POV: Ren
The blue light of the computer monitor was the only thing illuminating my cramped apartment. It was 3:42 AM, the hour where logic begins to fray and the lines between reality and fiction become dangerously thin. My eyes ached, a dull throb pulsing behind my retinas, but I couldn't look away.
I was on the final chapter of the latest update for The Academy's Supernova.
"Pathetic," I whispered, my voice raspy from hours of silence.
On the screen, the protagonist—Ashton Reid—was currently delivering a righteous speech to Stella Romanoff, the daughter of Duke Romanoff. Stella, the so-called 'Ice Queen' and primary villainess of the first arc, was kneeling in the rain, her engagement to the Second Prince officially annulled, her family's reputation in tatters.
Ashton was 'forgiving' her. He was offering her a hand, a gesture of mercy that felt more like a slap to anyone who had actually read between the lines of the story.
I leaned back, the cheap plastic of my chair creaking. I hated it. Not the writing—the writing was addictive—but the waste. I had spent months reading this web novel, and I had seen through the cracks. The author framed Stella as a cold-hearted elitist, but if you looked at the world-building, she was a girl trapped by a political engagement to a sadistic prince, doing everything in her power to keep her family from being purged.
Then there was Lara Theodor, the magic prodigy who ended up as a literal weaponized puppet because the academy's High Mage Professor decided her talent was too 'dangerous' to be left unrefined. And Juliet Stark, the merchant girl who just wanted to save her barony from poverty, only to be framed as a traitor so the kingdom could seize her assets.
Ashton Reid 'saved' them all, of course. But his salvation always felt like a secondary tragedy. Their agency, their complex backstories, and their personal ambitions were all sacrificed at the altar of the protagonist's harem-building charisma.
"If I were there," I muttered, rubbing my face, "I wouldn't even talk to them. I'd just let them live their own lives without the 'hero' ruining everything with his sunlight-and-rainbows bullshit."
My heart gave a sudden, sharp tug. A spike of pain so intense it felt like a hot needle being driven into my chest.
Ah, I thought, a weirdly calm sensation washing over me. The classic overworked salaryman heart attack. Generic. Truly a D-tier ending.
The room began to spin. The blue light of the monitor expanded, swallowing the edges of my vision. The text of the novel—the descriptions of the academy, the stats, the sword tiers—began to swirl into a golden vortex. I tried to reach for my phone, but my arm felt like it was made of lead.
The last thing I saw before the world went black was the final line of the chapter: "A new star rises where the old one fades."
"Cheesy," I choked out.
Then, there was nothing.
Light.
It wasn't the harsh blue light of a monitor. It was warm, golden, and smelled faintly of lavender and old paper.
I blinked. My eyelids felt heavy, but not with the exhaustion of a three-day binge-read. They felt… fresh.
I sat up abruptly, or tried to. My body felt light, yet uncoordinated, like I had suddenly lost twenty pounds of muscle and gained a few inches of height. I looked down at my hands. They were pale, calloused in strange places—mostly the palms—and definitely younger. These weren't the hands of a twenty-seven-year-old office drone.
"What the…"
I wasn't in my apartment. The cramped, trash-filled room was gone. In its place was a Spartan but clean dormitory room. The walls were made of hewn stone, polished to a dull shine. A single wooden desk sat by a window, and on that desk sat a wax-sealed envelope.
I swung my legs out of bed. The floor was cold stone. I walked toward the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs. I knew this room. Or rather, I recognized the description of it.
Commoner Dorms. Building 4. Room 212.
I picked up the envelope. The seal was dark red wax, pressed with a crest: a sword crossing a staff over a rising sun.
Crestwood Academy.
My breath hitched. I tore open the envelope with trembling fingers.
Dear Ren,
We are pleased to inform you that your application for the Commoner Scholarship at Crestwood Academy has been accepted. Despite your lack of noble lineage and your unconventional background as an orphan of the Tristan borderlands, your aptitude scores have met the minimum threshold for enrollment.
Please note that the entrance examinations and initial ranking tests have already concluded. Based on your specialized entry exam performance, you have been assigned to the S-Class bracket.
The official Opening Ceremony will be held in seven days, on the following Monday at 0800 hours. Until then, you are granted full access to the commoner dormitories and the student dining facilities. Formal attendance is not required until the ceremony.
Signed,
Vice-Principal Valerius
"Ren," I whispered.
That was me. But in the novel, there was no 'Ren' in S-Class. S-Class was reserved for the elite. Ashton Reid was the only commoner to ever break into S-Class in his year, a feat that started his legendary rivalry with the nobility.
If I was in S-Class, that meant I was standing in the middle of a narrative minefield. S-Class meant everyone—from the royal family to the low-ranking barons—would be watching my every move. They hated commoners who dared to be 'equal' to them.
"Status," I said, the word feeling instinctual.
Nothing happened.
"Menu? System? Interface?"
Still nothing. I frowned. Maybe I didn't have a system? Maybe I was just some random extra destined to be killed in the first monster raid?
Then, I looked at the mirror hanging on the wall.
My reflection showed a young man, maybe sixteen. Black hair that was a bit too long, falling over dark, sharp eyes. I looked… ordinary. The kind of face that disappears in a crowd. But as I stared at my reflection, a faint, translucent blue screen flickered into existence just to the left of my head.
It didn't have my name. It didn't have a 'Player' title. It was just numbers.
[Level: 1]
[Class: S (Hidden)]
[Strength: E (12)]
[Agility: D (18)]
[Stamina: E (10)]
[Mana: E (5)]
[Intelligence: B (45)]
[Compatibility: 99%]
"E-tier stats across the board," I muttered, a sarcastic smirk tugging at my lips. "Except Intelligence. I guess all those years of reading trashy novels paid off somewhere."
But it was the 'Class' that bothered me. S (Hidden).
In The Academy's Supernova, your class was determined by your potential and your starting power. I had missed the ranking tests—the duels and magic demonstrations where the other students proved their worth. Somehow, this 'Ren' had been placed in S-Class without throwing a single punch or casting a single spell.
I looked closer at the panel. It flickered, and then I realized it wasn't just showing me. As I looked out the window, I saw a student walking across the courtyard below. A small blue box floated over their head.
[Strength: C (32)]
[Agility: C (30)]
[Mana: B (41)]
No names. No traits. Just the numbers.
"I see," I whispered, leaning against the cold stone of the window frame. "I can see the raw data. I'm a reader who walked into the book, and the world is giving me the only thing I care about: the stats."
I sat back down on the bed, my mind racing.
In seven days, the Opening Ceremony would happen. That was the day Ashton Reid would make his grand entrance. That was the day he would humiliate a noble in front of the entire student body and catch the eye of the Second Princess, Alya.
But seven days was a long time.
If I showed up to that ceremony with these stats, I wouldn't just be an underdog. I'd be a target. S-Class students were expected to be monsters. If a noble challenged me to a "friendly" spar and realized I had the Strength of a sickly kitten, I'd be eaten alive.
I needed a sword scroll.
In this world, you didn't just learn techniques through practice—you assimilated 'Scrolls' that integrated the muscle memory into your body. The higher the tier of the scroll, the more powerful the technique, and the harder it was to master.
"I need something that bridges the gap," I said, my voice low. "And I know where it is."
I thought back to Chapter 42 of The Academy's Supernova. It was a flashback chapter, detailing the 'Hidden Pieces' of the Tristan Kingdom. The author had mentioned that before the story officially began, the protagonist, Ashton, had heard rumors of an ancient cave in the Eastern Mountains.
He had gone there and found three S-rank sword scrolls.
The author's notes had been very specific: A person can only assimilate one S-rank sword scroll in their lifetime. The mental and physical strain of housing two such legendary techniques would cause the soul to shatter.
Ashton had taken one—the one that suited his "heroic" fire-based mana. He had left the other two behind, thinking they were "guarded by destiny" or some other protagonist nonsense.
"Destiny is just another word for 'first come, first served,'" I muttered.
The Eastern Mountains were a three-day journey from the academy if I traveled light and used the merchant paths. If I left today, I could reach the cave, take one of the remaining two scrolls, and return just in time for the ceremony.
I checked my status panel again. My Intelligence was B-rank. In this world, Intelligence wasn't just book-smarts; it was your capacity to process complex mana structures and perceive things others couldn't. It was the only reason I'd even be able to look at an S-rank scroll without my brain melting.
"If I stay here, I'm just a commoner with a silver-trimmed blazer and a target on my back," I reasoned. "If I go to the mountains, I might die. But if I succeed, I'll have an S-rank technique as my hidden trump card."
The logic was sound. I was a rational, observant reader. I knew the risks. I knew that the "S-Class Hidden" status was a double-edged sword. It gave me potential, but no immediate power.
I looked around the room. There was a small leather satchel under the bed and a travel cloak hanging in the wardrobe. I checked the desk drawer—twenty silver coins. My starting capital.
"Seven days," I whispered.
The ranking tests were over. The students were busy socializing and posturing. No one would notice a single commoner slipping out of the back gates for a week.
I stood up, my resolve hardening. I wasn't Ashton Reid. I wasn't here to save the world or build a harem. I was here to survive, and in a world where the 'stars' of the academy could level buildings, survival required a weapon of equal caliber.
I knew the route. I knew the dangers. I even knew the password for the illusion barrier that hid the cave—it was a phrase the High Mage Professor had used in the novel's climax, which served as a hint for readers about the cave's origin.
"Where the light is heavy, and the shadows have weight."
"Wait for me, you overpowered pieces of paper," I said, pulling the cloak over my shoulders.
I took one last look at the dormitory room. It was quiet, safe, and utterly stagnant. If I stayed here, the plot would eventually find me and crush me. The only way to win was to step outside the script before the first page was even turned.
I checked my reflection in the mirror one more time. The blue panel was still there, a constant reminder of the mechanical reality of this world.
[Goal: Obtain an S-Rank Sword Scroll.]
[Time Remaining: 6 Days, 23 Hours.]
I didn't have a sword yet. I didn't have mana. I had nothing but a backpack and the memory of a book I had finished reading at 4 AM.
"It's a good thing I'm a fast reader," I whispered.
I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The stone corridors of Crestwood Academy felt like the belly of a beast, but I wasn't heading toward the classrooms. I was heading toward the gate.
The Eastern Mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks hidden by the morning mist. Somewhere in those mountains was the power I needed to not be a footstool for the Prince.
As I walked down the stairs, I passed a group of noble students laughing about their placement in A-Class. I didn't look at them. I didn't care about their numbers.
My journey didn't start at the Opening Ceremony.
It started now.
As I exited the academy gates, the cool morning air hit my face. I looked back at the sprawling campus. It was a fortress of privilege and power.
In the original novel, the first week was a "slice of life" montage of Ashton making friends and enemies. It was a slow burn of character building.
"Sorry, Ashton," I thought, a sarcastic grin touching my lips. "But I'm skipping the filler. I've got a hidden piece to collect."
I adjusted my satchel and set my sights on the east. The path was long, and my Stamina was only E-rank, but I had a week of grace and a head full of spoilers.
The script was being written. The protagonist was likely already in the city, making his first heroic impression. The villainesses were preparing their masks of elegance and ice.
And I, the hidden S-class who shouldn't exist, was walking away from the story to find my own ending.
[System Notification: Narrative Path Divergence Detected.]
[Compatibility Check: 99.1%...]
[Current Objective: Reach the Cave of Whispers.]
The world felt a little more real with every step I took away from the academy. The birds chirping, the smell of pine, the crunch of gravel under my boots—it was all too vivid to be a dream.
I wasn't just a reader anymore. I was a variable.
And if there's one thing I learned from years of reading villainess novels, it's that a single variable can make the whole world go supernova.
"Let's see if those scrolls are as good as the author described," I muttered, disappearing into the woods.
The Opening Ceremony was seven days away.
When I returned, the 'S-Class' on my blazer wouldn't just be for show.