Ethan stared at the glowing words on his laptop screen.
[Select: Immersion or Insertion.]
His chest tightened. His room was silent, the only sound the faint hum of the fan. But inside his ribcage, it felt like his heart was a war drum.
Immersion… Insertion…
The options pulsed faintly, as if alive.
He read the descriptions again in his head. Immersion meant reliving the story as the protagonist—from the beginning, even from birth—while Insertion meant being dropped in randomly, with no control.
Neither should've been real. And yet here they were, glowing on his screen.
He clenched his fists. This has to be a dream. Maybe I fell asleep at my desk. That had happened before. He'd woken up drooling on his keyboard more than once.
But what if it wasn't?
Ethan's gaze flicked between the two choices. Immersion was safer. It would be slow. Controlled. And while the warning about "identity loss" freaked him out, at least it didn't say "true death."
Insertion, though… his stomach twisted just thinking about it. Dropped randomly into The Returner's Arcane Path? That story wasn't exactly gentle. Dungeons. Monsters. Betrayals. War. If he appeared in the wrong place at the wrong time, he wouldn't last five minutes.
And if he died there, he died here too.
Ethan shuddered. No thanks.
His hand hovered over Immersion. He hesitated, pulse hammering. Then he clicked.
The screen flashed.
[Immersion selected.]
[Target: The Returner's Arcane Path.]
[Confirm reward type: Item / Ability / Knowledge.]
Ethan froze. "Reward type?"
So he had to decide before going in? That felt rigged. How could he know what would be worth it?
Knowledge would be safe… formulas, spells. Something I could use here.
An item might be cool, but what if it doesn't work outside?
An ability…
His breath caught. That was the dream, wasn't it? To bring back a real power. Mana, magic, anything. Even the tiniest spark would change everything.
He licked his lips. "Ability," he whispered.
The text accepted instantly.
[Confirmed: Ability.]
[Immersion initializing.]
[Warning: Upon entry, subject will begin life as the protagonist of the chosen story. Duration of immersion: until designated endpoint is reached.]
[Designate endpoint.]
Ethan blinked. Endpoint?
So he had to pick how long to stay?
His mind spun. If he picked the entire story, he could be stuck here for decades. The protagonist lived through years of training, battles, disasters. No way.
"…First five chapters," Ethan muttered quickly.
The text blinked.
[Confirmed: Endpoint set – Chapter 5.]
[Immersion beginning.]
His laptop glowed, flooding the room in blinding white. Ethan shielded his eyes, but the light swallowed him whole.
Darkness.
Not silent darkness—heavy, suffocating, pressing from all sides. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Panic surged like a flood.
Then came sound. A muffled heartbeat. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Ethan tried to gasp, but his mouth wouldn't open. His body wouldn't move. He was trapped. Helpless.
What's happening—?
Light pierced the dark. A rush of cold air slammed into him. His lungs convulsed, forcing out a sharp, newborn cry.
Arms wrapped around him. Voices rang out in joy.
Ethan blinked rapidly, vision blurry. Two giant shapes leaned over him. No—adults.
His stomach dropped. He wasn't in his room. He wasn't even himself.
He was a baby.
The realization froze him. Immersion. Live as the protagonist from the beginning. The system had meant it literally.
A woman's tired face swam into view, pale but smiling through tears. "He's here," she whispered, voice trembling with joy.
A man's voice followed, low and reverent. "Our son."
Their son.
Ethan's mind reeled. He was in the body of the protagonist of The Returner's Arcane Path. Born into the story. And if the system was right, he'd be trapped here until Chapter 5.
His wails filled the air, but inside his head, his thoughts screamed louder.
This is insane. This is real.
The days blurred. Sleep, eat, cry, repeat. His body obeyed infant instincts, but his mind was his own. That was the strangest part. A teenager's awareness trapped in a newborn's frame.
He learned quickly his new family was poor. Rough wooden floors. The smell of smoke and stew. Clothes patched at the seams. Just like the opening chapters of the story described.
Weeks turned to months. Crawling. Babbling. Walking. Every milestone was humiliating. He had to relearn everything, body lagging behind the mind screaming to move faster.
And sometimes—sometimes—he slipped. When his mother smiled at him, when his father ruffled his hair, he felt warmth so real it almost burned. For a heartbeat, he forgot he was Ethan Gray at all. He was just… their son.
The warning about "identity loss" lingered like a shadow.
By age four, he spoke the language fluently. He remembered it from the story, though hearing it in reality had been jarring at first. His parents beamed with pride—"such a clever boy." Ethan knew the truth. He wasn't clever. He was cheating. He already knew how this world worked.
And yet, living it was sharper than reading. His father's rough hands. His mother's tired eyes. The smell of bread fresh from the oven. These weren't just words on a page anymore. They were life.
Still, each night, a question gnawed at him. When does the danger start?
It came one autumn morning.
Ethan followed his father outside, pretending to help chop wood. His small hands clutched a stick while his father swung the axe. The rhythm was comforting, the air crisp.
Then Ethan froze.
The world… shifted.
It was subtle, like static before a storm. The hairs on his neck prickled. A faint warmth pulsed in his chest, like a second heartbeat.
He dropped the stick, eyes wide.
Mana.
His pulse spiked. This is it. This is where it begins.
He remembered this moment from the story—the protagonist's first contact with mana. But reading about it and living it were two different things.
His breath hitched. The warmth surged, racing through his tiny limbs like fire. His knees buckled.
"Son?" his father called, but his voice sounded far away.
Pain exploded through Ethan's body. His back arched, limbs convulsing. He clawed at the dirt, mouth opening in a strangled cry. The fire inside him raged, wild and untamed.
Strong arms scooped him up. His father's panicked shouts echoed. The world blurred.
Inside his head, terror screamed louder than the pain.
This isn't a game. This isn't safe. I could die here.
Darkness crashed down.
He woke in bed, sweat cooling on his skin. His mother's worried face hovered above, whispering comfort. His father sat nearby, jaw clenched tight.
Ethan stared at the ceiling, heart racing.
The system hadn't lied. Immersion wasn't fun roleplay. He felt everything—the fear, the pain, the helplessness.
And if mana alone could nearly break him… what would battles feel like?
For the first time, Ethan doubted if Immersion had really been the "safe" choice.
But even through the fear, something else stirred.
Excitement.
Because if mana was real here… then it could be real there.
A shaky smile tugged at his lips.
I just have to survive long enough to bring it back.