Chapter 3: The Price of Being a Good Author.
The promise hung in the air like smoke from a dying fire.
Not this time.
He’d meant it. He’d meant every word.
But meaning something and actually being able to do something about it were two very different things.
He sat back on the bed, the silk sheets rustling beneath him. His hands were still shaking. His heart was still pounding. But his mind was finally starting to slow down.
Think.
He took a deep breath.
There has to be something...
He yanked open the nearest drawer. Letters, wax seals, training schedules.
Nothing.
Another drawer.
Books, maps, empty notebooks.
He slammed it shut.
Think.
Think.
He wrote this world. He knew the plot. He knew the characters. He knew the secrets. He knew the hidden treasures, the lost techniques, the forbidden knowledge that could turn a nobody into a powerhouse.
Surely that gave him an advantage.
Surely he could exploit something.
He closed his eyes and began mentally cataloging every opportunity he’d written into the story.
The nearest one requires entering the Whispering Catacombs.
Only opens every three months.
Needs B-rank strength. And is Beneath the Crystal Lake, three days’ travel from the duchy.
The Hero gets it in Chapter 84.
The Tear of Aetheris, a legendary healing artifact.
He grimaced.
Three days. He had less than one.
Another.
The Shadow’s Embrace.
Located in the Vespera family’s own vault.
Requires the Patriarch’s permission, could get him card that could temporarily enhance any affinity to Tier Three.
My father barely acknowledged my existence. He certainly wasn’t going to hand me a legendary artifact.
The...
He stopped.
Every opportunity he’d written into the story had been intentionally difficult to obtain. He’d hated easy power-ups.
He’d despised stories where the protagonist stumbled into a treasure cave and emerged as the strongest being in existence.
So he’d made sure that didn’t happen in his world.
Every major cheat item required something.
Something he couldn’t get in less than a day.
Something that was designed to be a challenge for the protagonist.
He stared at nothing, then laughed in disbelief.
Grabbing the nearest book, he hurled it across the room.
It struck a bookshelf before falling uselessly onto the carpet.
"...Past me..."
He let out another hollow laugh.
"You self-righteous idiot."
The thought lingered.
He was the author. He knew the world better than anyone. There had to be some loophole. Some detail he’d included that he could exploit.
Maybe—
His mind latched onto a desperate hope.
If transmigration was real...
Then maybe other impossible things were too.
Maybe he’d get some kind of cheat ability.
It was a ridiculous thought. The kind of thought he’d mocked in every isekai novel he’d ever read.
But right now, he was desperate enough to try anything.
He whispered into the silence:
"System."
Silence.
"Menu."
"Inventory."
"Anything."
Nothing.
"Status."
He was about to give up when something flickered at the edge of his consciousness. A presence. A response.
He focused inward, reaching for the source of the sensation.
And then—
A familiar screen appeared before his eyes.
It was just... there. In his mind. As natural as his own thoughts.
Name: Caelus Vespera
Rank: D
Potential: D
Affinity: Water
Attributes:
Strength: E+
Speed: D
Stamina: D+
Agility: D+
Intelligence: D+
Mana: D+
Skills:
Intermediate Swordsmanship [D - 89%]
Twilight Circuit [D - 53%]
He stared at the screen.
Then he grimaced.
This.
This was why Caelus failed.
Not because he was lazy. Not because he lacked effort. Not because Water was weak.
He’d made sure Water wasn’t weak. Controlling the water in someone’s blood, manipulating the moisture in the air, creating tsunamis, water blades.
There are multiple possibilities with water. Water simply demanded far more than most people could ever give.
The problem was that no one ever had enough talent and time to reach that far.
He lifted his hand.
If water wasn’t weak...Prove it.
He focused.
Mana stirred sluggishly through unfamiliar pathways.
A tiny sphere of water gathered above his palm, barely larger than his clenched fist.
It trembled...
Then burst apart, splashing onto the floor.
"...Seriously?"
He stared at his damp hand.
This...
This was the potential that had ruined Caelus’s life.
Potential didn’t determine a person’s ceiling. It determined their growth speed.
S-rank Potential meant you could advance from D-rank to C-rank in months. Maybe weeks. D-rank Potential meant it would take years. Five to seven years to climb a single rank.
The kind of growth that made organizations lose interest. The kind that got talented children abandoned by powerful families.
Caelus had trained relentlessly. He’d bled. He’d sweated. He’d suffered.
And the result was still this.
D-rank Potential.
And still at D-rank Attributes.
Skills that had barely improved despite years of effort.
Because he lacked talent.
He dismissed the screen and stared at the ceiling.
"...No."
He pushed himself off the bed so abruptly the chair beside it toppled over.
His footsteps echoed across the polished floor as he began pacing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Every lap ended the same way.
Tomorrow.
He stopped before the tall window overlooking the duchy’s grounds.
Servants crossed the courtyard carrying crates.
Gardeners trimmed the hedges.
Beyond the gates, several academy students laughed as they walked down the street.
Tomorrow...
Those same people would probably gather around an arena to watch Caelus Vespera die.
His breathing became uneven.
"...Damn it..."
He was Caelus Vespera. He had D-rank Potential. He was going to die tomorrow.
And then what?
The question came out of nowhere.
What happens after tomorrow?
He blinked.
Assuming you survive the duel. Assuming you don’t die. What happens then?
He opened his mouth to answer.
Then he stopped.
I didn’t know.
He ran both hands through his hair.
Once.
Twice.
He couldn’t stay still.
He crossed the room. Returned. Sat.
Stood again before he realised he’d only remained seated for three seconds.
His thoughts refused to slow down.
He realized something terrifying.
He hadn’t written this world, he’d barely written a story.
Stories only showed selected events. They followed the protagonist. They focused on the major plot points.
There were entire kingdoms he’d never explored. Entire factions he’d never developed. Entire regions he’d barely described.
The world existed beyond what he’d written.
And that meant there were gaps in his knowledge.
Huge, terrifying gaps.
What happens after Chapter 512?
The question echoed in his mind.
Silence.
I don’t know.
No one knows.
Because he’d never finished the novel.
He’d written 512 Chapters. Then he’d died. He’d left notes. Half-finished ideas. Possible endings. Uncertain futures.
But he’d never actually written them.
The final Chapter of Extra to Villain had been Chapter 512.
His stomach dropped.
---
What about the future disasters he’d planned. The towers. The labyrinths. The ancient horrors. The catastrophes that were supposed to occur in later arcs.
All of them were still going to happen.
All of them were still coming.
And he didn’t know how they would end.
The King of the corrupted. The final enemy of this world. The source of all corrupt spawns.
He’d described his return. His army. His overwhelming might.
But he’d never written the final battle.
Because he hadn’t reached that point in the story yet.
He pressed his palms against his eyes.
"What have I done?"
He wrote Extra to Villain because he loved tragedy. The kind where heroes suffered for their victories. The kind where hope survived long enough to make despair hurt more.
Back then, it was entertainment.
Now he lived inside it.
He thought about the world he’d created. The wars. The death. The constant, grinding struggle against impossible odds.
Of all the stories he could’ve ended up in...
It had to be this one.
He laughed. It came out broken.
"Of course it did."
The universe was determined to kill him creatively.
What if the world was already doomed? What if every catastrophe still happened? What if the unwritten future was worse than anything he’d planned?
What if—
He stopped himself.
No.
His fists clenched.
"The apocalypse can wait."
The window reflected his expression. Caelus stared back. Beautiful. Broken.
"Tomorrow is trying to kill me first."
The duel.
Lucian Ashborne.
The Hero he’d personally designed to kill Caelus Vespera.
Lucian Ashborne.
Sacred Light Affinity.
S-rank Potential.
He remembered every line he’d written about Lucian.
He was relentless. Precise.
He never toyed with opponents.
He simply dismantled them.
One thrust into his heart.
The Saintess watching in silence as the crowd applauded the Hero.
I had written that scene myself.
No, there must be something, some weakness that he had that he could exploit.
His memories flashed. He overrelies on his Affinity. When he can’t use it, he becomes hesitant. His swordsmanship is good but not exceptional. He’s never faced an opponent who could neutralize his light.
He paused.
Neutralize his light.
He thought about Caelus’s Affinity.
Voices drifted through the corridor beyond his room.
"...heard he accepted it immediately."
"...the bastard won’t survive ten exchanges."
"...I heard Lady Seraphina herself will attend."
Quiet laughter followed.
Their footsteps faded.
Caelus clenched his jaw.
Even the servants had already decided how tomorrow would end.
He was about to dive deep in his thoughts again when—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three sharp knocks at the door.
He looked up.
"Enter."
The door creaked open.
A maid stepped inside.
She was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Brown hair tied in a practical bun. Dark eyes that had seen too much. A simple uniform that marked her as a servant of the Vespera household.
He recognized her immediately.
Her name was Mira.
His personal maid.
She’d stayed beside Caelus long after everyone else had left.
Then he’d buried himself in his obsession with the Saintess...
...and forgotten one of the few people who’d never abandoned him.
Now their relationship was distant. Professional. Polite. Nothing more.
She stood in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her. Her gaze was fixed on the floor.
"Good evening, my lord."
"Mira."
She flinched at the sound of her name.
Her hands were trembling.
Years of paralysis had made him exceptionally observant. When your own body stops moving, you become very good at noticing everyone else’s. Every tremor. Every hesitation. Every nervous gesture.
He noticed her fear instantly.
"What’s wrong?"
She hesitated. Licked her lips. Looked pale.
"It’s the Patriarch, my lord."
Her voice trembled.
"The Patriarch has requested your presence immediately."
He froze.
His father.
The Duke of Vespera.
The man who’d barely acknowledged his existence for years. The man who’d walked past him in the hallway without a word. The man who’d looked at him like he was nothing.
He wanted to see him.
Now?
Tonight?
"Is there... any particular reason?"
She shook her head. "I wasn’t informed, my lord. I was only told to bring you."
His mind raced.
Why now?
He’s going to die tomorrow.
Why would he—
He stopped.
Something’s wrong.
Something’s different.
In the story he’d written, Caelus’s father never summoned him before the duel. Caelus went to his death alone, abandoned, forgotten.
But here, in this reality, the Patriarch was calling for him.
He couldn’t tell whether the story had already begun changing...
...or whether this had always been part of the world beyond the pages he’d written.
He looked at Mira. Her trembling hands. Her pale face.
He stared at her for a long moment. Even Mira seemed terrified that the Patriarch wanted to see him.
His stomach sank.
"Fine," he said. "Take me to him."
He stood up.
The silk sheets rustled behind him.
His bare feet touched the cold marble floor.
And he followed his trembling maid into the unknown.