The morning sun streamed through the window of Marcus's lodgings, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
The smell of stale coffee and old paper filled the room.
Marcus sat at the small wooden table.
He stared at the handwritten list in Damien's notebook. It was a list of disasters waiting to happen.
"Okay," Marcus said. He laced his fingers together and leaned forward.
The 'Life Coach' persona snapped into place. "We have the data. Now we need an action plan."
Damien sat opposite him. He tapped his charcoal pencil against the table rhythmically. He looked less like a noble heir and more like a tired project manager.
"Objective One is obvious," Damien said. "We stop the apocalypse."
"Right," Marcus agreed.
"The Demon Lord invades in three years. Or sooner, thanks to narrative pressure. To stop him, we need the Unified Kingdom Alliance."
"Which requires the hero," Damien continued. "To marry or at least romance the leaders of the key factions. That unites their military power."
"So, Primary Objective: Redirect the heroines to Theo," Marcus concluded.
He wrote it down on a fresh sheet of parchment. "If we fix the romance, we save the world."
Damien nodded. "Simple. Impossible, but simple."
"Secondary Objective," Marcus said. His voice dropped a little. "Survival."
Damien stopped tapping his pencil. He looked at the notebook where he had written Marcus's original fate.
Dies unremarkably in the vanguard.
"The world wants you dead, Marcus," Damien said bluntly. "You're a background extra who stepped into the spotlight. The narrative immune system is going to try to correct that."
"And you?" Marcus asked. "You're the rival. Rivals usually have a redemption arc that ends in heroic sacrifice."
Damien winced. "I'd prefer to skip the 'dying for the protagonist' part. I have plans. I want to travel. Maybe invent pizza."
"Pizza would be good," Marcus admitted.
He wrote Survival under the first objective. "So we watch each other's backs. If the plot tries to kill us, we intervene."
"Agreed," Damien said.
Marcus hesitated. He looked at the list of heroines' names.
Seraphina. Catarina. Vivienne. Iris.
"There's a third objective," Marcus said.
Damien raised an eyebrow. "World peace and not dying isn't enough for you?"
"The women," Marcus said. "They aren't just plot devices, Damien. They're people."
Damien sighed. "Here we go."
"I'm serious," Marcus insisted. "We can't just shove them at Theo like cattle. If they're going to be with him, they have to be happy. It has to be genuine."
"If we force this," Marcus said, "and they end up miserable, then we haven't saved anything. We've just traded one tragedy for another."
Damien watched him for a long moment.
A strange expression crossed his face. It looked like grudging respect.
"That is very 'life-coach' of you," Damien noted.
"It's basic human decency," Marcus countered.
"Fine," Damien said. He gestured to the paper. "Write it down. Objective Three: Ensure the heroines don't hate their lives."
Marcus wrote it down. Happiness.
"Now," Marcus said, capping the ink bottle. "How do we actually pull this off?"
Damien flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. He drew a grid with four quadrants.
"We need bespoke strategies," Damien said. "One size does not fit all. These women are terrifyingly competent in their own fields."
"Let's start with Seraphina," Marcus suggested. "She's the immediate problem. She sees me every day at the Academy."
"And she thinks you're her emotional anchor," Damien added helpfully. "Because you fixed her grief."
Marcus rubbed his face. "I helped her process it. There's a difference."
"To a romance novel heroine? No, there isn't," Damien said. "The strategy here needs to be professional distance. You need to become boring."
"Boring," Marcus repeated. "I can do boring."
"Stop asking her about her feelings," Damien instructed. "Stop bringing her tea. If you see her, talk about the weather. Or taxes. Actually, talk about Theo."
"I tried that," Marcus said. "She thinks I'm a devoted brother."
"Then I'll run interference," Damien said. "I'm a student in her advanced combat class. I can make sure she notices Theo's growth."
Damien mimed holding a sword. "I'll set Theo up to look good. 'Oh wow, look at Theo's form, Professor! Isn't he remarkably talented for his age?'"
Marcus frowned. "That sounds incredibly transparent."
"Subtlety hasn't worked," Damien countered.
"We need a hammer. You withdraw. I highlight Theo. She's a teacher. She loves potential. We make Theo the star pupil."
"Okay," Marcus said. "What about Catarina?"
"The Duchess is political," Damien said. "She values competence and power. Currently, she thinks you're the only man with a brain in the kingdom."
"We write letters about philosophy," Marcus admitted. "She's very insightful."
Damien groaned. "Stop flirting with the Duchess."
"I'm not flirting!"
"You are intellectually seducing her," Damien accused. "New strategy: We leverage the engagement. Liliana is Theo's fiancée. Catarina is Liliana's sister. We need to get Catarina and Theo in the same room."
"Planning sessions," Marcus realized. "The engagement party needs planning. I can insist that Catarina be involved personally."
"Exactly," Damien said.
"You claim you're too busy with... estate management. You send Theo to meet her. He's strong. He's direct. She likes strength."
"Theo will probably talk about swords," Marcus warned.
"Better than you talking about Jane Eyre or whatever you discuss," Damien said. "Proximity breeds appreciation. That's the theory."
"Next," Marcus said. "Vivienne."
Damien paused.
He looked pained. "My mother."
"This is weird for you," Marcus acknowledged.
"You have no idea," Damien said. "But I know her. She's bored. She retired to be a countess, but she's an adventurer in her soul. She wants excitement."
"She thinks I'm exciting?" Marcus asked. "I'm a retired life coach."
"She thinks you're a reclamation project," Damien corrected.
Damien leaned forward.
"I'll suggest she needs a sparring partner. Someone who can actually keep up with her. I'll tell her Theo has raw potential but needs a mentor."
"The 'Mentor' trope," Marcus said. "Classic."
"It gets them sweaty and in close proximity," Damien said.
"She respects strength. If Theo can survive five minutes in the ring with her, she'll look at him differently."
"And me?" Marcus asked.
"You are frail," Damien said. "You are physically unimpressive. You trip over your own feet."
"Hey."
"Play it up," Damien advised. "Be helpless. She's a predator. She wants a mate, not a snack. If you're too weak, she'll lose interest."
Marcus wasn't sure that logic held up, but he nodded. "And finally. Iris."
"The Elf," Damien said. "She's the wildcard. Her motivation is curiosity. She wants to understand humans."
"She follows me around," Marcus said. "She asks questions about mortality."
"Because you answer them," Damien said. "Theo wouldn't understand the question. Which is exactly what we need."
"How does that help?"
"She's a spy," Damien explained. "Her mission is to assess the Child of Destiny. We need to remind her of her job. You need to be boring again. Redirect her questions to Theo."
"I tried that too," Marcus said. "She just asks why I care so much about Theo."
"Then we make Theo interesting," Damien said. "I'll start a rumor that Theo has a mysterious dark past. Or a hidden power. Elves love hidden lore."
Marcus looked at the four plans. They relied heavily on Theo being impressive and Marcus being unavailable.
"It feels flimsy," Marcus admitted.
"It's the best we have," Damien said.
"We create opportunities. The plot wants this to happen. We just need to stop standing in the way."
Damien tapped the paper. "The narrative current is strong, Marcus. We just have to stop swimming upstream. Let the river take them to Theo."
Marcus looked at the notebook. He wanted to believe it. He really did.
"Okay," Marcus said. "Operation Redirect 2.0 is a go."
Damien leaned back in his chair. He stretched his arms over his head. A sudden, sharp laugh escaped him.
"What?" Marcus asked.
"I just..." Damien shook his head. He laughed again, louder this time. "I just realized how stupid this is."
"Which part?" Marcus asked. "The demon apocalypse or the harem management?"
"All of it," Damien said.
He wiped a tear from his eye. "I spent eighteen years preparing for this. I trained with the sword. I learned fire magic. I studied noble politics. I was ready to be the tragic rival."
He gestured around the room.
"I expected epic duels," Damien said. "I expected to glare at the protagonist across a crowded ballroom. I expected to die taking a fireball meant for the hero."
He pointed at Marcus.
"Instead, I'm sitting in a townhouse eating scones with a life coach," Damien said. "And we are planning how to get a seventeen-year-old boy laid so he can save the world."
Marcus chuckled. He couldn't help it. The absurdity hit him too.
"It is ridiculous," Marcus agreed. "I thought I'd get a cheat skill. You know? Like 'Infinite Mana' or 'System Store'."
"I wanted 'Item Creation'," Damien admitted. "I miss plumbing. I would have reinvented indoor plumbing and been the richest man in the world."
"And what did we get?" Marcus asked. "You got 'Genre Savvy'."
"And you got 'Empathy'," Damien countered. "We are the most boring isekai protagonists in history."
"I'm not even a protagonist," Marcus reminded him. "I'm a glitch."
"This is the weirdest experience ever," Damien declared. "Where is my farming village? Where is my slow life? I didn't sign up to cockblock myself for the greater good."
"Cockblocking for world peace," Marcus mused. "That's a hell of a slogan."
Damien snorted. "Imagine if we aren't the only ones."
The room went quiet for a second.
"What do you mean?" Marcus asked.
"Imagine if the Demon Lord is also a transmigrator," Damien said.
He grinned. "Just some guy from Earth who woke up in a dungeon and decided to lean into the role."
Marcus laughed. "Some middle manager who thinks he's playing a strategy game?"
"Exactly!" Damien said. "He's sitting on his dark throne right now, wondering why the hero hasn't shown up yet to trigger the boss fight."
They both laughed.
It was a release of tension that had been building for weeks.
The sheer stupidity of their situation was the only thing that made it bearable.
"God, I hope not," Marcus said, wiping his eyes. "Two of us is bad enough. If the villain is also making meta-jokes, the universe might actually collapse."
"We'd have to start a club," Damien said. "The 'Please Send Us Home' association."
Marcus sobered slightly. "Home."
He looked at his hands. They were calloused from writing, not typing.
"Do you miss it?" Marcus asked.
Damien's smile faded. He looked at the notebook.
"I miss the internet," Damien said. "I miss not worrying about dying of dysentery. But... I didn't have much back there. Just work."
"Me too," Marcus said softly. "Just clients. Problems to fix. No one to fix me."
Damien looked up. His eyes were serious.
"Well," Damien said. "Now you have a partner."
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour. Damien checked his own pocket watch.
"I have to go," Damien said. He stood up and smoothed his jacket. "Mother expects me for lunch. She wants to interrogate me about my 'new friendship' with you."
"What are you going to tell her?" Marcus asked. He stood up as well.
"That we share an interest in... foreign history," Damien said. "And that you are a very private person who should not be disturbed."
They walked to the door. The hallway was empty.
Damien turned to Marcus. He held out his hand.
"Partners in fixing the plot?" Damien asked.
Marcus looked at the hand. It wasn't the hand of a rival. It was the hand of a survivor.
"Partners," Marcus said. He shook it firmly. "And if this doesn't work..."
"We blame the author," Damien finished.
"Deal."
He opened the door. The sounds of the manor drifted in—servants walking, distant conversations.
Damien hesitated. He looked back at Marcus. A strange, wry smile touched his lips.
"You know," Damien said, "in the original novel, we didn't become friends until Chapter 300. After I lost the tournament and you were... well, already dead."
"I know," Marcus said.
"This is a much weirder origin story," Damien noted. "Bonding over trauma and bad writing."
Marcus smiled. It was the first genuine, unburdened smile he had felt in days.
"Better story, though," Marcus said.
Damien chuckled. "Yeah. Maybe it is."
He stepped out into the hall. "Don't die, Marcus."
"You neither, Jason."
Damien flinched at his real name, then nodded.
He walked away, his stride regaining that arrogant noble swagger he wore like armor.
Marcus watched him go. He closed the door and leaned against it.
The silence of the room returned, but it felt different now. Less oppressive.
He looked at the notebook Damien had left on the table.
The plan was absurd. The odds were terrible.
But for the first time since waking up in this terrifying fantasy world, Marcus Aldridge didn't feel alone.
He pushed off the door. He walked to the table and picked up the quill.
"Operation Redirect 2.0," he muttered to himself. "Let's save the world."
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A/N:
Hey guys, if you have read until now I am pretty sure there is something you liked about this mediocre novel.
After 47 chapters and 64k+ wordsof FREE chapters for you guys, I have finally decided to lock my chapters. So I really hope you keep reading this novel forward.
Thanks to all of you for the support. PEACE.