Into the Manuscript (2)
"Wh—what?! Uaaaghhh!"
Jungjin thrashed wildly, swept up by the raging current of the Han River.
It was his first time touching water since his military service, and he was already sinking too deep to surface no matter how desperately he kicked.
He'd never thought life was particularly worth living, but this—this was not how he wanted to die. He'd thought about wanting to escape life's hardships, not wanting to die.
Was this what people called seeing visions before death?
His mother's face flashed before him. His younger brother's smile.
And even the face of Min-san, his unrequited crush from college.
No… I don't want to die. Somehow—
"[Help me!]"
The sound didn't even make it out as a voice—just a bubble of words.
And then, from Jungjin's left hand, a golden light burst forth.
A radiant semicircle expanded around him, pushing back the black water inside its boundary.
His unconscious body began to rise toward the surface, drawn upward by the halo of light.
A slim silhouette sprinted toward the glowing water's edge and caught him as he surfaced, dragging him ashore.
The mysterious golden light faded—absorbed, as if being sucked, into the graduation ring on his left hand.
"Come on, Cleio Aser! Wake up!"
Jungjin's eyes shot open.
A red-haired girl with emerald-green eyes was shaking him by the collar—her beauty so striking it left him momentarily speechless.
"Guh—cough!"
He finally managed to spit out the water. His eyes, nose, and ears all stung from the river.
"Cleio!"
"…L-let go of me…"
His voice came out strange, hoarse from all the water he'd swallowed. He blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his vision.
The girl glaring down at him was tall, slender, unmistakably foreign.
Big, bright eyes, sharp features—someone he'd never seen before.
"What on earth were you doing out here in the middle of the night?!"
"Cleio? What are you talking about? Why are you—"
Why was he, who had fallen from Dongjak Bridge, being grabbed by a stranger who spoke… something that didn't sound like Korean?
"You're first-year Cleio Aser! Don't even try to deny it—I saw the magic circle you activated!"
His body trembled violently, but the girl didn't ease up at all.
The rapid-fire words spilling from her lips didn't sound like Korean, yet somehow he understood every one of them.
Understanding, however, didn't mean it made any sense.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Who are you? Let go of me."
Her grip only tightened. His skull rang from being shaken so hard.
He flailed his arms helplessly, but it was no use.
Maybe he'd been underwater too long—he couldn't even shake off a single slim girl.
His strength failed. He collapsed where he stood.
The girl's angry interrogation faded into silence soon after.
He vaguely felt warmth, a pleasant scent wrapping around him—then nothing.
When he opened his eyes again, it was dawn.
It felt like he'd slept for days—or maybe only a short nap.
A cool breeze drifted through the half-open window.
It was July. It should've been sticky and hot, yet the air was crisp and refreshing.
Where the hell am I?
He pushed himself up from the bed, his body heavy and sluggish, like someone recovering from a long illness.
He sat still, catching his breath, when a strange discomfort struck him.
He rubbed his dry eyes with the back of his hand—and froze.
He stared at his hands.
They were slender, smooth.
But they shouldn't have been.
His real hands had knobby joints from years of part-time jobs in school, and rough fingertips from sanding returned books for resale.
Now, all that was gone. Even the long, ragged scar across his right hand—earned when he'd accidentally grazed it with a grinder during his navy days and needed twelve stitches—had vanished.
In its place, faint white lines formed a barely visible rectangular mark on the back of his hand—so pale he had to raise it to his face to see it.
What the hell… These aren't my hands.
Panicked, Jungjin looked around the room.
A tall standing mirror leaned by the door.
In the reflection stood a frail, underfed-looking boy.
Drooping eyes, a weak expression.
He shook his head in disbelief—and the boy's dull brown hair shook with him.
That's me? What kind of screwed-up dream is this?
Had he hit his head while drunk somewhere?
A fall? A stroke? A coma dream?
Maybe this was all an illusion from a hospital bed.
Even if I've turned into someone else in this dream, I still have my ring.
Sure enough, the unfamiliar boy's hand still bore his university graduation ring. It was the only thing he'd ever been attached to—perhaps that's why it had followed him here.
He had nothing else in the world worth keeping.
Back in college, when the department was about to be dissolved, Min-san and a few classmates had suggested they all get matching graduation rings.
He'd agreed—partly because she'd asked him to.
He'd worn it ever since, pathetically treasuring the fact that it was the same ring she had.
You're not twenty-two anymore. You're thirty-two and still hung up on her? Even in your dreams?
Overcome with self-loathing, Jungjin buried his head in his hands—
—when dong… dong… dong…
A clear bell rang in the distance.
Its chime was bright and resonant, echoing across what now appeared to be a vast forest and a series of old, grand buildings outside the window.
His mouth fell open.
This wasn't Seoul. But if not Seoul… where was this?
Dreams were supposed to be fragments of memory and imagination—
They should scatter when consciousness returned.
But his mind was perfectly clear.
His senses were vivid—pain, stiffness, thirst.
This wasn't something he could dismiss as a dream anymore.
He'd never dreamed something like this before. Normally, he'd pass out from exhaustion and wake to his alarm the next morning.
This foreign landscape—so real and yet so alien—was beyond anything he could have imagined.
As he tried to process it all, his limp fingers trembled faintly.
The platinum ring that had once fit perfectly was now loose on his finger, spinning freely around his index. Startled, Jungjin instinctively grabbed it before it slipped off.
"Ugh!"
The moment his skin touched the metal, a scorching heat surged through it. He tried to pull the ring off, but it wouldn't budge—it clung to him as if molten and fused with his flesh.
Then, lines of glowing text appeared before his eyes. Even when he shut them, the words didn't fade—they burned themselves into his vision.
[Bound Item: Promise of □□□]
― Low narrative integration detected. Feature access is limited.
― The Ring of Promise connects dimensions. Upon entering the Final World, the base function of 'Promise' will unlock, granting the user infinite etheral sensitivity.
― The first function of 'Promise,' 「Memory」, is now available. Every text you have read throughout your life will be perfectly retained by the power of 「Memory」.
The glowing letters, reminiscent of augmented reality, triggered something in his memory.
"That… that transmission thing!"
He'd definitely seen it—right after checking the author's strange midnight email at Dongjak Bridge, when the river had begun to ripple. The words [―Transmission received successfully.] had flashed before his eyes.
"I thought I was seeing things… What the hell is this?"
Frowning, Jungjin scanned the floating text again.
A world traversal, item activation… and perfect recall of everything I've ever read? So I can bring back every book I've ever read?
He couldn't help but laugh in disbelief.
This sounds like some high schooler's power-fantasy. Like when I was cramming math formulas because I couldn't understand them.
Even if this was all a dream—or a delusion—could something like that really exist? He couldn't even remember whether he'd eaten soybean stew or kimchi stew last night.
Ghosts couldn't speak beyond the understanding of the living. Likewise, a tired thirty-something's brain wasn't built to process this kind of "system setting."
Overpowered nonsense.
Regardless of whether he accepted it or not, new text appeared in the air.
[―'Promise' Function 「Memory」 Activated: You may now reread The Prince of the Kingdom of Albion.]
"…Ah."
At this point, it clicked.
So this world… is inside that manuscript?
He'd seen this setup countless times in web novels—protagonists who wake up inside the world of the book they were reading or had written.
Seriously? Getting possessed by a story? That's so cliché. And those were all finished books—this one's still a half-baked draft the author kept rewriting.
Besides, if his soul had possessed a character in the manuscript, shouldn't his graduation ring have vanished too?
Still dazed, Jungjin rubbed the now perfectly fitting ring with his thumb out of habit.
The Prince of the Kingdom of Albion… Then maybe I can find out who this body belongs to.
As he focused on recalling the manuscript's details, a strange sensation hit him like a wave.
This must be the "Memory" function!
Heat bloomed behind his forehead. A paper scroll unfurled vividly in his mind.
The scroll spun rapidly—sentences he'd once read flashing by, perfectly clear, as if he were reading them anew.
Jungjin lay back down, overwhelmed.
By invoking "Promise," he'd reread The Prince of the Kingdom of Albion in an instant.
But… there was no character named Cleio Aser.
And yet the red-haired girl by the river had definitely called him "Cleio Aser."
She also said I was a first-year student. If she knew that much, she must be someone from the same academy.
A single passage from the manuscript surfaced in his mind.
A short mention by Isiel Kishion, about a fellow student who drowned in the river.
In that scene, Isiel found a mysterious magical formula near the academy grounds and, fearing it might be part of a plot to harm Prince Arthur, increased her nightly patrols—until she discovered the lifeless body of a student in the river.
Right! That girl must've been Isiel Kishion. The way she interrogated me about magic… And that red hair, that ridiculous strength—it fits.
Isiel Kishion was the second most important character in The Prince of the Kingdom of Albion, right after the protagonist, Arthur Leogunan.
Arthur's first knight.
His fellow disciple under the same sword master.
His most loyal vassal.
During their academy days, everyone thought Isiel, the top student, had been saddled with handling troublemakers because she shared classes with the Third Prince.
If this was still during the academy arc, that meant the great war was at least five years away.
The "magic formula" incident appeared on the second page of the manuscript—and the drowned student, Cleio Aser, was nothing more than a nameless background character.
No wonder there were no answers in the text. The author had never written them.
In the world of The Prince of the Kingdom of Albion, Cleio Aser was utterly insignificant.
Jungjin had no idea what kind of life Cleio had lived—or why he had died.
Well, that's something to worry about later.
His head hurt from thinking too much.
I'll just do what everyone does in these kinds of stories—pretend I've lost my memory. I even fell in a river, so it makes perfect sense.
According to the manuscript, the Royal Capital Defense Academy of the Kingdom of Albion—located in the capital city of Lundein—was the country's most prestigious institution.
Whether by talent, lineage, or wealth, every student there had something exceptional.
Then this Cleio guy must have had at least one thing going for him too.
Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly be worse than his old life.
Yeah… Whether it's a dream or some author's fantasy world, it's all imagination anyway.
He hadn't properly rested for even three days in years. On holidays, he'd take on freelance editing gigs just to scrape together extra cash.
He'd never gone abroad—not even once. Didn't even have a passport.
For all he knew, he could still be lying unconscious in a hospital bed, breathing through a ventilator, feeling the faint touch of a patient gown that a nurse had changed for him.
Whatever. Let me sleep. I could probably sleep for ten years.
Jungjin sank back into the soft blanket. It was so plush it felt like falling into a cloud.
Only the "Promise" on his left hand glimmered faintly.
He never noticed the golden letters that shimmered above it.
[―Writing of The Prince of the Kingdom of Albion (Final Draft) begins.]
[―The author acquires a new spark for the ending.]
[―Existing characters are being rewritten.]