stepped toward that gray metal box as if it were the last straw a drowning man clings to in a sea of absurdity.
A desktop computer. What an ancient, comforting relic in this disturbingly sleek futuristic world… At least this thing didn't look like it would judge my taste in music or analyze my brainwaves.
I leaned down and pressed the power button.
"Ding—!"
A faint hum sounded with a small green light, and then a loading logo appeared on the slightly outdated flat screen.
Please, please be simple, I prayed silently.
Then, of course, a password screen appeared.
"Damn it…" I muttered under my breath, barely audible.
Why did everything have to be complicated? Wasn't it enough that I had woken up in someone else's body in a world that looked like it had crawled out of the dreams of a drunken science-fiction writer?
I looked around in desperation. No sticky notes, no obvious hints.
Then I remembered the ID card. Adam Lister.
Date of birth? Let's try it.
Password incorrect.
"Alright, that was a pretty stupid option… even for me."
"123456?"
Password incorrect.
I was starting to feel like this computer was personally mocking me.
What would an orphan from the "Flower of Hope Orphanage" use as a password? I wondered.
Something about hope? Flowers? Eternal loneliness?
I tried "FlowerOfHope."
Password incorrect.
"Hope123."
Password incorrect.
Then, as if a spark of sanity finally decided to visit me, I remembered the username that had flashed briefly.
AdamL
It can't be that stupid… can it?
I tried "AdamL" as the password.
Password correct. Welcome, Adam Lister.
"…Pfft."
A short, dry laugh escaped me, completely devoid of humor.
"Sometimes," I whispered to myself, "stupidity really is a blessing. Or at least it makes life a little easier for body-snatchers like me."
The desktop appeared.
It was suspiciously clean.
An icon for an old internet browser.
A recycle bin.
That was it.
"Either Adam Lister was a pathological minimalist… or he didn't have much to do with this thing."
I double-clicked the browser icon with almost painful eagerness. It took what felt like an entire century to open, and the default search engine was something I had never heard of before.
LuminaSearch.
"Well… at least it's not Bing."
The first thing I typed, with fingers still trembling slightly, was:
"Today's date."
The results appeared instantly—something that surprised me considering the computer's age.
The date was…
August 27, 2054.
"…2054?"
I felt my heart suddenly drop.
I had assumed I was in the future—but not that far.
Did I fall into a coma for thirty years and wake up in the body of an orphaned model?
That explained a lot of the insane technology I had seen.
But it didn't explain why I had suddenly become a model.
The next step was obvious.
Latest world news.
I clicked Search.
The headlines that appeared made the blood freeze in my veins.
C-Rank Gate Attack in Industrial Sector 7 of Nova Tokyo — No Civilian Casualties Thanks to Intervention by the Crimson Steel Team.
Outstanding Success at Vanguard Academy — Second-Year Team Brilliantly Clears the B-Rank Horror Story "Swamp of Dread."
United Earth Alliance (UEA) Announces New Security Protocols for Handling Narrative Rifts.
Is Explorer Lionel's Shadow Control Skill the Strongest of His Generation? Heated Debate on the Explorers' Legends Forum.
Gates.
Horror stories.
Explorers.
UEA.
Skills.
Each word struck my head like a hammer.
The terminology felt familiar… terrifyingly familiar.
This was the language that filled the pages of my favorite novel:
"The Vanguard Academy Chronicles."
No.
No.
No—absolutely not.
These are just common sci-fi terms, my mind screamed. Cheap fiction. Any world could use them.
But a part of me—the cursed part that always knew the bitter truth—whispered:
You know that's not true, Adam.
With a hand trembling like that of an old man, I typed the name of the academy that stood at the center of the novel.
Vanguard Academy.
The results appeared like a slap to the face.
The academy's official website.
The same emblem I had imagined hundreds of times—a silver shield bearing a glowing blue flame.
A picture of the towering main building in the city of—
Right.
The city.
I hurriedly typed Zenith City into the search bar.
Images appeared of the futuristic metropolis I had briefly glimpsed from my window.
Twisting skyscrapers piercing the sky.
Sleek aerial vehicles gliding between them.
Hanging gardens that looked like they were defying gravity.
Below the images was a description:
Zenith City — Capital of the United Earth Alliance and home to the prestigious Vanguard Academy, the global center for research into Narrative Phenomena.
Narrative Phenomena.
That was the official name the novel used for "stories."
I felt the air leave my lungs.
I couldn't deny it anymore.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't a hallucination.
And I wasn't crazy—
…at least, not completely. Not yet.
I was here.
Inside the world of "The Vanguard Academy Chronicles."
The novel I had been obsessively reading just before… before what?
Hours ago? Days?
I didn't even know anymore.
I had been one of the few readers who analyzed every character and mocked the protagonist's stupid decisions…
The novel whose plot I practically knew by heart…
had become reality.
"…Heh… haha…"
I buried my face in my hands as a toxic mixture of terror and hysterical laughter tightened around my throat.
"This… this is ridiculous," I whispered, my voice barely escaping.
To be thrown into a fictional world—
not as the hero who would change everything,
not even as a side character with some role to play.
Wait… hold on.
Who the hell am I, really?
Adam Lister—the handsome orphan with great hair? What role am I supposed to play in this farce? Am I just an extra who's going to die in chapter three?
I took a deep breath, desperately trying to regain even a shred of composure.
Alright, Adam. You've hit rock bottom.
You are officially a character in a web novel.
The good news? You know the plot.
The bad news? The plot involves a lot of death and suffering—and you're probably not immune to any of it.
I looked back at the screen, my eyes drifting over the painfully familiar words.
If this really was the world of the novel, then that meant everything in it was real.
The Gates.
The terrifying "Stories" that manifest into reality.
Indescribable entities…
And the supernatural skills people possessed.
And if skills are real…
A flicker of hope—or maybe just morbid curiosity—began forming in my mind.
Did I inherit the original Adam Lister's skill?
Did I have anything—anything at all—that could help me survive the hell I had just become part of?
In the novel, most people had a Status Screen that displayed their basic information and skills…
How did they activate it again?
Did it appear automatically when you thought about it?
Or was there some kind of voice command?
"Status," I said out loud hesitantly, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me.
Nothing happened.
Of course nothing happened.
When were things ever that easy?
"Show status," I tried again, a little louder this time, as if I expected the old computer to respond.
Silence.
Nothing but the faint hum of the aging machine.
Damn it all.
I felt my frustration rising.
Great. No skills.
Just a handsome face and a brain full of knowledge about how a lot of people were going to die.
What a unique combination.
I leaned back in the chair, feeling as if every ounce of energy had drained from my body.
This was too much.
The transmigration.
The new body.
The new world.
The novel that had turned into reality…
My mind was screaming for a break—or maybe a heavy dose of sedatives.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to breathe.
What am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to survive in a place like this without anything?
Should I start writing a diary titled "Things I Want to Do Before I Die"?
Then suddenly—
As if the universe had decided my sarcasm deserved some kind of response—
I felt a strange, distinct sensation in front of my half-closed eyelids.
It wasn't pain.
It was… a presence.
I slowly opened my eyes, my heart beating with cautious anticipation.
There it was.
A semi-transparent blue screen, floating gracefully in the air right in front of me—like something straight out of the video games I used to play.
I stared at the translucent blue panel that had appeared out of nowhere, my heart pounding in my chest like a trapped bird trying to break the bars of its cage.
A status screen…?
I thought, disbelief and desperate hope washing over me.
Did this mean…
I wasn't just a completely ordinary extra in this ridiculous story?
The screen displayed the information clearly and simply.
Name: Adam Lister
Age: 16
Rank: F−
Physical Statistics
Strength: F−
Agility: F
Endurance: F−
Intelligence: C
Perception: F−
Mana: F− (Inactive)
Skills
Modest Focus (F)
Slightly increases concentration for short periods.
F minus rank…
My eyes lingered on the word next to Rank.
Lower than rock bottom.
Not even a clean F.
An F minus.
It was like the system was politely trying to tell me that I was exceptionally worthless.
Then I saw:
Mana: F− (Inactive)
Great.
Even my potential magical ability was apparently on extended vacation.
Or maybe it just hadn't been born yet.
I stopped breathing for a moment as I stared at those catastrophic physical stats.
F minus for strength and endurance.
F for agility.
Is this body made of matchsticks and wet cardboard? I screamed internally.
Even my grandmother—rest her soul—could probably beat me in an arm-wrestling match with numbers like these.
How was I supposed to survive in Vanguard Academy, a place filled with human monsters and literal monsters, with stats this pathetic?
Intelligence: C and Perception: F− were the only bright spots in this ocean of physical weakness.
At least I wasn't completely stupid.
That was something.
Maybe… just maybe… I could think my way out of dying.
Then, beneath the stats, there was the skill:
Modest Focus (F)
"…Heh."
A dry, bitter laugh escaped my lips.
"Perfect," I whispered with biting sarcasm.
Physical stats that make a snail look like an Olympic champion, a general rank that practically screams easy prey, and a luxurious skill that allows me to focus modestly on how terrible my situation is.
I was just about ready to find the nearest wall to repeatedly test its durability with my head—or perhaps test whether I could damage the wall more than it could damage me—
when something completely unexpected happened.
"Bzzzsh!"
The blue screen in front of me suddenly began to shake violently.
The colors overlapped.
The words blurred.
What the hell now? I wondered, anxiety rising in my chest.
Had even my status screen decided it couldn't tolerate my miserable existence and was about to submit its resignation?
Then—
In large, flashing, blood-red letters, a single word appeared across the screen, as if it were screaming directly at me.
[E… R… R… O… R]
[ERROR]
[ERROR]
Recalibrating system…
Narrative anomaly detected.
Please wait…
System integrity at risk… Attempting repair…
Error?
Recalibration?
Narrative anomaly detected?
Am I the "narrative anomaly"?
Does that mean I'm some kind of virus in their system?
Are they going to delete me like a corrupted file?
My heart started pounding like war drums.
The error messages and recalibration process continued for several seconds that felt like an eternity, accompanied by a sharp electronic buzzing that pierced my eardrums and made my teeth grind together.
Then—just as suddenly as the chaos had begun—
It stopped.
The screen cleared again.
But it wasn't the same anymore.
The physical stats section and my overall rank remained exactly the same—painfully and frustratingly unchanged.
So no quick miracles.
I was still as weak as a soaked kitten in a snowstorm.
But at least I hadn't been deleted.
However—
The skills section had changed drastically.
The line that used to show:
[Modest Focus (F)]
had completely vanished, as if it had never existed.
And in its place appeared a new line written in glowing golden letters, radiating a strange aura that seemed to mock every rule of this world—and every F-rank in existence.
[Skills]
Narrative Architect Blueprint (EX)
The ability to analyze and understand the underlying structure and logical patterns of any manifested "Narrative" or "Story." Reveals hidden conditions, loopholes, and multiple possibilities within the narrative.
Note: The nature of this skill exceeds known standard classifications. It cannot be fully evaluated or understood and cannot be upgraded through conventional means.
I stared at the words.
My brain struggled desperately to process what I was seeing.
Narrative Architect Blueprint.
Rank…
EX.
EX.
I repeated the two letters in my mind like they were a bad joke written by a lazy author.
What the hell does EX even mean?
In The Vanguard Academy Chronicles—the novel that had now become my personal prison—the highest rank any hero or ambitious villain could dream of was SSS.
There was no such thing as EX.
Was this another glitch in the damned system that apparently loved errors?
Or was I so special that I broke their stupid ranking scale?
The note beneath it didn't help my sanity either:
"Exceeds known classifications… cannot be fully evaluated… cannot be upgraded by conventional means."
It practically screamed:
You're a special case. Enjoy your complicated uniqueness.
I looked back at the skill description and read it slowly, word by word, forcing my mind to process it instead of escaping into the comfort of denial.
Analyze and understand the structure and logical patterns of any narrative… reveal hidden conditions… loopholes… multiple possibilities…
So…
It was a purely analytical skill?
The picture began to form in my mind.
And it was incredibly ironic.
Not combat.
Not magic.
Not something that boosted my pathetic physical stats enough to stop me from crying.
Just…
The ability to understand stories better.
Like a literary critic who had suddenly been promoted to ruler of the world—while still wearing pajamas.
Then, like a bolt of pure cosmic irony, the full realization hit me.
An EX-rank skill.
A skill nobody had ever heard of.
A skill that transcended everything known…
And it was basically a literature analysis ability—
in a world where literature is actively trying to eat you alive.
Meanwhile, my physical stats and overall rank were still screaming:
Easy prey. Come eat me.
"KYAAHAHAHA!"
I burst out laughing.
It wasn't a normal laugh.
It was wild, hysterical laughter, overflowing with such dark irony that my throat started to hurt and my stomach muscles cramped as if they'd been electrocuted.
I laughed until hot tears gathered at the corners of my eyes, threatening to spill down my pale cheeks.
I laughed at the absurdity of it all.
At the cruelty of the situation.
At this joke that had become my new life.
A joke whose punchline I seemed to be the only one who understood.
"Of course!" I shouted toward the empty ceiling, laughter still breaking my breath and making my body tremble.
"Of course this is what I'd get! An EX skill… so I can become the best novel critic in a world that's about to turn me into a snack for a C-rank monster, thanks to my combat stats that barely surpass those of a sick earthworm!"
"This… this is the most amazing, stupid, and disgustingly logical thing I've ever heard in my short and tragically new life."
Narrative Architect.
What a grand title for a skill whose main function seemed to be giving me a front-row VIP seat, complete with 3D glasses, to watch how I die.
I looked again at the status screen.
At those glowing golden words:
Narrative Architect Blueprint (EX).
And behind them—
my miserable physical stats that hadn't improved even a single point, as if they were determined to constantly remind me how pathetically fragile I was.
Alright, Adam Lister, I thought, as a trace of stubborn defiance began creeping into my burning sarcasm—like a tiny flame struggling in a snowstorm.
It seems the universe has decided to give you a uniquely strange role in this ridiculous bloody play.
Either you find a way to use this "gift" to make all those high-rank fighters look like amateurs in front of your logic…
Or you'll become the most ridiculous footnote in the entire history of The Vanguard Academy Chronicles.
"Or maybe," I muttered without even realizing I was speaking aloud,
"just maybe…
both."
I closed the status screen with a deliberate thought, and a faint wave of dizziness washed over me from the storm of emotions I had just gone through.
The room suddenly felt quieter.
The cold light seemed less hostile—almost as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what I would do next.
I was still afraid down to my bones.
Still confused to the point of madness.
But now… there was something else stirring in my chest.
Something small.
Faint.
Yet stubborn, like a stone that refused to be moved.
A spark of twisted curiosity.
And maybe—just maybe—
a hint of foolish determination.
An EX skill.
An F− rank.
In a world where stories had become reality.
"This is going to be a fun kind of hell," I whispered to myself.
A thin, crooked smile—sharp like a fresh wound—slowly formed on my pale lips.
An unbelievably entertaining hell.