The village bell rang with a dull clang, announcing the evening meal.
Kaito trudged behind Elra, the girl with braids, as she skipped down the dirt path toward the cluster of wooden cottages. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the smell of stew drifted on the cool evening wind. It might have felt peaceful—beautiful, even—if not for the invisible clock ticking down inside his mind.
Three days.
That was how long he had before the goblins attacked. Before this village became a massacre site. Before Background Villager #21 died screaming in the mud.
And Kaito Ren was Background Villager #21.
"Hey, are you coming or not?" Elra called, turning back. Her cheeks were puffed with annoyance. "If you're late again, the elder will scold you."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Kaito muttered.
He followed her into the village square. It was just as he remembered from his half-finished manuscript—small, rustic, warm. Villagers gathered with bowls of food, sitting on wooden benches under the fading twin suns. Children laughed, chickens clucked, and dogs barked happily.
The perfect picture of rural life. The perfect place to die.
Kaito sat cross-legged near the edge, chewing on bread that was far too dry. Around him, villagers chatted about the harvest and the weather. None of them knew. None of them suspected what was coming.
And why would they? To them, life was simple, predictable. To Kaito, it was scripted. He had written this event himself. He knew how it ended.
A heavy hand clapped his shoulder.
"Kaito! There you are!"
He turned, startled. The man looming over him was broad-shouldered, with a thick beard and kind eyes. His name came to Kaito's lips automatically: Garrus, the blacksmith. In the manuscript, Garrus fought bravely during the goblin raid—until he was ripped apart protecting his wife.
Kaito forced a smile. "Evening, Garrus."
The blacksmith grinned. "Still lazy as ever, eh? You should come by my forge tomorrow. Maybe I'll finally teach you how to swing a hammer instead of sleeping all day."
Kaito chuckled weakly, but his gut twisted. Garrus's fate was sealed. He had written it that way.
Unless…
He clenched his fist under the table. Unless he changed it.
After the meal, Kaito slipped away from the square and wandered toward the fields. The twin suns sank behind the horizon, leaving streaks of purple in the sky. Fireflies flickered among the wheat.
He stopped, staring at his hands.
As if responding to his thoughts, glowing text shimmered into view:
[Narrative Editor: Restricted Access Unlocked.][Available Command: Minor Edit – Probability Adjustment.]
Kaito's heart pounded. He raised a trembling hand. "Can I… really?"
A faint menu appeared before his eyes, filled with lines of glowing script. The text wasn't Japanese or English, but he understood it—like it was written directly into his brain. Each line described events, characters, destinies.
And there it was:
Background Villager #21 – Fated to die on Day 3, Goblin Raid.Elra – Fated to die on Day 3, Goblin Raid.Garrus – Fated to die on Day 3, Goblin Raid.
Kaito's hand hovered. Could he change it? Could he save them?
A warning flashed.
[Caution: Altering Narrative Fate may destabilize world structure.][Consequence: Author corruption risk 7%.]
"Seven percent…" he muttered. "That doesn't sound so bad."
He reached for Elra's line, willing it to change. His vision blurred. Words twisted, resisting his touch. Sweat dripped down his temple. Then, with a painful tug—
Elra – Survival chance increased by 10%.
The menu flickered, then vanished.
Kaito gasped, falling to his knees. His body ached, his head spun, and his fingers trembled as if he'd forced them through stone.
"That… took everything?" he whispered.
He had barely nudged her fate. Just a 10% chance. Yet it had drained him to the bone.
If saving one girl was this hard, how could he possibly save the entire village?
The next morning, chaos stirred in the village square.
A traveler had arrived.
Kaito's stomach turned when he saw him. Tall, handsome, with windswept silver hair and eyes like polished steel. Armor gleamed on his frame, and a sword hung at his side. He radiated confidence, strength, and charisma.
Akira Shion.
The protagonist. The "Chosen One." The hero Kaito had written.
Villagers gathered around him, awestruck. Elra clutched her basket and whispered, "He looks amazing…"
Akira raised a hand in modest greeting, though his eyes scanned the crowd with cool detachment. "I seek lodging and supplies. I was told this village welcomes travelers."
Garrus stepped forward, smiling warmly. "Of course, hero. You are welcome here."
Hero.
The word burned Kaito's throat. Because he knew Akira Shion wasn't the hero this village thought he was.
In Kaito's manuscript, Akira would arrive just days before the raid. He would let the goblins slaughter the villagers, using their deaths as motivation to unlock his hidden powers. Their blood was his stepping stone.
And now, the script was unfolding.
Kaito clenched his fists. "Not this time."
Later that day, Kaito cornered Akira near the well.
"You're planning to let them die, aren't you?" he hissed.
Akira's silver eyes flicked to him, calm and calculating. "Excuse me?"
"You're going to let the goblins attack this village. You'll watch them die so you can 'awaken.' That's your plan."
For a moment, silence. Then Akira smiled faintly. "Interesting. You speak as though you know my destiny."
Kaito's heart raced. Akira wasn't surprised. He wasn't confused. He knew.
"You… know you're a protagonist," Kaito whispered.
Akira leaned closer, voice low. "And you, villager, seem to know too much for someone of your station. Be careful. Stories do not favor background characters who overstep their roles."
He walked away, leaving Kaito trembling.
That night, Kaito lay awake on his straw bed, staring at the rafters.
The system had given him a choice. The script was already moving, already pulling everyone toward the slaughter. And Akira wasn't going to stop it.
If anything, he would ensure it happened.
Which meant the only one who could fight the narrative… was Kaito.
He sat up, teeth clenched. "If the Author is doomed to be a background character… then I'll just rewrite the story."
But before he could plan further, the bell clanged frantically in the distance.
Not the evening bell.
The alarm bell.
His blood froze.
The goblins had come early.