"TESTING TESTING 1 2 3. CAN YOU ALL HERE ME FROM HERE? YEP IT SEEMS GOOD. ALRIGHT MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE!"
The thunderous voice boomed across the Academy, cutting through the Headmistress's opening speech like a hatchet. Thousands of faces swiveled their heads in all directions to find where the voice was coming from.
Many were confused.
Who's talking?
Where was it coming from?
The direction of the voice sounded like it came from above. But there was no indication of anyone present above the large school buildings that surrounded the sprawling open space.
"UP HERE UP HERE!"
Still, thousands of people were confused, squinting against the afternoon sun to locate where the hell the voice was coming from. It was only until many raised arms pointed their fingers in unison high above the buildings and sky that people were able to set their sights.
The sight made them boggle!
Hundreds of meters high above the ground, a blood-soaked figure stood dangerously on the massive hour hand of the eastern clock face of the forbidden Chronokos's Tower.
Not just standing either.
He was dangling from it with one arm, while the other clutched an unconscious woman with unique silver-white hair!
Gasps and screams erupted through the crowd. Previous whispers turned to shouts of alarm.
"Mother Goddess! Are my eyes deceiving me? How did they get all the way up there? That place is forbidden!"
"One of the Saintess candidates has been kidnapped!"
"Is that blood?! He's… He's—completely drenched red!"
The Headmistress froze mid-sentence, her ageless elven features letting slip a rare moment of shock before she regained her composure. Behind her, the assembled professors rose from their seats in a clamor.
"I BET YOU ALL ARE DYING TO KNOW WHY I'M HANGING FROM THE CLOCK TOWER WITH THE ESTEEMED SAINTESS CANDIDATE IN MY ARMS. I WOULD TO, BUT I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME SO DON'T BE UPSET WITH A BASIC RUNDOWN!"
No matter where one stood or was seated, the madman's speech reached them, magically amplified.
Up on the tower platform, dozens of figures crowded at the edge.
There were professors in their formal robes, security staff with drawn weapons, representatives from the Church in their holy vestments. All of them were focused intently on the blood-covered lunatic who was suspected to be guilty of several crimes today.
"LET'S JUST SAY YOUR ADMINISTRATOR CARRINGTON—THE MAN STANDING RIGHT THERE IN THE VERY BACK ROW TO THE LEFT—SENT PROFESSIONAL HUNTERS TO ENSURE I WOULDN'T MAKE IT TO THE CEREMONY ALIVE!"
Eventually, the silver-haired woman in his arms began to stir, her golden eyes fluttering open in confusion.
"Wh-what...? You?! Where am I? What's happening?"
Her voice also boomed across the Academy. The crowd below watched in horror as realization dawned on her face.
"M-Mother Goddess preserve us," she whispered, trembling.
"We're going to... to..."
"I told you not to look down," the bloodied man muttered, struggling to maintain his hold as she trembled against him.
"THIS IS ENOUGH!"
A stern official in Academy robes had finally somehow made his way onto the clock hand, inching toward the pair with fury.
"This ridiculous spectacle ends now! I'm taking you both into custody!"
"I bet you all wouldn't dare jump after me if I let go right now," the blood-soaked madman taunted, his eyes gleaming dangerously.
Though he addressed the official, his question was clearly meant for the audience below.
"Would you?"
"I dare you," the official snarled, certain the madman was bluffing.
"No one's that insane."
The blood-covered figure's face split.
Into the widest.
Most mad-like.
Grin.
"Watch me."
With a powerful swing of his body, he released his grip on the hour hand, launching himself and the screaming Saintess candidate into empty air, plummeting from hundreds of meters above.
"FIRST-YEARS, UPPERCLASSMEN, PROFESSORS—REMEMBER THIS DAY!"
His voice thundered across the Academy as he fell.
"THE LEGEND OF MAX DRAEVEN BEGINS NOW!"
The stern official remained frozen on the clock hand, staring blankly at the space where Max had been moments before.
Everyone across the entire Academy watched in stunned disbelief.
Students, professors, nobles, sponsors, staff—whoever had gathered for the grand ceremony—all shared the same undeniable thought as they witnessed the blood-soaked figure plummet from the tower:
Madman.
***
"Where the hell am I?!"
The twenty-two-year-old spun in a slow circle on the cobblestone street, sharp blue eyes taking in everything with growing disbelief.
Ahead, he saw an ancient bridge arched gracefully over a slow-moving river.
In the distance, what he saw made his jaw drop. There were crystalline domes that shone in prismatic displays, magnificent towering spires, and grand halls that somehow blended seamlessly with the natural landscape.
Max froze.
The sight simultaneously screamed "western fantasy academy" and "yeah buddie, you're not on Earth anymore."
Max's mind raced back to his last moments in the normal world. He'd been lying on his bed, checking out other novels on his phone after having completed "The Shadow of the Academy." It was a webnovel he'd been binging all week after he finally had the time to cram in a small break from studies.
It was during then that he found a public post made by the author.
It was a poll for a remake of the story.
A remake? It's barely been a week since you finished the novel. And you are asking us if we want to see a remake?
The novel wasn't bad—a solid 7/10—so a remake wasn't really necessary.
Still, it got him thinking.
And eventually he felt like he understood where the author was coming from, warming to the idea.
To Max, the pacing was indeed a little too slow for his tastes. It also stretched pointless filler arcs that mostly served to aura farm the overpowered protagonist. Not to mention there were still several unsolved mysteries and plot points left unaddressed even after its completion.
When he looked the two bars of the poll, his eyes widened. The votes were deadlocked in a perfect tie and there was a small red text below stating that one minute remained until its closure!
875 voting for Yes.
875 voting for No.
His right hand moved to quickly vote "Yes."
But it failed.
He was not logged in.
Since he was a lurker and barely commented, there was no real need for an account. Most of the time, it was used to keep track of list of novels he read. After all, the app he used didn't require an account to purchase chapters.
During that moment, Max's heart started pounding. He scrambled to log into his account, his fingers flying across the phone's keyboard. He'd hit the "Yes" button with barely a second to spare, then collapsed back in his chair, riding a ridiculous adrenaline high from being the decisive vote to seal the deal.
The author's message appeared almost immediately:
Thank you to everyone for your support! After much thought (and one very decisive final vote), I've decided to move forward with the remake of The Shadow of the Academy. There were a lot of things I wanted to improve, expand on, and refine, and now I believe I've found the right opportunity to do so.
The remake will begin shortly—so stay tuned! I hope you'll enjoy the new and… hopefully improved version of the story.
See you soon!
Max began to think back to how he responded when he saw that message.
And what did I say back then?
"Fuck yeah, I'm in for a remake!"
And voila, he magically appeared here…
A group of young students passed by, their animated conversation cutting through his thoughts.
One student absently twirled a staff topped with a gently pulsing orb that shifted between colors with each rotation. Another had what looked like a winged salamander perched comfortably on her shoulder, its smooth, scaly skin constantly gleaming as it released little puffs of sparkling mist that dissolved into the air.
As someone who'd consumed dozens of academy-genre webnovels, it didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.
He'd been transmigrated: literally yanked from his world into the story by his own careless words.
He waited until the students had passed, their voices fading into the distance, before he moved to the side of the bridge. His fingers gripped the rough stone railing until his knuckles turned white. Then, like his fellow transmigrators, he tilted his head toward the boundless blue sky and unleashed a roar of frustration that came from the soul.
"Fuck you author!! Did I write a lengthy 5000-word review criticizing your work? Had I ever made a comment on any of your chapters? Did you ever personally give me a private message? Had I ever said something along the lines of 'I can do better than x character,' or 'I could fix this shitty story'?!"
Flap-flap Flap-flap
His voice echoed across the water, startling a flock of oddly colored birds, their wings leaving faint trails of light as they scattered into the air.
With eyes that could burn through steel, Max stared through his recalled memories of the line that mentioned "one very decisive final vote" and "hopefully improved version of the story."
So the bastard author wants the lucky me to help him with the remake, huh?
Max took a deep breath.
Let me guess my role... Am I some third-rate villain destined to get crushed by the main cast? Cannon fodder meant to die in an early chapter? A hidden boss? A notorious professor on the verge of getting kicked out? Or am I bloody...
Max tilted his head down and met the surface of the river water.
He saw the reflection of his appearance.
A young man with messy, golden-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes stared back at him. An annoyed smirk tugged at his lips. He was wearing a dark blue hoodie with lace-up details at the neckline and matching dark sweatpants.
He could tell that the figure had quite the striking handsome appearance.
A young master?
No.
"Yeah, of course that's what I ought to be..." he muttered darkly.