There are worse things to wake up to than the System screaming in your ear at 6 a.m.
Like, say, the sound of hundreds of students chanting your name outside your dorm window like you're a boy band idol with unresolved trauma and a god complex.
Unfortunately, I got both.
[System Alert: ANOMALY STATUS RECOGNIZED.]
[Title Assigned: "Echo Sovereign (Provisional)."]
[Reason: Popularity Spike + Unique Magical Signature + Glitch Sustainment Rate = 999%]
And just like that, I became royalty.
Again.
By accident.
I staggered out of bed, hair a disaster, wearing one sock and a shirt that said "Don't Talk To Me I'm Channeling Trauma." Spoon hovered beside me, radiating the kind of smug energy only sentient utensils and older siblings can emit.
"Congratulations," he said, voice way too chipper. "You're royalty. Again. This time, by accident."
"What do you mean again?" I rasped.
"This is your third coronation, Kael. You're averaging one per volume."
"WHY IS THAT A METRIC?!"
Let's rewind thirty minutes.
The school bell rang.
Not the normal school bell. No—this was the Big Magic Bell™ that only tolls for system-wide updates, incoming plagues, or when a professor accidentally explodes themselves mid-thesis.
The air shimmered. Students froze mid-step. Even the sky held its breath.
Then the System voice—calm, echoing, too cheerful for what it was about to do—announced:
[NEW ROYALTY REGISTRATION PENDING.]
[ECHO SOVEREIGN CANDIDATE: KAEL OF HOUSE… UHH… "NO THANKS"? PROCESSING.]
Cue chaos.
By the time I made it to the academy's central courtyard, there were banners with my face on them.
My face.
Smiling.
Badly.
Like I had just lied on a tax form and gotten away with it.
"Who MADE these?!" I shouted.
"The marketing department," Spoon said. "They move fast."
"WE HAVE A MARKETING DEPARTMENT?!"
Students were cheering. Professors were yelling. The headmistress was quietly stress-eating enchanted tea biscuits behind a column.
And Belladonna?
Belladonna stood perfectly poised, arms crossed, expression unreadable—except for the faintest, faintest twitch of her lips.
"Sovereign now, are we?" she said.
"Nope. Mistake. Glitch. Ignore it. I reject the monarchy. I'm a libertarian fungus boy now."
"Too late," she said sweetly. "You've been flagged by the Algorithm. May the gods help us all."
The System, in its divine and undoubtedly caffeinated wisdom, decided to hold a "Recognition Ceremony" that afternoon. Because nothing says 'you are spiraling into existential madness' like having to sit on a floating obsidian throne while the student orchestra plays an off-key version of your battle theme.
"Do I at least get a crown?" I asked, voice dry.
"No," said the System.
"Yes," said Spoon.
"Maybe," said Belladonna, terrifyingly.
They gave me a floating circlet of unstable aether that phased in and out of reality like it was buffering. Which, frankly, felt accurate for my current mental state.
Let's talk logistics for a second:
I didn't ask to be a Sovereign.
I didn't want to be a Sovereign.
I didn't even know Sovereignhood was something you could speedrun into via meme-based popularity and magical existentialism.
And yet.
[Sovereign Status Confirmed.]
[Responsibilities: Be Inspiring, Look Mysterious, Survive.]
Great. Three things I suck at.
Inner Me: You're royalty now. You need poise. Grace. Dignity.
Sarcium: You have none of those. Please trip on the stage for the comedic value.
Also Me: I want to lie down and let the wind take me.
"Speech! Speech!" the students started yelling.
I turned to Spoon.
"What do I even say?!"
"Say something stirring. Something defiant. Something emotionally unhinged."
"I'm good at one of those."
So I stepped forward.
Cleared my throat.
And in front of three hundred hormonal teenagers, eleven outraged professors, and one terrifyingly pretty mask mage, I said:
"I'm not your hero. I'm not your villain. I'm the idiot who tripped into a prophecy wearing someone else's pants and survived through sheer narrative immunity."
"I don't want your crown. I don't want your expectations. I want a nap. And maybe a cat."
"But since I'm here… I'll fight. Not because I'm chosen. But because I choose to be."
There was a beat of silence.
Then—
Applause.
Like, screaming-level applause.
A small group started chanting "KING KAEL! KING KAEL!"
Which, frankly, is the worst thing to happen to monarchy branding since someone let a toddler ascend to the throne via inheritance law.
After the chaos, I found Belladonna on the balcony overlooking the courtyard.
"You handled that well," she said.
"I blacked out halfway through. What did I say?"
"Something about cats and narrative immunity."
"Ah. My usual platform."
We stood there for a moment.
Then she said, almost too softly:
"The System believes in you. Even if you don't."
Which was probably the nicest thing she'd ever said to me.
Which meant I had to ruin it.
"Does this mean I get a raise?"
She laughed.
And for one brief moment, the world didn't feel so heavy.
Back in my dorm, Spoon was updating my résumé.
"New title added: Echo Sovereign (Provisional)," he muttered. "Do you want a LinkedIn badge?"
"I want to delete reality."
"Same. Now smile for your System ID photo."
I held up my middle finger and smiled.
The System pinged:
[PHOTO ACCEPTED.]
Inner Me:You're in too deep now. There's no going back.
Sarcium:Good. Let's burn the plot and become a bakery owner in the forest.
Also Me:No thoughts. Only crown.
Next Time on Kaelverse:
A starlit confession. A moment years in the making. Belladonna finally says what she really feels. And Kael, naturally, almost kisses her. Almost.
Up next:
Chapter 65 – "The Crowned Confession"
Featuring: repressed longing, political subtext, romantic chaos, and a spoon-shaped third wheel.