The text box appeared without warning.
Black ink letters, floating calmly in front of my face—identical to the ones that spoke to Asura when the System or the Aetherborn decided to intervene.
My appearance hadn't changed.
I was still standing among the bodies. But didn't face them.
Blood had dried around their eyes. Their expressions were frozen mid-collapse, as if reality itself had given up halfway through understanding what had happened to them.
And in front of all that—
A cheerful greeting.
"Hello. I'm sure you know who I am."
I stared at the text.
"…You sound excited," I said.
It was excited. Almost vibrating through the letters.
Which was annoying.
Because this wasn't a system.
Not really.
This wasn't an entity.
This was me.
Not Kaeru.
The other one.
The one from the meta world.
The real world.
The author.
I could feel it.
See it.
Sense it.
Distance didn't matter.
Reality layers didn't matter.
Even if I ascended to a higher narrative stratum—or fell into a story that wasn't even my own—I would still be able to perceive it.
And it would still be able to perceive me.
Talking to it felt strange.
But also… easy.
Familiar.
Like talking to myself in the shower.
"…Why—" I began.
"I know," the text cut in immediately.
"You're not about to ask why you're here."
I paused.
"…I was going to finish that sentence."
"You don't need to," it replied.
"Because you already know the answer."
I exhaled through my nose.
"No. You're toying with me. If you'd let me finish, you'd hear my actual question."
There was a brief pause.
Then—
"You know me so well."
It laughed.
Which was unfair, because it did.
I crossed my arms and glanced briefly at the bodies again, then back to the floating text.
"Fine. Let's skip ahead. Why did you give me a system?"
The answer came instantly.
"You know the answer to that too."
"…Yeah," I admitted. "I do."
I hesitated, then added, "But they don't."
The letters flickered faintly.
"I'm not asking for me," I continued. "I'm asking for the readers. They're going to wonder why the author—why we—would need a system at all."
"Wow," the text replied warmly.
"Look at you. Thinking of them."
"That's so sweet."
I ignored that.
"They'll ask why this story exists," I said. "Why start a new one when The Demon Prince Who Plays Protagonist isn't even finished yet."
The pause this time was longer.
Then—
"Because I was bored."
I smiled faintly.
"That's not the full truth."
"No," it admitted.
"But it's the version that won't break immersion."
Fair enough.
I let it go.
Some answers were better left off-page.
"Alright," I said. "Move on."
The text shifted slightly.
Annoying.
The system—my system—began explaining itself. Or rather, explaining around itself.
Not to me.
To them.
It spoke like narration pretending to be dialogue. Clarifying just enough. Withholding the rest.
And finally—
"You may refer to me as your Author-System."
"My name is Kaediel."
"…Of course it is," I muttered.
It outlined what it could do.
Not everything.
Not even close.
Just enough to establish rules without overwhelming the chapter.
Then it shifted tone.
"Suggestion One:"
"Manifest your Narrative Avatar."
The river reflection form.
The humanoid version of something unreadable.
"I already know that," I said flatly. "You don't need to make suggestions for me. It's a waste of time."
"I know," Kaediel replied cheerfully.
"But it's more fun if I play the part, isn't it?"
"…Barely."
I sighed. "Just continue. This conversation has gone on long enough. They'll get bored."
"Relax," Kaediel said.
"I'm building."
"You love oversharing," I replied. "And when you reread this later, don't you dare cut things out like you did with Chapter 4 and mix up the draft and the final version again."
There was an immediate response.
"Don't talk about that."
"Keep it buried."
I smirked.
"Thought so."
A beat passed.
Then the text shifted again.
"Suggestion Two—and the final one for now:"
"Test your powers."
The letters lingered in the air.
Waiting.