The Heroes Academy, Prometheus, was founded by the companions of the first hero. Its purpose was simple—to discover and nurture the next generation of heroes who would defend humanity from darkness.
Yet, not every student entered its gates with noble intent. Some sought fame, others fortune, and many simply desired the glory that came with the title Hero.
Ash Monterro was one of them.
Walking through the grand marble corridor of the academy, I found myself surrounded by faces I knew all too well. Every student, every knight, every instructor—they looked exactly as I had written them. Their appearances matched the comic illustrations so perfectly that, for a moment, I wondered if I had stepped into a panel rather than a page.
"Ash, we're supposed to enter that room, right?" asked the woman beside me, pointing to a door engraved with gold letters.
"Yes," I replied quietly.
As we stepped inside, dozens of eyes turned toward us. At least, that was what I thought. But then I realized—they weren't looking at me. Their gazes were fixed on her.
Through Ash Monterro's memories, I knew who she was. Liana Monterro—the eldest daughter of Baron Monterro. Though we shared no mother, she treated me with a kindness far beyond obligation. To others, she was the baron's first daughter, but to me—or rather, to Ash—she was the only one who ever truly saw him as family.
"Let's sit near the podium," Liana said gently.
"Alright."
We took our seats as the room filled with murmurs and anticipation. Around us, future heroes and villains—characters I had once breathed into existence—waited for their fates to begin.
I could not help but think, as I looked around, that I was no longer their creator. I was merely another piece on the board.
We waited for a while until a voice suddenly cut through the quiet chatter of the room.
"Ash!"
I turned toward the sound. A young man, roughly my age, was walking toward me with confident strides. His snow-white hair gleamed under the light, his crimson eyes sharp and proud. The pristine white uniform he wore, trimmed with gold, marked him unmistakably as a noble.
I recognized him immediately.
Paul Logan.
The only son of Duke Logan. The rival of the main protagonist.
I had written him myself—a symbol of privilege and arrogance, created to embody the struggles between class and destiny. Paul despised commoners, saw peasants as filth, and used his influence to make the protagonist's early days at the academy a living hell.
And among the group of nobles who followed him… was Ash Monterro.
So this is where it begins, I thought grimly. The early arc of the academy—where the protagonist first meets his tormentors.
"Oh, Lord Logan," I said, forcing a polite smile as I rose from my seat. I bowed slightly, mimicking the etiquette that Ash's memories supplied. "It's good to see you."
Paul's lips curved into a smug grin. "Still as formal as ever, Ash. I was starting to think you'd forgotten your place."
Forgotten my place… The words stung more than they should have. Not because of pride, but because they reminded me how powerless this body truly was.
Still, I kept my composure and replied evenly, "I wouldn't dare, my lord."
Paul gave a short, satisfied laugh before turning away, his entourage following like shadows.
As he walked off, Liana leaned closer and whispered, "You don't have to talk to him like that, you know."
I gave a faint smile. "If only it were that simple."
Because I knew what was coming.
In the script I had written, Paul Logan's rivalry with the protagonist would soon ignite a chain of events—
and Ash Monterro would be one of the first casualties of that conflict.
During the waiting period, I spoke quietly with Liana. Every question that surfaced in my mind—about the academy, the city, or this body's life—I asked her without hesitation. She answered each one patiently, her gentle tone masking any hint of annoyance.
Time slipped by unnoticed until the room grew silent. It was finally time for the principal's address.
A man stepped onto the podium with measured, confident strides. His very posture demanded attention. Long azure hair flowed down his back, catching the light like silk, and a pair of gold-framed glasses rested elegantly upon his nose. Every detail of his appearance radiated authority.
"Greetings, new students of Prometheus Academy," he began, his voice carrying through the hall with calm power. "My name is Fay Raven. I was once a companion of the first hero—you may know me better as the Great Sage."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Each word he spoke felt deliberate, heavy with meaning, as though the air itself waited to carry his voice. There was something about the way he spoke—measured, commanding, almost divine—that made even I, the supposed author of this world, feel as though I were listening to a prophet rather than a man.
"Each of you will live in a dormitory, isolated from any outside influence," the principal declared, his voice echoing across the hall. "So do not even think of using your authority or family name within these walls."
That was what he said.
Yet, I knew better.
After all, I had written this world myself.
In reality, the academy's purity was little more than an illusion. Nobles controlled nearly every aspect of life within its walls, exploiting power under the guise of order. What was meant to be a school of merit had long become a microcosm of corruption.
And thus, hierarchy had found its place here too.
◇◇◇
The speech dragged on for nearly an hour before we were finally dismissed. As the crowd dispersed, I walked alongside Liana, accompanying her back to the carriage waiting by the gate.
"Ash," she said firmly, her emerald eyes narrowing in that familiar sisterly way, "make sure you never use your authority in the wrong way, understood?"
I gave a faint smile. "Of course. Who do you think I am?"
Her expression softened slightly, though worry still lingered beneath it. I could not blame her. She did not know that the person standing beside her was no longer the real Ash Monterro, but the one who had created his story.
After seeing Liana off, I turned back toward the academy, determined to find out where I had been placed.
The class listings were easy to locate—an enormous billboard surrounded by a noisy crowd of first-year students. Names and ranks filled every inch of parchment pinned to it.
"…Just like I expected," I murmured.
Ash Monterro — Rank 387 — [S-Class]
A murmur of disbelief spread through the students nearby. I could almost hear their thoughts:
A rank 387 student in S-Class? How is that possible?
Well, the answer was simple.
It was because of Paul Logan.
In the story I wrote, Ash Monterro was one of Paul's most loyal companions—trusted enough to stand beside him, not because of strength or talent, but because they shared the same disdain for commoners.
I stared at my own name on the list and exhaled. "Now that I've entered my own novel," I muttered with a faint grin, "it's time to rewrite the story."
With that declaration, I headed toward the S-Class building.
Yet, just as I reached the classroom door, something stopped me.
A faint chime rang in my ears, and a translucent window flickered to life before my eyes—like a system interface straight out of a game.
---
[The World After the Hero Died]
Chapter 3 – Volume 1: "The Noble"
Description:
This chapter depicts the corruption of the nobility and the cruelty they show toward commoners. Leon Bridges, the protagonist, will be bullied by Paul Logan and his group.
Mission:
Follow the story exactly as written. Any deviation is forbidden.
Reward:
• You may ask three questions to the Administrator.
Penalty:
• You will receive Paul Logan's hatred.
---
"…What?" I whispered.
Before I could process the message, a shout erupted from inside the classroom.
"STOP!"
I rushed through the door.
Inside, chaos unfolded. A young man with golden hair stood protectively before a pink-haired girl, his body bruised and trembling as he blocked a spell with his bare arms. Blue sparks flickered in the air around him.
Leon Bridges—the protagonist of The World After the Hero Died.
And facing him, smirking, was Paul Logan.
"Oh, Ash! You came at the perfect time," Paul said, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. "Show us your newly developed magic. Green fire, wasn't it?"
What should I do…?
The thought barely formed when another glowing prompt appeared before my eyes—different from the first, sharper, more decisive.
___
What will you do?
[1]「You're correct, Lord Logan. I will show you the power of fire that can burn the world into ash!」
[2]「Protect Leon.」
___
There was no time to think. My hand moved before my mind could catch up.
[2] Protect Leon.
The moment I chose it, my body moved on its own. My hand ignited with green flames—Ash Monterro's signature magic—and I released it without hesitation. A blazing arrow of emerald fire shot through the air, bursting between Paul Logan and his followers.
The sudden explosion of heat forced everyone to step back.
"What do you think you're doing, Ash?!" Paul's voice thundered, his red eyes wide with fury.
"This is wrong, Lord Logan!" I shouted, my own voice trembling yet resolute. "You shouldn't be attacking those weaker than you!"
Paul's expression darkened. Slowly, dangerously, he began to smile. "It seems you've forgotten your place, Ash."
Then he snapped his fingers.
For a split second, everything went silent. The air grew heavy, thick with mana. Then the world twisted.
My vision spun violently—floor to ceiling, ceiling to floor. My body felt weightless, almost serene. A familiar, chilling sensation crawled through me.
This feeling… it's just like when I died before.
Then I saw it.
My body—still standing, perfectly upright. My headless body.
"…Shit."
And I was dead once again.
To be continued...