"I guess I'm not getting any sleep tonight either."
That prediction turned out to be painfully accurate.
The dorm room was dark, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains. The air was filled with the rhythmic, soft snoring of Tybalt. He was curled up in a ball, hugging his pillow and muttering something about "fluffy clouds" and "more butter."
I sat on the edge of my bed, fully dressed. I had swapped my stiff uniform boots for a pair of canvas sneakers I'd found in the bottom of my wardrobe—standard issue for gym class, but quieter on stone.
I checked the time on the mana-clock mounted on the wall. 11:45 PM.
curfew was strictly enforced at 10:00 PM. The punishment for being caught out of bounds wasn't just detention; it was "disciplinary service," which usually involved scrubbing the griffon stables. And griffons ate a lot of sulfur.
I looked at the crumpled note in my hand. The shimmering ink had stopped moving, but the message was burned into my brain.
To the Observer in Row 43.
"Okay," I whispered to the empty room. "Let's go meet a friend."
I stood up, the floorboards creaking slightly under my weight. Tybalt snorted loudly, rolled over, and smacked his lips. I froze, holding my breath until his breathing evened out again.
Stealth wasn't exactly my forte. In my old life, sneaking meant getting a midnight snack without waking the cat. Here, it meant dodging magical surveillance.
I opened the window. We were on the first floor—one of the few perks of the Commoner Dorms. I slid the sash up, wincing as the wood groaned against the frame. I slipped out, landing softly in the flowerbed outside.
The night air was cool and smelled of damp earth and night-blooming jasmine. The campus looked different in the dark. The towering spires of the academy were silhouettes against the stars, looking less like a school and more like the fortress it was originally built to be.
I kept to the shadows, hugging the wall of the dormitory. My destination was the Old Bell Tower, a crumbling stone structure on the western edge of the grounds. In the novel, the tower is an abandoned relic, mostly used by delinquents to smoke dried mana-herbs or by couples looking for privacy. It wasn't supposed to be a plot-relevant location until Volume 4.
I activated my sight.
[Observer Vision: Active]
The world shifted. The darkness didn't lift, but overlays appeared. I saw faint blue lines tracing the ground—security wards.
They updated the perimeter, I noted. In the book, the west garden was unguarded. Now there's a pressure-trigger ward.
I navigated around the blue lines, stepping carefully on the grass.
As I neared the central plaza, I heard the heavy, grinding sound of stone against stone.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.
I dove behind a statue of the First Headmaster.
A Gargoyle Sentry lumbered past. It was seven feet of animated granite, its eyes glowing with a harsh yellow light. It scanned the area, its head turning with a mechanical whir.
In the story, Gargoyles are blind to movement if you stay perfectly still. They track heartbeat and mana signatures. I had no mana (officially), but I definitely had a heartbeat that was currently trying to rib-cage escape.
The yellow light swept over the statue I was hiding behind. I pressed my face into the cold stone of the Headmaster's robes, holding my breath.
The light lingered for a second, then moved on.
Clomp. Clomp.
As the heavy footsteps faded, I exhaled.
"Too close," I muttered.
I moved faster now, knowing the patrol route. I crossed the open lawn, sprinting in a low crouch, and reached the base of the Bell Tower.
The door was a heavy oak slab, rotted at the bottom. It was locked with a rusty padlock, but the wood near the hinges was so decayed I could probably squeeze through the gap.
I pushed against the rotting wood. It gave way with a wet crunch. I sucked in my stomach and shimmied through, scraping my jacket on a rusty nail.
Inside, the tower was a hollow shaft of darkness. A spiral stone staircase hugged the walls, leading up to the belfry. The air smelled of dust, bird droppings, and... ink?
Yes. That same shimmering, chemical smell from the note.
I started to climb. The stairs were treacherous, some steps missing entirely. I kept my hand on the cold wall for balance.
[Proximity Alert: Plot Key Item Detected.]
The text flashed red in my vision.
I reached the top platform. It was an open-air deck, roofed by slate tiles but open to the wind on all sides. The massive bronze bell hung in the center, silent and covered in green patina.
"I'm here," I said, my voice echoing slightly. "You wanted to talk?"
No one answered.
The platform was empty.
I walked around the bell, checking the shadows. Nothing. No person. No monster.
"Great," I sighed, leaning against the stone railing. "I got played. It's a prank."
Scritch. Scritch.
The sound came from the center of the room.
I turned around.
Floating in mid-air, right under the bell, was a quill. It was a white feather quill, glowing with a faint, iridescent light. It was writing on nothing—just scratching against the air, leaving behind trails of that shimmering ink I'd seen on the note.
I stepped closer, mesmerized.
The words hung in the air, glowing softly.
You are sloppy, Newcomer.
I stared at the text. "Excuse me?"
The quill jerked, scribbling furiously.
You changed the Villain. You changed the Hero's affinity. You revealed yourself to the Strategist. You are accelerating the timeline by 400%. Do you have a death wish, or are you just incompetent?
I felt a spark of irritation. "I saved the girl. I stopped a bomb. I'd call that proactive, not incompetent. Who are you?"
The quill paused. It hovered for a moment, as if thinking.
I am the one who kept this story from collapsing for the last ten loops. I am the Editor.
"Loops?" I asked, the blood draining from my face. "You mean... this has happened before?"
Many times, the quill wrote. Transmigrators like you. 'Authors.' 'Fixers.' You all come in thinking you can save everyone. You change one thing, and the butterfly effect summons a meteor in Chapter 10. I am the cleanup crew.
The text faded, replaced by new words.
The System is broken, Ren. The 'Ending' isn't 100%. It's 0% because the story has to be dismantled to stop the Cycle. You aren't rewriting a novel. You're trying to break a prison.
I stared at the floating words. A prison. That explained the "Target: 0%" stat. I wasn't supposed to finish the story; I was supposed to crash it.
"Okay," I said, my mind racing. "So you're helping me?"
I am observing you, the quill wrote. If you prove useful, I will help. If you continue to be a liability, I will write you out. Literally.
"Threat noted," I said dryly. "So, what's your advice, oh great Editor?"
The 'Hidden Genius'—Cian—found a fragment of the Source Code in the library basement. He is going to trigger a trap in two days that will kill the Healer, Mira. Fix it. Without being seen.
"Wait, Cian?" I asked. "The quiet guy in 1-B? Why would he—"
Shhh.
The quill stopped moving. It dropped to the floor, the glow extinguishing instantly. The writing in the air evaporated.
I froze.
Steps.
Someone was coming up the stairs. Not the heavy, rhythmic clomp of a gargoyle. These were light, quick steps. Boots on stone.
I looked around frantically. There was nowhere to hide on the open platform except...
I looked up. The bell. The inside of the bell was hollow and dark.
I scrambled up the wooden support beam. It was slick with moss, but panic gave me grip strength I didn't know I had. I pulled myself up, swinging my legs into the dark cavity of the massive bronze bell. I braced my feet against the clapper—the heavy iron striker—and held my breath.
A figure emerged from the stairwell.
I peered down through the narrow gap between the clapper and the rim.
It was a girl. She was wearing the academy uniform, but she had added a dark hooded cloak over it. She walked into the center of the platform, looking around.
She pulled down her hood.
Short, fiery red hair. A face that looked like it was perpetually planning a heist.
Ria.
What was the Mischievous Trickster doing here?
She looked annoyed. She kicked a pebble across the floor.
"Empty," she muttered. "Stupid rumor. 'Ghost of the Bell Tower grants wishes.' Yeah, right. Waste of a lockpick."
She wasn't here for me. She was here to loot the place or chase a ghost story.
She sighed and walked over to the edge of the railing, leaning out to look at the view. She pulled a coin from her pocket—her signature gold coin—and started flipping it.
Cling. Catch. Cling. Catch.
I was stuck. If I climbed down, she'd see me. If I stayed, my legs would cramp and I'd fall out of a bell like a weird piñata.
Suddenly, the air pressure dropped.
Ria stopped flipping the coin. She stood up straight, her hand going to the dagger strapped to her thigh.
From the stairwell, a low, guttural growl echoed up.
It wasn't a gargoyle.
A Shadow Hound—a summon usually reserved for advanced tracking—slunk onto the platform. It was the size of a wolf, made of inky black smoke, with eyes like burning coals.
It wasn't a school patrol. The school used constructs, not dark summons.
Ria took a step back. "Nice doggy," she whispered, her voice tight. "You're not supposed to be on campus, are you?"
The hound snarled, baring teeth that looked like obsidian shards. It crouched, ready to pounce.
Ria drew her dagger. It was a small, pathetic weapon against a creature made of semi-corporeal shadow.
I looked at the text in my vision.
[Narrative Event: The Trickster's End.]
[Original Timeline: Ria does not visit the tower. She lives.]
[Current Timeline: Ria dies here, mauled by an intruder's scout.]
Crap. The "Editor" was right. I changed the timeline, and now a main character was about to die in a side-quest she wasn't supposed to be on.
I couldn't stay in the bell.
I looked at the clapper I was standing on. It was heavy cast iron, suspended by a rusted chain.
Physics, I thought. Don't fail me now.
"Hey! Ugly!" I shouted.
The hound looked up. Ria looked up.
I released my hold on the beam and swung my weight violently, kicking off the side of the bell interior.
DONG.
The sound was deafening. It was a sonic boom that rattled my teeth and stunned my brain.
But the movement worked. The heavy iron clapper swung to the side, hitting the rim of the bell with massive force. The vibrations shook the rust loose.
The ancient chain holding the clapper snapped.
"Look out!" I screamed, dropping out of the bell and landing in a heap on the floor.
Ria dove to the right.
The iron clapper—a solid chunk of metal weighing at least fifty pounds—fell straight down.
CRUNCH.
It landed directly on the Shadow Hound's head just as it leaped upward. The beast didn't even yelp. It dissipated instantly into a cloud of black smoke, dispelled by the sheer kinetic impact (and the iron, which disrupts magic).
Silence returned to the tower, ringing in my ears like a high-pitched whine.
I lay on the floor, gasping for air. My ears were bleeding slightly.
Ria slowly stood up, brushing dust off her cloak. She stared at the spot where the hound had been, then at the heavy iron clapper embedded in the floorboards, and finally at me.
She blinked.
"Did you..." She pointed at the bell. "Did you just drop a bell tongue on a demon dog?"
"Yeah," I wheezed, sitting up and rubbing my ringing ears. "You're welcome."
Ria stared at me for a long moment. Then, a slow grin spread across her face. It wasn't the fake, polite smile she used in the hallways. It was genuine, impressed, and a little bit crazy.
"You're the Grey-coat from this morning," she said. "Ren, right?"
"That's me."
She walked over and offered me a hand. I took it, and she pulled me up with surprising strength.
"You're loud for an NPC," she said, her eyes twinkling.
"And you're nearly dead for a rumor-chaser," I countered.
She laughed. "Fair point. But seriously, what was that thing? That wasn't school property."
"No," I said, looking at the dissipating smoke. "It wasn't. Someone else is on campus. Someone who uses dark summons."
The "Editor's" warning about the Source Code flashed in my mind. The plot was thickening faster than cheap stew.
Ria picked up her coin from the floor. She flipped it, caught it, and looked at me.
"Well, Ren," she said. "You saved my life. By the Code of the Streets, I owe you one."
"Code of the Streets?"
"I made it up," she admitted. "But I stick to it. You need a favor? A lock picked? A pocket picked? A rumor planted? I'm your girl."
I looked at her. Having the Trickster as an ally? That was huge.
"Actually," I said, thinking about the Editor's mission regarding Cian and the library trap. "I might need you to break into the library basement."
Ria's smile widened. It was the smile of a predator who just found a new game.
"The Forbidden Archives?" She spun the coin on her knuckle. "Ren, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful, chaotic friendship."
[Story Stability: 94.5%]
[New Alliance Formed: Ria (The Trickster)]
[Objective Update: Infiltrate the Library (48 Hours)]
"Let's get out of here before the noise attracts the Gargoyles," I said.
"Way ahead of you," Ria said, running for the stairs. "Last one down buys breakfast!"
I followed her, my heart still racing. The Editor, the dark summoner, the trap for Mira... the peaceful academy life I wanted was officially dead.
But at least I had a party member. And she knew how to pick locks.