The newborn lay in a small wooden crib, wrapped in soft cloth, blinking slowly at the unfamiliar ceiling above him. The candlelight flickered across polished timber beams, each glow and shadow far larger and sharper than anything he remembered from his old life.
The first few days had been… disorienting. Limbs that wouldn't obey, a voice that only squeaked, and a world that suddenly felt massive. Really massive. He spent most of his time staring at the ceiling, tiny fists clumsily flailing, trying to comprehend the absurdity of it all.
And then it hit him—again.
I'm a baby.
Not in a metaphorical sense, not like those self-help books calling adults "babies on the inside." No—literally, physically, helplessly an infant.
My past life—the guy who read fantasy novels until 3 a.m.—was gone.
He tried to shift his head, managing only a small wobble. The rain tapping against the window shutters provided a strangely soothing contrast to the storm of confusion inside him.
Alright, genius… step one: accept that this is reality—yeah, an everyday fantasy novel protagonist's nightmare is my life now. Step two: survive the next five minutes without drooling on myself like a leaky bucket. Step three… figure out what the heck comes after this. Easy. Totally easy. Not panicking at all.
And yet, despite the ridiculousness, I remembered it all—my old life, how I'd been living, and how good it had been… until that day.
Rain drummed lightly against the window, a soft rhythm almost polite compared to the chaos outside. In that tiny apartment, a boy barely seventeen—pale-skinned, dark circles under his eyes—leaned back in his chair, eyes glued to the glowing screen as he scrolled through the newest chapter of Chronicles of the Chosen Star.
"Wait a minute… how the hell did that guy survive that place where the MC and the main cast almost died?" he muttered.
Chronicles of the Chosen Star was the usual fantasy bundle: overpowered MC, magic academy, harem antics, demon kings… nothing special. Nothing I even particularly liked. Except for one thing: the author replied to every single comment I made—joyful, grateful, and hungry for recognition in that way only new writers are.
So I kept reading. Kept supporting them. Kept asking questions.
And then one day, I noticed it.
There was this one minor character—a guy who barely deserved a name—who kept showing up. Everywhere. Every major event. Every turning point. Every secret meeting. He just… existed in the background, always present, never explained.
Maybe he was actually the mastermind of the whole story, and everyone else was just a pawn. No way, though. It was always the Headmaster. No one else even came close.
I frowned at the screen, trying to convince myself I wasn't imagining things.
Finally, I typed a comment to the author. Just a friendly joke.
A joke that cost me my life.
Now I remember that saying: "A pen is mightier than a sword, and words are sharper than any blade."
ForgottenBlade:
"Hey, I noticed that minor character popping up a lot. Is he supposed to be important, or am I imagining things?"
The author answered almost immediately.
Author:
"Why are you so interested in this character? Want to know more? Or should I spoil it for you already?"
ForgottenBlade:
"No spoilers, thanks. I'll read it when the chapters come."
Author:
"You're so patient. Maybe you should go into the story to watch it unfold yourself. What do you say? Should I send you there?"
Yeah, right. As if someone's going to get sucked into a fantasy novel because they noticed a background character showing up too often. Classic MC-transportation trope. Very original.
And me, being an absolute clown, typed:
ForgottenBlade:
"Yes, of course."
And that "yes" was my doom.
I wrote my own death sentence with my own hands.
That was it.
That one stupid, joking "yes"…
I remember laughing as I hit send, sitting in my messy apartment like nothing would ever change.
Now, lying in this crib, I smiled in the only way a tiny human could—just a faint twitch at the corner of my lips.
A smile filled with regret.
And curses.
A lot of them.