Day one, and the female lead already had a blade at his throat.
Not surprising. The character he'd woken up in was the most disposable piece on the board — a trash prince, first-chapter cannon fodder, the kind of minor villain a story burns through early to prove it has teeth. He existed to set the scene. Nothing more.
That's when the System showed up. Not to save him. Not with golden light or divine intervention. Just a cold blue interface hanging in the space between the dagger and his jugular, displaying a single line:
Death Probability: 15%.
He stared at the number. Made a decision.
Now he's still breathing — a redundant variable wedged inside a story that already wrote its ending without him. The Hero is busy accumulating destiny. The Saintess maintains her impeccable sainthood. Everyone's hitting their marks, running their lines, playing the roles the narrative handed them.
And Soren's sitting quietly in the margins with a pair of eyes that reads everyone's hand, and a game nobody knows he's playing.
They already wrote the trash prince's ending.
He just hasn't decided to read it yet.....