The courtyard was chaos.
Golden-boy Jayden—no, Justin—was a blur of holy fury up ahead, already exchanging steel and sorcery with the masked kidnappers.
Sparks scattered in the air like fireworks. Cloaks snapped.
Mana collided. And from where I stood, it honestly looked like a highlight reel someone edited for the front page of a JRPG.
What a show.
Meanwhile, I stood there like a badly dressed NPC at the edge of a boss fight, but I wasn't watching Justin.
I was counting.
'One… two… three... four.'
I frowned.
"Four?"
There were only four masked attackers.
That wasn't right.
There were supposed to be nine.
Nine. That was the number burned into my memory from the game.
{Something wrong, Snowflakes?} Echo asked, sharp as ever.
"Yes," I muttered. "I remember this scene. Clearly.
Nine masked bastards jumped the girl and tried to make a run for it.
Now there's only four. What the hell?"
{Wouldn't that make things easier?}
'You'd think so, but—'
My eyes scanned the battlefield.
'—it just means the script's been changed. Which means things might go worse.'
{Who's 'the girl' anyway?}
"Right," I said, exhaling, eyes following the limp figure one of the masked assassins was carrying over their shoulder like a prize.
'Sylvara Elyss Duskbane.'
{Sounds expensive.}
'She is. In more ways than one.'
And I wasn't kidding.
Sylvara wasn't your average student. She wasn't even your average prodigy.
She was the youngest daughter of the Duskbane Triarch—one of the ruling houses of the Old Lunar Syndicate.
Her class? Chronoweaver. Time manipulation. Probability distortion. Passive precognition.
She could dodge a spell before you cast it.
By the game's third arc, she was on par with Selene Vaelthorn.
Hell, in some playthroughs she was the strongest heroine.
And here she was—unconscious, bound, and being carted out of the academy like someone's expensive grocery bag.
{So... remind me how they managed to kidnap her?}
I rubbed the back of my neck. 'Uh… about that. I… might've skipped that cutscene.'
{Boooo.}
'Look, it was like five minutes of dialogue and a flashback I thought didn't matter! I had a limited save slot, Echo!'
{And that's how you get kidnapped nobles and timeline chaos. Skipping cutscenes.}
'I'm aware.'
{So what's the reason for the abduction?}
'Because she's one of the six Anchors.'
{...Anchors?}
"Anchors of Reality," I said slowly, watching the assassin carrying Sylvara dart toward the academy perimeter.
'She's one of six special individuals born with a passive stabilizer core.
Their very existence… holds certain branches of space-time in place.
Unstable realms, sealed threats, ancient laws—it all remains balanced because Anchors exist.'
{And if one dies?}
"The world doesn't end," I muttered. 'But something very old, very forbidden, and very locked away might stir.'
{And if they're used?}
I didn't answer immediately.
Because that was the real reason behind the abduction.
The group carrying her—"The Black Lotus"—were mercenaries who worked for rogue demigods and temporal cults.
They weren't just trying to take her.
They were going to use her to fuel an ancient sacrificial engine, and the result was… well, let's just say it involved a timeline collapse.
"So yeah," I muttered. 'They're not just kidnapping her.
They're assassinating her.
Because if they can't get her off school grounds and start the ritual, they'll kill her right here to prevent her from being used by the other side.'
{Wait, so it's both a kidnapping and an assassination attempt?"
'Exactly,' I said. 'A sacrificial kidnapping. Two-in-one horror deal.'
{And you skipped that cutscene?}
'I thought it was a side quest! I didn't know they'd retcon time travel rules into it!'
{You're hopeless.}
I sighed.
The one carrying Sylvara was moving fast, weaving across broken tiles and flashes of spells.
Meanwhile, three of the four masked ones turned to face Justin, who had reached them already—his twin swords flaring with blazing runes.
And suddenly—bam!—a barrier shattered.
Justin's first swing met steel.
The masked attackers weren't ordinary thugs.
Their movements were coordinated, precise, and inhumanly fast.
Twin blades. One polearm. One barehanded martial-type with some kind of spectral claws.
And they were stalling.
"Three stay, one runs," I murmured.
{Textbook extraction. Divide and slow. It's like watching chess with real blood.}
Cassia leaned slightly toward me, her expression way too cheerful given the context.
"Hmm? Have you been talking to someone, Baby Boy?"
"No" I said quickly. "Just myself."
She gave me a grin that said 'liar', then looked ahead.
"I like these guys. They move like art."
"…They're trying to flee away with an abducted classmate, Cassia."
"Still art."
I resisted the urge to sigh as another flash of magic thundered ahead.
Justin activated his twin blessing seal—both swords igniting with holy aura—and leapt toward the martial-type.
He struck downward with force enough to crack stone.
But the assassin met his blow with an upward palm that generated a black pulse, canceling out the divine effect instantly.
Shit.
Those were nullifiers.
And then—
A hiss of energy.
Five more figures rose from curling mist in the middle of the courtyard—cutting off the path of several third- and fourth-year students rushing to intercept the runners.
"Oh come on," I muttered.
{Looks like you got your nine after all.}
'Too late. The split worked.'
{They just bought the runner another twenty seconds of distance.}
And in a fight like this? That was everything.
'Why do I feel like this mission was designed by a dungeon master with childhood trauma?
{Or a sadistic author.}
The students who were cut off skidded to a halt, spells half-charged.
One of the fourth-years snarled and rushed the newcomers, casting a triple flame ring mid-dash.
But the mist figures weren't stalling anymore—they attacked.
And the courtyard exploded again.
Wind spells howled. Lightning crackled.
Blades clashed against summoned barriers, sending mana pulses ricocheting off the academy walls.
One masked man went head-to-head with a fourth-year who wielded a conjured glaive made of molten steel.
The two clashed in bursts of sparks and flame, the masked man nimble but the student relentless.
It ended with the assassin pinned to the wall by a gravity rune, eyes rolling back.
A second found himself overwhelmed by a coordinated barrage—a sorcerer and a martial artist working in tandem.
One froze his legs to the ground, the other slammed into him with a thunder-punch that folded him like laundry.
A third assassin was quick, darting through spells and throwing knives with uncanny precision—until a student with aerial runes kicked him midair and disarmed him with a flourish of twin crescent blades.
Fourth went down to a pair of students who cast an illusion dome over him, disorienting him long enough for a reinforced boot to knock him out cold.
And the last of the five? He ran. But he didn't get far.
A telekinetic chain snagged his ankle mid-leap, and four punches later, he was out cold.
The students stood, panting, triumphant. Just in time to see Justin still holding his ground.
He fought the three remaining assassins like a boy possessed.
Blades flashing, body flowing with the kind of rhythm that only came from having danced with death before.
But even he was struggling. Not outmatched—but cornered.
And then, the last masked figure, the one carrying Sylvara Elyss Duskbane, was meters from the activation zone of a pocket dimensional portal.
Cassia clapped beside me.
"Yesss. I love this game."
"I don't think it's a game anymore."
She smiled at me, unbothered.
"Still feels like one. So… wanna go join them, Baby Boy?"
"No."
"You sure? I'll protect you~" She said, fluttering her eyelashes like a chaotic guardian angel.
{She might actually mean that.} Echo muttered.
'I know she does. That's what's terrifying.'
The status screen popped up in my head again.
[QUEST AVAILABLE: The Rose in the Crosshairs.]
Objective: Intercept the fleeing enemy before the portal is opened.
Reward: ???
Penalty: ???
I declined it.
Again.
Nope.
Not changing the story.
I wasn't the protagonist.
I wasn't the savior.
Let the world burn a little.
Someone else could wear the cape.
And as if the universe answered.
I felt it before I saw it—a chilling weight that slammed into the back of my neck. My body tensed.
The crowd around me felt it too. Even some of the professors stiffened.
A few students looked around, confused.
Some instinctively stepped away. Cassia? She just smiled wider.
"Yh, she's definitely crazy," I muttered.
And then I saw him.
A tall elf stepped calmly onto the battlefield.
His hair was white-blonde, braided neatly over one shoulder, his long ears studded with opalescent rings.
He wore a charcoal grey waistcoat over a midnight velvet shirt with silver filigree along the cuffs and collar.
Slim obsidian trousers tucked into pristine boots that barely made a sound.
He walked like someone who'd seen eternity and decided it was boring.
"He kinda looks familiar," I whispered.
{Idiot,} Echo deadpanned.
{That's Renlor Vynes, Magister of the Student Affairs & Assignment Division.
The same guy you said his name sounded like a villain from a Saturday morning cartoon.
Which, by the way, I still don't understand.}
One moment he was strolling, the next—gone.
He appeared directly in front of the masked man carrying Sylvara.
He didn't raise a hand.
Didn't cast a spell.
Didn't draw a weapon. Just… looked.
And the assassin froze.
I couldn't say what Renlor actually did—I was too far, and honestly, it all looked too clean.
Maybe it was pressure magic.
Maybe gaze-lock.
Maybe he just stared into the dude's soul and found a receipt for all his sins.
I don't know.
All I know is the masked man stopped.
Trembled.
And then… dropped Sylvara to the ground.
Bound in magical chains, her unconscious body hit the grass with a soft thud.
Then the assassin collapsed. Just crumpled.
Dead.
Not bleeding. Not burned. Just dead.
The crowd around me gasped. Whispers.
Then a suffocating silence.
DING!
[Quest Update: "The Rose in the Crosshairs" – COMPLETED]
Objective: Rescue Sylvara Elyss Duskbane - ✓
Completion: 0%
Reward: None.
blinked at the words.
…Seriously?
Justin didn't complete it. Not me. Not any of the main cast.
It was Professor Renlor Vynes. The Magister I once called a Saturday morning cartoon villain.
Guess that makes him the final boss of Monday mornings.
But still, just one professor.
And that alone told me everything I needed to know about the hierarchy of power in this school.
Cassia looked thoroughly unimpressed.
"Showoff," she muttered, watching Renlor Vynes walk off like he hadn't just silenced an entire crisis without lifting a finger.
She sounded genuinely disappointed, like she'd just watched a fireworks show fizzle out.
"That's it? Ugh. I was expecting something more dramatic.
At least a limb flying or someone crying for their mother."
I turned to stare at her, wondering—for the hundredth time—how I'd gotten tangled up with her.
Apparently, I owed her a favor.
Something about how my last-minute mana bomb stunt during the Battle Royale ruined her chance to fight Selene one-on-one.
Like that was my fault. Like I even meant to cause that much damage.
Now she was holding it over my head like I borrowed her lipstick and never returned it.
I glanced down at the cursed ring still clinging to my finger and sighed.
'This damn thing better come with a health insurance package.'
Up ahead, some of the students had finally joined Justin and the others.
Together, they managed to knock out the remaining three masked attackers.
Now, all eight were down—beaten but alive. Probably.
And since they weren't dead, that meant one thing: interrogation.
Yeah… I definitely didn't want to be the guy stuck in a room with the Silvermist staff asking you where your shady ninja friends came from.
Renlor Vynes, meanwhile, did something I couldn't even see—a flick of a finger? A blink? A passive ability? Who the hell knows.
But somehow, Sylvara's unconscious body began to float behind him like a weightless puppet, the magical chains all gone.
A few professors bowed respectfully as he passed.
Some students followed suit—straightening up, nodding, standing at attention like soldiers caught slouching.
Renlor didn't even glance at them.
He just kept walking, clothes fluttering lightly behind him, the unconscious girl drifting in his wake like an afterthought.
When he reached the infirmary section—some magically assembled tents glowing faintly with healing sigils—he left Sylvara there, no words, no fuss.
And then he turned, hands in his coat pockets, and walked away.
Like he hadn't just ended a national security threat before lunch.
That guy was cool.
Too cool.