"Huh?!"
My breath caught in my throat. My lungs felt like they had just been forcibly pulled from the depths of the ocean.
The first thing that greeted my senses was pain. A sharp pain that spread through my ribs, as if a sledgehammer had just repeatedly struck my chest.
Slowly, my eyelids opened.
Light dan White.
It wasn't the fluorescent light of the office that usually accompanied me during overtime. This was the pure crystal light embedded in the sterile metal ceiling.
"Where am I..." My voice was hoarse, dry like grated iron.
I tried to turn my head to the right. My neck was stiff, but my eyes managed to catch the silhouette of someone sitting calmly in an iron chair.
Hilda. She was my master.
The woman sat with her legs crossed, her eyes focused on a thick leather-bound book in her hands. Her long red hair was loose, contrasting with the white lab coat she wore.
Seeing her there, a strange sensation spread through my head. It wasn't a feeling of relief, but something I found difficult to describe. Would she believe me if I told her that this world came from something I had written?
Hilda slowly closed her book and turned to me. Her gaze was sharp but calm, as if she had been waiting for this moment for hours.
"You're not yourself, Five," my master said flatly, placing the book on the table. "You look messed up."
I wanted to answer, but my tongue was tied. It felt strange to see a "fictional character" talking to me so vividly.
"If you want to ask what happened after you lost consciousness," Hilda continued, standing up and walking over to check the magic infusion in my arm. "Then I'll sum it up in one sentence: You've been unconscious for a week."
"A week?"
"Your ribs are broken. Your lungs are filled with water mixed with mana residue from that wooden robot. The organization had to work extra hard to put your bones back together without leaving you permanently disabled."
Hilda looked me straight in the eye.
"You are required to rest completely for a while. No training. No missions. Just sleep and eat."
I fell silent, staring at the white ceiling again.
One week.
That meant that for one week, while my body was in a coma, my soul would drift to the "Other World"—remembering my real life as Azka, who died from overwork.
I slowly raised my hand. A hand full of calluses, knife scars, and trained muscles.
These were not the hands of Azka, the weak scriptwriter. These were the hands of Five, the killer.
But my head was now filled with Azka's memories. I remembered the taste of cheap coffee, I remembered the noisy sound of the keyboard, I remembered the frustration when my script was torn apart by investors.
And most terrifying of all... I remembered the fate of this world.
"Master...," I call softly.
"Hm?"
"The mission in Arkana... how did it go?"
Hilda snorts softly, the corners of her lips curling into a thin, proud smirk. "A huge success. Duke was captured. His illegal weapons warehouse was destroyed. Seven played her part perfectly, thanks to your diversion."
I closed my eyes. Thank goodness.
At least one thing in this world was still going according to Azka's plan. The Duke was supposed to fall in the early chapters.
"But there's one thing that bothers me, Five," Hilda's voice turned serious.
I opened my eyes again.
"Seven's report says you defeated that wooden robot alone. That creature was designed to be immune to physical attacks. But you destroyed its energy core with unreasonable precision."
Hilda leaned her face closer, her gaze piercing my eyes.
"How did you know the weakness of that ancient creature, Five? That's not something I ever taught you."
My heart was pounding.
Here it comes. The question I can't answer honestly.
Because I wrote the character, master.
"I guess it was just luck," I lied.
Hilda stared at me for a long time, searching for the lie. But finally she sighed and straightened her body again.
"All right. Keep your secret. The important thing is that you're alive."
She turned toward the door.
"Rest. Tonight, someone wants to see you. And I don't think you'll like what they bring."
The automatic door closed, leaving me alone in suffocating silence.
Facing the reality that I live in a hell of my own making.
***
Night fell faster than I expected.
I lay still, staring blankly at the glass window that reflected my own face.
That face... was Five's face. But the look in his eyes belonged to Azka.
For the past few hours, I had been trying to sort through the memories in my head. I remembered the organization's safe code, but I also remembered the manuscript deadline. I remember how to kill with a folding knife, but I also remember the taste of the instant noodles I cooked halfway.
Two souls in one body. The Killer and the Writer.
Click.
The automatic door opened, breaking my reverie.
Hilda came back in. This time she wasn't alone. Behind her floated a small metal ball with a blue camera lens that flashed. A high-level message delivery drone.
"You haven't slept," Hilda said, placing a thick black folder on the nightstand.
"It's hard to sleep when you know your life isn't yours anymore," I replied flatly.
Hilda didn't respond to the sarcasm. She pointed to the black folder with her chin. "That's what I said this afternoon. Direct orders from the 'Old Man' at headquarters. Long-term mission. This is a priority."
I sat up straight, ignoring the pain in my ribs. "Who's the target? A corrupt official? Crazy witches? Or other nobles?"
"Just open it. You'll be surprised."
With slightly stiff fingers, I broke the magical seal on the folder.
The first page contained the target's profile. A candid photo taken from a distance.
A photo of a teenage girl.
She was sitting in the park, holding a teacup gracefully. Her long, wavy silver hair shimmered in the sunlight. Her eyes were blood red—a color rarely seen in ordinary humans. Her face was beautiful, but it radiated a cold aura of arrogance.
My breath caught in my throat.
My hands trembled so violently that the folder nearly fell.
I didn't need to read her name. I knew who she was. I was the one who designed the color of her eyes. I wrote her dysfunctional family background. I designed her tragic death.
Target: Seraphina Vox Winters. The only daughter of the Northern Duke of the Kingdom of Nus.
"Beautiful, isn't she?" Hilda's voice broke the panic in my head. "She's nicknamed 'The Ice Princess'. But don't be fooled by her face. Intelligence reports say she has a terrible temper and terrifying magical talent."
"What..." my voice trembled. "What's the mission? Elimination?"
Please, say elimination. If the mission is to kill her now, I can save this world from apocalypse.
Hilda shook her head.
"This mission is to protect her."
My heart felt like it was about to fall out.
"You will enroll as a new student at the Royal Celestia Academy this year. That girl will also be enrolling in the academy this year," Hilda continued. "Your job is to be her shadow. Make sure she stays alive until she graduates. Make sure no other faction touches her."
"Protect her?!" I exclaimed, "Didn't you say her magical talent was dangerous?"
Hilda looked at me strangely. "Of course she's dangerous. She's a high-level noble. But why do you look so panicked?"
I bit my lip so hard it bled.
Hilda didn't know. No one knew.
That the girl in this photo wasn't just a spoiled noble. She was the Villainess. She was the key to the destruction of the world. If she stayed alive, one day her body would be taken over by the Outer God, and the world would end.
This organization was crazy. They wanted to protect a time bomb that would blow them all up.
"I refuse," I said quickly. "Send someone else. Send Three. Or Seven."
"We can't," Hilda cut in firmly. "Three is too conspicuous. Seven is too young to enter the Academy. Only you, Five. You have the brains for the entrance exam and the ability to survive in that snake pit."
Hilda approached, grabbing my shoulders.
"I don't know what your problem is. But this order is absolute. If you refuse, you will be considered a traitor. And you know what the punishment is for traitors to The Numbers."
Death penalty.
I fell silent. My mind raced.
If I refused, I would be killed by the organization. If I accepted, I would have to protect the cause of the world's apocalypse.
But... wait.
Azka the Writer's brain started working.
In my original script, Seraphina became evil and desperate because she was alone. Because no one protected her from political intrigue and people's hatred. Because the Protagonist was busy with the Saintess and ignored her.
It was that despair that broke her soul and allowed the Outer God to enter.
What if...
What if I changed the manuscript?
What if I, the Writer of this world, disguised myself as a Supporting Character and was there for her? What if I prevented her from falling into despair?
If I could keep Seraphina's mental state stable... maybe the destruction of the world would never happen.
I looked at the photo of the silver-haired girl again. Her haughty gaze seemed to challenge me. 'You wrote my fate like this. Now, do you dare to fix it?'
I closed the folder.
"All right," I said softly. "I'll take the mission."
Hilda smiled contentedly. "Good. I knew you were a smart kid. You will register and take the test as a new student at the academy one month from now."
She turned to leave, but I called her back.
"Master."
"Yes?"
"From now on, don't call me Five."
I stared at my reflection in the glass window. Five's cold face, mixed with Azka's burning soul.
"Call me Leon."
Hilda paused for a moment, then nodded.
"Alright."
The door closed.
And in the silence of that room, I swore.
I won't let this world crumble according to my writing. I'll tear up that damn script and write a Happy Ending with my own hands.
*****
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