The face in the mirror did not belong to me.
Cold water dripped from my chin, landing on the porcelain basin with a rhythmic, maddening tap, tap, tap. I gripped the edges of the sink until my knuckles turned white, staring at the stranger in the reflection.
Pale skin that looked like it hadn't seen the sun in months. Sharp, somewhat malnourished features. Messy, ash-grey hair that fell over eyes of the same dull color. It was a face designed to be forgotten. A face that you would pass in a crowd and never recall a second later.
"Aren," I whispered, testing the weight of the name on my tongue. It tasted like ash.
Three days ago, I was a university student on Earth. I was sitting in a comfortable chair, typing a furious review on a web novel forum. I was criticizing Dawn of Aether, a popular high-fantasy novel that had started strong but descended into a mess of plot holes, deus ex machina moments, and a protagonist who survived solely because the author loved him.
I had written: "This world makes no sense. The side characters are just meat shields. If I were in this story, I wouldn't follow the hero—I'd shoot him to save everyone the trouble."
Be careful what you type in the dark. The universe, it seems, has a twisted sense of irony.
I didn't die in a truck accident. I didn't get summoned by a goddess. I simply went to sleep in my dorm room and woke up here, in a dormitory room that smelled of ozone and old parchment, inside the body of a character I had mocked.
Aren. First-year student at the Babel Academy. Status: Commoner. Role: Named Extra. Destiny: To be decapitated by a stray Void Beast in Chapter 5, serving as a gruesome example to motivate the Hero.
I looked down at the crumpled piece of paper on the vanity. It was my enrollment form.
[Name: Aren] [Affiliation: Commoner Faction] [Arche Ability: Mirage] [Assessed Rank: C (Defective)]
"Defective," I muttered, tracing the word with a wet finger.
To the mages of this world, my ability was a party trick. Mirage. I could bend light to create small visual illusions. I could make a coin look like it was floating, or change the color of a flower. In a world where people could summon meteors or cleave mountains with wind blades, I was useless.
Or so they thought.
I closed my eyes and focused inward. It was a strange sensation, like reaching for a limb I never knew I had. In the darkness of my mind, a screen flickered to life. It wasn't the standard blue game window I had read about in fanfictions. It was a jagged, glitching tear in my consciousness.
[System Error: External Soul Detected]
[Synchronization Complete] [Ability Analysis Updated] [Arche: Mirage] [True Rank: ??? (Reality Distortion)]
I opened my eyes. A small, green apple sat on the corner of the desk. I focused on it. I didn't use mana to burn it. I didn't use telekinesis to lift it. I simply... lied to the universe. That apple is rotten, I told the reality around me.
The air shimmered. A subtle distortion, like heat rising from asphalt. In an instant, the fresh green skin of the apple withered. Brown spots bloomed and spread like a cancer. The fruit collapsed in on itself, oozing a foul liquid. The sweet scent of the room was replaced by the stinging odor of decay.
It wasn't an illusion. I touched the rot. It was real. The Academy's sensors judged me based on raw mana output, which was indeed low. But they couldn't measure concept. My lie had become the truth.
"If I use this too much, my brain will melt," I reminded myself, feeling a sharp throb behind my left temple. The cost of altering reality was high. But it was a weapon. The only weapon I had against the script that wanted me dead.
A deep, resonating horn blast shattered the morning silence. The Entrance Ceremony. The stage was set. The actors were ready. And it was time for the extra to make his debut.
Babel Academy was a fortress disguised as a school. Built on the edge of the human domain, it was a colossal structure of black obsidian and white marble, piercing the grey clouds like a spear. It was the last bastion of the Human Alliance against the Demon Lords who ruled the scorched lands beyond the Horizon.
The courtyard was a sea of nervous energy. Thousands of new students streamed through the massive gates. The segregation was immediate and brutal.
On the left, bathed in the morning light, stood the Nobles. They were easy to spot. Their uniforms were tailored silk, embroidered with the crests of Dukes and Counts. They held their wands and staffs with relaxed arrogance, chatting loudly, laughing. To them, this was just another social club. A place to make connections before inheriting their fathers' armies.
On the right, huddled in the shadows of the high walls, were the Commoners. We wore the standard-issue, rough grey robes. We didn't laugh. We looked at the ground, or cast fearful glances at the Nobles. We were the "Mutation Cases"—peasants who had randomly manifested mana. In the eyes of the Academy, we were cannon fodder. Useful for holding the front line while the "real" mages cast their spells.
I pulled my hood deeper over my face, blending into the grey mass. I scanned the faces around me. I recognized some of them from the novel descriptions. There was the nervous girl with the earth affinity who would die in the first exam. There was the burly boy from the north who would betray the humans for a demon contract in Volume 3.
Knowledge, I thought. It's sharper than any sword.
Suddenly, the chatter died out. It didn't taper off; it was strangled. A pressure descended on the courtyard. It felt as if gravity itself had increased twofold. My knees buckled slightly, and I saw several weaker students collapse to the ground, gasping for air.
A figure descended from the high balcony, floating gently despite the crushing atmosphere he projected. Lord Varic. The Head Instructor. A man with hair like steel wool and eyes that looked like they had seen too many autopsies. His Arche: [Gravity].
He landed on the podium without a sound. The pressure lifted instantly, leaving thousands of students gasping for breath.
"Look at you," Varic's voice boomed. He didn't shout, but his voice echoed in our chests. "Soft. Weak. Pathetic."
He paced the stage, his black cape flowing like a shadow. "Your parents told you that you are special because you can light a candle with your mind. The newspapers tell you that the war against the Demons is a stalemate, that the Holy Barrier is holding strong."
Varic stopped. He leaned forward, gripping the podium. "Lies."
The word hung in the air. "The Barrier has three fractures in the Northern Sector. The Demon Lord Zogroth has already claimed the Amber Valley. We are not winning. We are slowly bleeding to death. You are not here to learn how to wave wands. You are here to become weapons. And if you break during the forging process... you will be discarded."
A terrified silence swallowed the courtyard. The Nobles looked uncomfortable. The reality check was harsh. I kept my expression blank, but inside, I nodded. Varic was brutal, but he was honest. However, he didn't know the half of it. He didn't know that two of the Professors sitting behind him were high-ranking spies for the Cult of Ash. He didn't know that the curriculum itself was sabotaged to limit the growth of commoners.
"Today," Varic continued, "we determine your worth. The Potential Stone."
He gestured to a large, pulsating crystal on a pedestal. It glowed with a rhythmic blue light. "Touch the stone. Pour your mana into it. It will measure your capacity, your affinity, and your soul's density. Rank S to F. This rank will determine your dorm, your resources, and your future."
The testing began. It was a monotonous parade of mediocrity. "Rank D!" "Rank C!" "Rank D-minus!"
Occasionally, a Noble would step up. "Rank B!" The crowd would polite clap. "Rank A!" A gasp would ripple through the students.
And then, the moment arrived. The climax of Chapter 1.
"Kaelen Valorius!"
The name acted like a spark in a powder keg. Whispers erupted like wildfire. "Valorius? The Duke's son?" "The one born with the Sun Arche?" "I heard he killed a goblin at age five."
From the front row of the Nobles, a boy stepped forward. He was... annoyingly perfect. Golden hair that seemed to catch the limited sunlight. Eyes the color of polished sapphires. His uniform was white and gold, pristine, without a single wrinkle. He walked with a bounce in his step, waving to the crowd as if he were already a celebrity.
Kaelen Valorius. The Protagonist. The "Chosen One."
I watched him with cold, analytical eyes. In the book, Kaelen was a classic hero. Brave, kind, and incredibly naive. He believed in the power of friendship. He believed everyone could be saved. And because of that stupidity, in the original timeline, his hesitation allowed the Demons to breach the inner sanctum. Thousands died because he wanted to "redeem" a villain instead of killing him.
If he succeeds today, if he gets the S-Rank and becomes the Academy's idol, he will gain political power. He will steer the student council. He will make the decisions. And he will lead us all to the grave.
'I can't let that happen,' I thought. 'The narrative needs a rewrite.'
Kaelen bounded up the stairs to the podium. He stood before the Potential Stone, grinning. He looked at Lord Varic, who gave him a rare, approving nod.
"Show us the light of House Valorius," Varic said.
"Watch this!" Kaelen announced to the crowd.
He raised his right hand. His palm began to glow. It was intense. Even from the back of the crowd, I could feel the heat. It was pure, condensed solar energy. The [Sun Arche]. Destructive and majestic.
In the script, he touches the stone. The stone beams a pillar of light into the sky. The clouds part. The Headmaster descends to shake his hand. The legend begins.
I narrowed my eyes. My headache was still lingering from the apple, but I had enough left in the tank. I didn't need to overpower him. I couldn't. His mana was an ocean; mine was a cup. But I didn't need to stop the ocean. I just needed to move the shore.
[Skill Activated: Mirage - Refraction]
I focused on the space between Kaelen's hand and the stone. I didn't create a fake image. I simply compressed the light waves reaching Kaelen's retinas. I altered his depth perception. To Kaelen, the Potential Stone appeared to be three inches closer than it actually was.
His brain, relying on his eyes, sent the command to his muscles: Stop extending. Release energy now.
Kaelen thrust his glowing palm forward with confidence. He expected the cold, hard surface of the crystal to absorb the impact. Instead, his hand met empty air.
The look of confusion that flashed across his handsome face was priceless. "Huh?"
He had already released the flow of mana. The highly condensed solar flare, finding no vessel to absorb it, detonated right in his open palm.
BOOOOM!
It wasn't a nuclear explosion, but it was loud. A shockwave of golden fire blasted outward from his hand. Because he wasn't braced for impact, the recoil threw him backward violently. "Gah!" Kaelen flew off the podium, his arms flailing comically. He tumbled down the stairs, his pristine white cape catching fire. He landed face-first in the dirt of the commoner section, rolling around frantically.
"Hot! Hot! Put it out!" he shrieked, his voice cracking.
The grand silence that followed was heavier than Varic's gravity. The "Chosen One" wasn't bathed in holy light. He was rolling in the mud, smelling of singed hair, screaming like a toddler who touched a hot stove.
"What... what just happened?" someone whispered. "He missed?" "How do you miss a stationary rock?" "Is he... incompetent?"
Lord Varic stared at the empty podium, then at the groaning boy in the dirt. His expression darkened. Disappointment. "Careless," Varic muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Zero control. If that was a grenade, you would have just killed your entire squad."
Kaelen scrambled to his feet, his face red with humiliation and soot. "No! Wait! It... the stone moved! I swear!"
"The stone," Varic said, pointing to the heavy crystal bolted to the granite floor, "did not move, Mr. Valorius. Get back in line. Rank assessment: Inconclusive. Tentative C-Rank until retrial."
Tentative C-Rank. The same rank as me. The Hero had been dragged down to the mud.
A murmur of mockery rippled through the Noble faction. They respected power. They despised failure. Kaelen's political capital had just evaporated before he even attended his first class.
I stood in the back, my hands tucked into the sleeves of my grey robe. A droplet of blood trickled from my nose—the strain of manipulating the perception of an S-Rank mage. I wiped it away quickly.
No one looked at me. No one suspected the pale, thin boy in the back. Why would they? I was just an extra. A background character.
I looked at Kaelen, who was frantically trying to explain himself to a skeptical girl who was supposed to be his future love interest. She looked embarrassed to be near him.
A cold, dark satisfaction settled in my chest. The script was broken. The tracks were destroyed. The train had derailed, and now, I could build my own path through the wreckage.
"Welcome to the real world, Hero," I whispered into the cold wind.
I turned away from the stage. The ceremony was boring now. I had work to do. I needed to find a certain psychopath before the dorm assignments were finalized. A Berserker who craved silence.
My first pawn.