."
Hae-won's lips curled, blood dripping down his chin. His veins writhed with black ink, the fractured madness of the Most Ancient Dream twisting around him.
"Then I'll just rewrite the world."
He swung.
Where Seong-wu's blade cut with inevitability, Hae-won's cut with possibility. His strikes split into dozens of phantom slashes—each one a future that could be. Some struck Seong-wu's defenses. Others shredded the courtyard walls. A few cut empty air, never meant to land.
The clash was deafening. Sparks became paragraphs. Shattered stone became broken lines of poetry. Every step, every strike, was being written and rewritten before their eyes.
Do-hyun shielded his face from the force, golden flames barely holding against the shockwaves. "This—this isn't a fight, it's—"
"A story," Ha-young finished, her grin feral as her crimson chains lashed the ground. "They're fighting over who gets to write it."
And she was right.
Every cadet felt their souls being pulled. The system whispered in their ears, urging, begging:
"Choose the destined flame."
"Choose the writer who defies."
"Choose."
Some staggered toward Seong-wu, drawn to the golden certainty of his strikes. Others drifted to Hae-won, trembling but unwilling to look away from his raw defiance.
Arin's body shook. Her silver thread lashed violently, torn between both. Her eyes burned with tears as she whispered, "Hae-won… Seong-wu… why must it come to this?"
The clash roared louder.
Seong-wu's blade of destiny slammed against Hae-won's ink-stained sword. For an instant, the world held its breath.
And then the courtyard split apart, half of it burning gold, half of it drowning in shadow.
Two stories were fighting to become the only truth.
And no one knew which would win