Ron Irus — a minor character from the web novel I wrote in college, The Sky-Cleaving Blade — was nothing more than a background NPC. No clear origin, appeared in three chapters, his name only mentioned four times. Just someone who handed quests to the protagonist. No one would remember him. No reader would care.
And now I was trapped inside his body.
An invisible man. A nobody. Me — the author — enduring hellish days inside my own story.
It had been two years since I crossed into that world. Two years of misery and terror enough to fill a thick book. Right now I was writing a journal about… whatever this had become.
"Boss, guests have arrived!"
A young man, maybe nineteen or twenty, burst in, face tight with worry, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. I set my pen down calmly and glanced at the small mirror on the corner of the table. A young man with brown hair and yellow eyes stared back — ordinary, about eighteen. That was me: Ron Irus.
"Let them in."
I said in a steady tone, though a thread of worry ran beneath it. They'd come a bit early, but I'd already planned for this outcome.
Outside, the youth I'd sent opened the door and led four people in. They dressed like commoners, but their clothes were too clean and their manners bore the polish of nobility — none of the roughness or frankness of ordinary villagers.
They were, in order: Promet Synthy — a tall blond man about 1.78 m; Luce Olaf — a compact woman with short black hair; Hadelus Ovtar — a broad-shouldered, jet-haired man; and Janeus Phereous — a young woman with curly blond hair and an aristocratic air.
"Welcome to 'Ron and His Friends.' Please, follow me to your table."
The youth who guided them was Lunas — Ron's close friend. Or rather, he had been Ron's closest friend; when I reincarnated into Ron, I inherited his memories and knew Lunas was his most trusted companion. That's why I'd put him in charge and given him my confidence.
The four followed cautiously, constantly glancing around.
They're being too careful, I thought.
— POV: Promet Synthy —
The restaurant was surprisingly spacious — far more elegant than anything in the remote village of Lionus. Prices were reasonable, seating comfortable, food of good quality — more fitting for a central capital eatery than this backwater.
So this is the famous 'Ron and His Friends' place… I thought, scanning the room. I saw a brown-haired youth sitting alone at a six-person table — the table Lunas was guiding us toward.
"Greetings, honored guests. I am the proprietor of this humble establishment. I hope you enjoy your meal."The young proprietor stood and extended his hand.
A 'humble' place? In this village it looks like a palace, I mused silently.
"Hello, sir. I'm impressed — your restaurant looks splendid," Luce said, smiling as she shook his hand. Janeus watched with a puzzled expression.
"May I ask what brings you here? Do you require anything of us?" Promet asked.
The proprietor's face was calm, as if he had expected this.
"I would never show disrespect to nobles who've traveled so far," he replied.
"Nobles? How do you know we're nobles?" Promet blurted. They'd planned to hide under common clothes, but exposure had come sooner than expected.
"I apologize if that offends you, but I've met many people and learned the mannerisms of a typical noble," he said.
Hadelus walked to a bookshelf adorned with stuffed animals, pulled down a volume, sat at the table and flipped it open.
"I've seen enough people and enough establishments to know you and this place aren't ordinary," Hadelus added.
This is moving faster than usual, Promet thought. It should've been more gradual. He kept a close eye and sat with the rest.
The proprietor — the one called Lunas — sat across from them. He called a server and invited them to order first.
They hadn't come to eat, and their faces showed it, but they ordered anyway: two portions of beef and two desserts. When the server left for the kitchen, the proprietor fixed his gaze on them, especially Janeus.
"So — why are you here?" he asked plainly.
The four furrowed their brows. They expected covert dealings, but they hadn't expected such bluntness from a young innkeeper. It had only been minutes since they entered, yet he was already probing.
Sensing their guarded looks, he raised an eyebrow.
"If a noble — or someone hiding in plain sight — comes here for some reason, do you think they come simply to eat?" he asked.
Before Promet could answer, Luce slid a photograph across the table.
"The One Line organization. What do you know about them?" she asked.
The image showed a right hand pointing upward, wrapped in a single red thread — the emblem of One Line. The organization had been founded recently, operating locally through secret nodes disguised as private establishments. Rumors said they held so much information that at least two prominent houses were on the brink of collapse because of them. That was what one source had uncovered; testimony suggested even larger bases existed around here.
"I know them. Everyone knows of One Line. And yes — I have far better information." The proprietor took the photo and tore it in half.
"There are two forms of payment: information or gold. I prefer information — especially things only nobles would know."
"Gold. I'll pay three thousand gold coins for each important piece of information you provide," Luce said.
"That's vague. I suggest a better arrangement." The proprietor calmly produced a key and several sheets of paper from his coat.
"Lunas, bring the One Line dossier," he ordered.
Lunas fetched the documents from the upstairs room. The proprietor continued: "I'll give you general intel on One Line. If you want deeper answers, write your questions on paper and I'll write my answers. But no one may reveal the questions or answers, and all papers must be destroyed afterward."
He withdrew a pen from his coat and added, "If anyone violates the rule, they will pay three thousand gold and lose the right to ask further questions. Each written answer costs one thousand gold; after two questions the fee increases to two thousand gold per question."
As nobles, they had ample funds and were prepared to spend, but the regulation felt peculiar.
"Agreed," Janeus said without hesitation, glancing to Hadelus for confirmation. He nodded.
"Excellent. Thank you for accepting. I'll go upstairs and prepare." The proprietor smiled and hurried away, leaving the four slightly surprised.
— POV: Ron Irus —
My heart hammered. I'd spent months preparing because I knew the protagonists' temperaments well, but facing them in person was another matter. I'd rehearsed a long speech, but nerves made me sound odd.
Stick to the plan, I told myself.
In truth, I wouldn't gain anything — I'd likely be arrested. My survival depended on the backing of hidden powers, but who would shield the son of the Chief Justice and a princess of the empire?
Hadelus Ovtar was the son of the empire's Chief Justice — a man with the uncanny ability to detect lies at least five times a day. Janeus Phereous was a princess of the empire — an existence even One Line, with all my resources, dared not touch.
But my true goal had never been money or life. My goal was to delay them with half-truths and misleading intel. To divert their attention from One Line. Also to make the one sending orders — Hadelus's father — ease his scrutiny on us, the ones who'd seized the underground networks across three cities and five surrounding villages.
They'd sent four people simply to scout. I had long prepared to be captured; evidence proving Lunas's innocence was ready. I'd planned this for a whole year. My plan was flawless.
I went back to my small room and glanced at a black card on the table. I opened it.
The admission letter came from the place I'd been avoiding for two years.
Blue Light Academy — my trump card.
The place I need to go.