Questions swarmed my head like angry wasps as I stared at the glowing crystal panel hovering in front of me.
Joren Vale?
Who the hell was that?
My name was… uh, what was my name?
I sat up on a creaky cot, blinking at a grimy window to my left. The reflection wasn't me. Scruffy brown hair, hazel eyes, a face that screamed "forgettable extra." Decent cheekbones, but not the kind that'd make girls swoon. Skinny, too—not my old chunky self from too many late-night tacos.
I touched my cheek. The reflection copied me, no lag. But it wasn't me. I'd been… what, thirty? Couch potato, not this wiry teen.
~~
Sitting on the cot's edge, I stared at my legs—scrawny, like I hadn't seen since high school. I stood, and whoa—a wave of dizziness slammed me, followed by a migraine that felt like a drill in my skull. I grabbed the wall, gasping. Pain, sharp and raw, chewed through me, like my brain was rejecting this body.
"Huff… huff…"
Minutes dragged like hours, but the pain faded, leaving me slumped, sweating, gulping air. I staggered upright after what felt like forever, maybe ten minutes.
The room was basic: white cot, splintered desk, narrow wardrobe, a closet-sized bathroom with a cracked sink. Crystals pulsed faintly in the stone walls, giving off a hum like a cheap sci-fi prop. On the desk sat a flat, rune-etched slab—some kind of tablet. Answers, maybe?
I shuffled over, each step weirdly off, like my body was a laggy video game avatar. Not just the weight loss—my soul didn't fit this frame. But the more I moved, the smoother it got. Soul syncing, or some crap like that?
~~
I tapped the slab. It flared, projecting a holographic screen that nearly made me jump out of my new skin.
Calm down, idiot. I squinted at the glowing text:
User ID: Joren Vale
Age: 16
Picture: [Holographic image of this kid's face]
Program: Weaver Program, Year 1
School Rank: 1823/2100
Potential: E-rank
Profession: Crystal Scribe
I let out a bitter laugh. "So, I'm stuck in my own novel, and I'm a nobody scrub to boot."
Veil of Vaeloria, my flop fantasy novel, was real. I was Joren Vale, an E-rank nobody at Emberhold Institute, not Sira Kade, the S-rank heroine who torches the Shadow Sovereign. Joren? Mentioned once, skewered by a Veilspawn in Chapter 23. A plot footnote.
I wasn't freaking out as much as I should've. My old life sucked—broke, living off instant ramen, my novel roasted as "cliché slop" on Webnovel. When that truck hit, my last thought was, Eh, bummer. No attachments, no regrets. But this? A second shot, in my own world, with magic? Hell yeah. Just a shame I'm not the star.
~~
Wait, no. Screw being the protagonist. Sira's out there, drawing every monster, rival, and god-tier threat like a magnet. Me? I'd rather live. No harem, no heroics. I'd been single my whole thirty years—staying a virgin a bit longer wouldn't kill me. Magic, though? Crystal Weaves, sigils that pull power from elemental crystals? That's my jam. I could already picture myself sparking flames, carving runes.
But… E-rank?
I rubbed my chin, pacing the dorm. E-rank meant low potential, barely enough spark to light a candle. Emberhold's Weaver Program churned out heroes, but scrubs like me got eaten by Veilspawn—shadowy beasts from Vaeloria's chasm. I'd written the first surge for Chapter 10. No way I'd survive that with this body.
Unless I cheated.
I knew Veil of Vaeloria's plot. Every trap, every secret. Like the Veil Shard, a hidden relic in my novel that could break a Weaver's rank cap. It was meant for Sira, but she's S-rank with cheat gear—sword of dawn, phoenix cloak, the works. She didn't need it. Me? I could use it to jump to D-rank, maybe C, and train faster.
"Hold up," I muttered. Hadn't I made Sira too OP? SSS-rank talent, best equipment, a harem to boot. Readers bitched about her being a Mary Sue. Now that I'm here, yeah, they had a point. Time to rebalance the story—starting with that shard.
~~
I grabbed my boots and a tarnished key from the desk. Vaeloria, the cliffside fortress city, sat over a shadow-choked chasm. After two cataclysms, the world had fused into one continent, split three ways: humans, Veilspawn, and mystics. Vaeloria was humanity's heart, with Emberhold as its elite academy, training Weavers to fight shadow threats. Five cities guarded the borders—Thalren (north, vs. beastkin), Vyris (west, vs. Veilspawn), Kaelith (south, vs. mystics), Seaborne (east, vs. sea horrors), and Vaeloria, the central hub.
Emberhold students got perks, like free air-trams. I needed to hit Dusk Ridge, outside Vaeloria, where the Veil Shard was buried. With classes starting in a week, I had time to grab it before Sira's arc kicked off. She was probably D-rank already, leagues above my E-rank ass. The shard would let me train faster, dodge my limit, and maybe not die.
I checked the tablet again. Rank 1823/2100. Ouch. But I knew where the shard was—Dusk Ridge, under a ruined shrine. If I played it smart, I'd be set.
~~
I stepped outside, a cool breeze hitting me. Vaeloria's cliffs loomed, crystals glinting in the stone. "Damn, that's fresh," I said, stretching. I headed for the air-tram station, student ID in hand. Time to rewrite my story, starting with a cheat item.
At the ticket booth, a bored woman glanced up. "ID?"
I slid my Emberhold card over. "Station 17, Dusk Ridge."
Her eyes widened. "Emberhold student? Rare sight." She scanned it, smiling. "Safe trip, kid."
"Thanks," I muttered, boarding the tram. The city blurred below—glowing caverns, crystal spires. I leaned back, grinning. E-rank or not, I wrote this world. Time to break it.