The silence after breakfast felt heavier than the duke's gaze.
I returned to my room with careful steps, supported more by habit than strength, my body still protesting each movement like a disgruntled employee forced into overtime. The moment the door closed behind me, I leaned against it and exhaled slowly.
"So," I murmured, staring at the unfamiliar room, "this is really happening."
The room was spacious but restrained—tasteful furniture, muted colors, nothing excessive. It was clearly designed for someone who belonged to the family but was never meant to stand out. A perfect metaphor, really.
I moved toward the window and looked out over the training grounds below. Knights practiced sword forms in precise rhythm, steel flashing under the morning sun. Their shouts echoed faintly upward, sharp and disciplined.
This was the world of The Ascension of the Third Born.
My world.
I laughed softly, running a hand through my messy blonde hair. "I spent three years writing you… and you repay me by trapping me inside you."
If irony were a weapon, I'd already be dead.
I lowered myself onto a chair near the window, careful not to stress my ribs. My mind began piecing things together, one unsettling realization after another.
First problem: timeline.
The academy entrance evaluations were next month. That meant the story was approaching its opening arc. Soon, the empire's young elites would gather, destinies colliding like overly dramatic billiard balls.
Second problem: my role.
Rias von Leonhart was not a protagonist. He wasn't even a rival. He existed to give texture to the Leonhart family, to show how harsh noble society could be to the weak.
And third—
"…Aurelius De Solaria," I whispered.
The male lead.
The third prince of the empire.
The star of the novel.
In my story, Aurelius was born with neither the emperor's favor nor overwhelming talent. Overshadowed by his elder brothers, dismissed by the court, he survived through patience, observation, and quiet resolve.
Sound familiar?
I sighed.
Unlike me, Aurelius eventually earned his strength. He climbed. He rose. He ascended.
Hence the title.
And along the way, countless side-characters were swept aside.
Some died gloriously.
Some died quietly.
Some vanished without explanation.
Rias von Leonhart fell into the third category.
"Fantastic," I muttered. "Not even a dramatic death."
I leaned my head back against the chair.
The problem wasn't just that I was weak.
The problem was that I knew too much.
I knew which families would fall.
Which geniuses would be crushed.
Which alliances would turn into betrayals.
And knowing the future didn't automatically mean I could change it.
In fact, it made everything worse.
Because every major event in The Ascension of the Third Born revolved around Aurelius.
And if I got too close—
I might get erased by the plot itself.
A knock interrupted my spiraling thoughts.
"Yes?" I said.
The door opened, and Lucien stepped in uninvited, hands tucked casually into his pockets.
"I knew you'd be hiding," he said with a grin. "You always disappear after family meals. It's almost impressive."
I frowned slightly. "Isn't this my room?"
"Details." He glanced around, eyes sharp. "You look… thoughtful."
That was one way to put it.
"What do you want?" I asked.
Lucien leaned against the desk. "Father's orders. I'm to 'check on your recovery.'" He smirked. "Which really means I'm bored."
Of course it does.
"I'm fine," I said. "Still alive. Tragic, I know."
He chuckled. "You're different."
I stiffened internally. "Different how?"
Lucien studied me, eyes narrowing just a fraction. "You're not clinging anymore."
"…Clinging?"
"To expectations. To approval." He shrugged. "Before, you always looked like you were about to apologize for breathing."
Ouch.
Accurate, but ouch.
"And now?" I asked.
"Now you look like someone calculating escape routes."
I smiled faintly. "That's called maturity."
He laughed again, but his gaze remained sharp. "Careful, Rias. People notice changes."
"I'll try to be more disappointing," I said. "It's my brand."
Lucien snorted. "Rest up. The academy will eat you alive."
After he left, I stared at the door for a long moment.
People notice changes.
That was dangerous.
I stood slowly and moved toward the bookshelf near the wall. My fingers traced the spines—history, sword manuals, basic mana theory.
Rias had tried.
He really had.
But effort without direction only led to collapse.
I pulled out a thin book and opened it. The letters swam slightly before settling.
This world operated on clear power systems.
Swordsmanship ranks.
Mana density.
Bloodline traits.
And Rias?
Low mana. Fragile body. No bloodline blessing.
In other words, a disaster build.
I closed the book with a sigh.
"Alright," I said to the empty room. "Let's stop pretending I can become strong the normal way."
I knew what happened to those who tried to chase the main cast head-on.
They broke.
No—if I wanted to survive, I needed a different approach.
Information.
Timing.
Positioning.
I needed to become useful without being threatening.
A side-character who knew when to step forward… and when to vanish.
But even that required caution.
Because soon, Aurelius De Solaria would enter the stage.
The third prince enrolled in the academy under false humility, hiding his ambition behind quiet manners. In the early arcs, he appeared almost unremarkable.
Which made him terrifying.
I remembered writing his introduction scene vividly.
Aurelius standing alone in the academy courtyard, silver-black hair tied loosely, eyes calm but distant. A prince who had already learned the cost of standing out.
I swallowed.
"If I run into him too early…" I murmured, "…I might accidentally change something critical."
And changing the story recklessly could trigger consequences I couldn't predict.
I laughed weakly. "Why couldn't I transmigrate into a baker? Or a librarian?"
I walked back to the bed and sat down carefully, staring at my bandaged hands.
My current situation was clear.
I was weak.
I was surrounded by monsters.
And I was trapped inside a narrative that did not care about my survival.
Deep tension settled into my chest—not panic, but pressure.
Like standing on a frozen lake, aware of the cracks beneath your feet.
"What am I going to do?" I whispered.
No heroic answer came.
No system window appeared.
No ancient mentor knocked on the door.
Just me.
My memories.
And the ticking clock of the plot.
After a long moment, I let out a breath and smiled faintly.
"…First," I said, "I stay alive."
That alone would already be a rebellion against the story.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling once more. Outside, the sounds of training continued, relentless and loud.
The world of The Ascension of the Third Born was moving forward.
And somewhere in the empire, a third prince was preparing to step onto the stage.
Whether I liked it or not—
My gambit had begun.