There were exactly three things wrong with the situation.
First, the ceiling above him was made of stone.
Second, the bed was so firm it felt personally offended by the concept of comfort.
Third, he had a number stitched onto his sleeve.
317
He stared at it for a long moment, waiting for his brain to correct itself. Maybe this was a dream. Maybe he had fallen asleep reading. Maybe this was one of those vivid imagination episodes people on the internet always warned about.
His brain did not correct anything.
Instead, memory arrived. Not gently. Not politely. It crashed into him all at once.
Astraea Grand Academy. First year dormitory. Orientation week. Mana assessment tomorrow. Midterm dungeon in thirty seven days.
Death in thirty seven days.
Ah.
That was inconvenient.
He sat up slowly.
The room matched the novel description with disturbing accuracy. Narrow window. Iron framed bed. Academy crest carved into the wardrobe. Even the faint scent in the air that suggested lingering mana, sharp and metallic like air before lightning.
He remembered finishing the final chapter of Radiance of the Blade Saint. He remembered thinking the ending felt rushed. He remembered closing his laptop.
He did not remember dying.
Which felt like an important detail that had been skipped.
He looked down at himself.
Lean build. Slightly underfed. Calluses on his palms from basic drills. Brown hair. Face so average it would lose in a competition against wallpaper.
Of course.
Not the protagonist.
Not the villain.
Not even a named side character.
Cadet number 317.
Background student.
Appears briefly in chapter twelve.
Dies in chapter twenty one during the dungeon collapse.
No dialogue.
Not even a dramatic scream.
He rubbed his face slowly.
Okay, he muttered to the empty room. We can work with this.
A soft chime echoed inside his head.
Not from the hallway.
From inside.
A translucent blue screen unfolded in front of his vision.
__________________________________________
| Chronicle Distortion Interface Activated
| Original Plot Alignment 100%
| Anomaly Detected
| Unrecorded Variable Inserted
| Survival Probability 12 percent
|__________________________________________
He blinked.
Twelve !?
The number remained there, calm and unbothered.
He glanced around the room as if the system might be hiding behind the wardrobe, waiting to apologize for a typo.
It did not.
Twelve percent, he repeated quietly. I have had better odds crossing the street without looking.
More text appeared.
__________________________________________
| Title Acquired - Unrecorded Existence
| Effect - You are not bound by narrative protection
| You are not protected by fate
| You are not remembered by the script
|__________________________________________
He leaned back slightly.
That is not a title. That is a legal disclaimer.
No narrative protection.
Which meant the protagonist had something he did not.
Plot armor.
If the hero tripped, he would discover a hidden technique manual.
If he tripped, he would discover gravity.
He stood and walked to the window.
The courtyard of Astraea Grand Academy stretched below him. Students in black and silver uniforms crossed the stone pathways in small groups. Laughter. Confidence. The casual energy of people who believed they mattered.
Most of them did.
Some were destined to become legends.
Some were destined to betray those legends.
And one of them was practicing alone near the far side of the courtyard.
Silver hair caught the morning light. A wooden training sword cut through the air in clean arcs. No wasted motion. No hesitation. Each strike precise and sharp.
The future Blade Saint.
The protagonist.
The man who would one day save the continent.
Currently sweating slightly and looking mildly annoyed at the universe.
Seeing a fictional character breathe was deeply unsettling.
The hero finished a strike and paused.
For half a second, his gaze shifted.
Their eyes met.
The protagonist's expression did not change, but the pause lasted a fraction longer than it should have.
A faint notification flickered in his vision.
__________________________________________
| Plot Distortion Detected.
| Original Scene - Hero does not notice Cadet #317
| Current Timeline - Eye contact established
| Divergence +0.02%
|__________________________________________
The silver haired boy frowned faintly before returning to practice.
Cadet 317 exhaled slowly.
I have not even brushed my teeth and I am already altering destiny.
He stepped away from the window.
Think.
Midterm dungeon in thirty seven days.
Original outcome. Structural collapse triggered by a corrupted core. Secondary cause hidden monster evolution. Casualties numerous unnamed students.
Including him.
Because he was in the wrong corridor at the wrong time.
Solution.
Do not be in that corridor.
Simple.
Except the novel made it clear that the collapse was manipulated.
Which meant avoiding it might not be enough.
Another screen appeared.
__________________________
| Fatal Flag Detected
| Event - Midterm Dungeon Examination
| Probability of Death - 78%
| Condition - Remains passive
|__________________________
He stared at the final line.
Remains passive.
Oh.
So doing nothing raised the chance of dying.
Interfering lowered it.
Right. Of course. The universe rewards initiative. How inspiring.
He walked to the small desk and examined the academy schedule.
Mana assessment tomorrow.
Combat placement the day after.
Duel evaluations for scholarship students in three days.
He paused.
Duel evaluations.
In the early chapters of the novel, a noble faction rigged a duel to humiliate a silver haired aura prodigy. The scene existed to showcase her talent before the protagonist officially befriended her.
She won.
But barely.
The injury she sustained weakened her during the dungeon arc.
Which contributed to the chaos later.
His gaze drifted back toward the courtyard.
Silver hair.
Perfect form.
Annoyingly important.
If he interfered, divergence would increase.
If he did not, seventy eight percent.
He flexed his fingers.
No aura yet. No refined mana control. Just standard academy level basics.
Weak.
Painfully weak.
Well, he said quietly, here is the good news.
The room remained silent.
I am not important.
The system flickered faintly.
If I am not important, he continued, then I can move between the important pieces.
A small smile formed on his face. Not heroic. Not dramatic. More like someone who realized the game was unfair and decided to play anyway.
Thirty seven days, he muttered.
He picked up the wooden practice staff leaning against the wall.
Time to stop being background decoration.
As he stepped toward the door, the system pulsed again.
_______________________________
| New Objective Generated
| Increase Survival Probability Above 20%
| Reward - Basic Skill Unlock
|______________________________
He stared at it.
Twenty percent. You really set the bar high.
The door creaked open.
The hallway buzzed with first year chatter and the nervous energy of people chasing glory.
Cadet 317 stepped into it.
Not a hero.
Not a villain.
Not even a side character.
Just a boy who was not supposed to survive.
And who found that extremely rude.