The bell rang at sunset.
The air felt different—heavy, thick, like the town itself was holding its breath. The market square emptied fast. Vendors stacked their crates with stiff smiles, children vanished mid-laugh, and even Guard Bren didn't bother to drop his spear at the usual time.
That was when I knew: the "correction" had arrived.
The whisper in my head became words again:
[Correction initiated.]
Three guards stepped into the square.
But they weren't normal guards.
Their armor was too clean. Their faces were blank, pale, and smooth, like someone had painted expressions onto wax. Their eyes didn't blink. They marched with the sound of hammers on stone, each step too perfect.
They stopped in front of me.
"Citizen Thom," one said. Its voice was flat and hollow. "Return to your stall."
My chest tightened. My knees shook. Every instinct screamed at me to obey, to shuffle back to the apple stall, to shout the line like nothing had ever changed.
But I clenched my fists. "No."
The air trembled.
The first guard raised his hand. Light gathered around it, a white glow that felt wrong—like the world itself bending. If that touched me, I knew I'd go back to the script forever.
I turned and ran.
My feet pounded against cobblestones. The square blurred past me.
The guards followed, their heavy boots thudding in perfect rhythm. Too fast. Too steady.
I sprinted down an alley. A spear slammed into the wall beside my head, showering me with dust. I ducked and swerved, heart hammering.
Another guard blocked the exit, spear leveled at my chest.
Panic clawed at me. My eyes darted around. Barrels. Crates. Anything.
I shoved a barrel with all my strength. It tipped and rolled into the guard's legs. He stumbled, crashing down in a tangle of armor and spear.
I bolted past him, lungs burning, and burst back into the square.
The other two guards closed in. Their blank faces didn't change, but their pace quickened.
I couldn't outrun them forever. I needed something else.
My eyes landed on the alarm bell by the gate.
Every evening, the mayor tested it at 18:03 sharp. I'd watched it all my life. If I hit it early, maybe—just maybe—the town would react.
I snatched up a loose stone, aimed, and hurled it at the lever.
Clang!
The bell screamed to life, louder than I'd ever heard it.
The town exploded.
NPCs snapped out of their loops, guards rushed forward with weapons drawn, and adventurers appeared in bursts of light, pulled by the sound of an "event."
"Town under attack!" someone shouted.
"World boss?" another yelled.
The three guards froze, confused. Their perfect rhythm faltered under the chaos.
And the adventurers charged.
Swords clashed. Fireballs lit the air. The blank-faced guards fought back with eerie precision, but the players swarmed them, laughing and shouting as if it were just another quest.
I ducked into the shadows, pressing against the wall, watching it all unfold.
For once, I wasn't part of the background. I wasn't a vendor or a quest-giver.
I was the cause.
Then the whisper came again.
[Classification updated.]
[New Tag: Boss — Minor.]
My legs nearly gave out. Me? A boss?
I laughed softly, clutching the bruised apple still in my pocket. My heart raced, my hands trembled, but my grin wouldn't fade.
I'd escaped the guards. I'd broken the script. I'd changed the world.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't just an NPC.
I was dangerous.