The webnovel was called The Dance of Power.
It wasn't some chart-topping monster that broke ranking boards. It didn't have fan wars or memes flooding comment sections. But it had something worse.
It stuck.
The world wasn't perfect. The pacing stumbled. Sometimes the fight scenes dragged. But the author understood atmosphere. Characters made mistakes. Consequences lingered. When people died, they stayed dead.
And the gimmick?
Readers could submit characters.
Not "fan mentions." Not background cameos.
Full insertion.
Two reader-created characters per arc.
Stats. Skill sheets. Backstories. Artwork. If chosen, they entered the actual story.
Of course I tried.
I didn't go stupid with it either. No absurd overpowered nonsense. I built something balanced. Something that made sense in the system's rules. Strengths with constraints. A skill with restrictions. A background that didn't scream "main character."
I put hours into it. Rewrote the sheet three times. Tweaked stat distribution until it felt believable.
Then the email came.
[From: [email protected]]
Hello, Vipez!
Thanks for supporting my humble little story and always commenting.
Unfortunately, the two slots are already filled.
Your character is interesting, but he doesn't fit the direction of the next arc.
Sorry — he's just not good enough.
That was it.
No elaboration. No feedback. No maybe-next-time.
Just not good enough.
I stared at the screen for a while. Not expecting another paragraph to appear — just staring because my brain didn't have anywhere else to go.
It wasn't rage.
It wasn't heartbreak.
It was smaller than that.
Like someone closing a door while you're still mid-sentence.
I didn't respond.
I closed the tab.
I told myself it didn't matter. Stories come and go. Authors don't owe readers anything. It wasn't personal.
I found another novel. Clicked it. Scrolled.
Didn't read a word.
Because something in my chest felt… exposed.
Not rejected exactly.
Dismissed.
Like I'd offered something and it hadn't even been worth real consideration.
And that part shouldn't have hurt.
It was fiction.
Just fiction.
Right?
I shut the laptop.
"If even fiction doesn't need me…" I muttered, then shook my head.
That was dramatic. I wasn't twelve.
I'd been ignored before. Plenty of times.
I was good at shrugging things off.
It had always worked.
Until it didn't.
The chance of becoming a millionaire is one in 50,063,860.
I remember that statistic from some random article I once skimmed.
What was happening to me right now felt rarer.
I was standing in a living room that wasn't mine.
The furniture alone cost more than my entire apartment back home. White marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Clean silence.
That silence hit first.
No music bleeding through walls.
No TV.
No sister yelling into her phone.
Just still air.
My reflection in the glass window wasn't mine either.
Taller.
Sharper.
Better posture. Broader shoulders.
And in my hand was a letter sealed with a gold brooch.
My fingers were already trembling.
I opened it.
The handwriting was precise.
Elegant.
And the first line stopped my heart cold.
"Dear Dreyden. You were accepted into the Triangle."
Dreyden.
Dreyden Stella.
My character.
The one that "wasn't good enough."
The one I built.
The one that got rejected.
My vision blurred slightly.
"No," I whispered.
But the memories weren't mine.
They were his.
Ten years old — standing in the Stella estate while relatives watched in quiet contempt.
The Copper Body skill book — level 7.
A bloodline skill tied to vitality.
He didn't have enough.
Not enough energy.
Not enough potential.
So they erased him.
Declared him dead on internal records.
Removed him from the registry.
Sent him to a weak-human district outside the main cities.
A polite exile.
He was supposed to survive alone.
Until…
I froze.
Until a "friend of his father" gave him a skill book.
Except I never named that friend.
Never described him.
I just wrote a placeholder.
But in my mind, a name surfaced:
Idan Vaughan.
I hadn't written that.
I hadn't imagined that.
The world had.
The gap had been filled.
Which meant one thing.
This wasn't me trapped inside a script.
This was a functioning world based on it.
A version that didn't need my details to continue.
A version that corrected incomplete data.
It was alive.
And I was inside it.
The Triangle.
Military academy.
Hierarchical brutality disguised as structure.
Level 9 and 10 users treated like living weapons.
Beasts beyond the walls.
Aliens testing borders.
Human superiority balanced on a knife's edge.
And tomorrow — 10 AM — entrance exam.
I lay on the unfamiliar bed for two hours, staring at a ceiling that didn't belong to me.
I wasn't thrilled.
I wasn't excited.
This wasn't fantasy fulfillment.
It was panic.
Because Dreyden was only viable if he had the skill I made for him.
Celestial Library.
Level 0.
Unregistered.
Untrackable.
Restrictive.
Fragile.
But scalable.
If he didn't meet Idan yet…
If the skill wasn't there…
Then I was walking into a predator's arena unarmed.
The Triangle did not tolerate weakness.
This world didn't tolerate weakness.
People without power were infrastructure.
People with weak power were tools.
People like Dreyden were statistical waste.
"This can't be real," I muttered into the empty room. "I didn't even want this…"
My voice cracked.
I wasn't begging.
I was bargaining with something I couldn't see.
Eventually I turned the TV on.
News broadcast confirmed Triangle exams were underway.
Tomorrow was final intake.
Plot accurate.
Exactly thirty days behind initial arc launch.
Just like reader submissions.
Which meant the rest of the timeline probably matched too.
The disasters.
The deaths.
The casualties.
I turned it off.
Darkness filled the room.
No more denial.
If I was here, I needed strength.
Immediately.
But checking "Status" would confirm everything.
And if Celestial Library wasn't there…
Then hope would die in that moment.
I sat up slowly.
My hands felt foreign.
My heartbeat felt too loud.
I closed my eyes.
"Please," I whispered. "Just let it be there."
I swallowed.
Then forced the word out.
"Status."
Something answered.
Not audibly.
Physically.
Warmth surged through my body — not pain, not heat — something… alive.
Magic.
It coursed through veins I didn't understand.
Gathered in front of me.
Light formed.
A square.
Glowing.
I held my breath.
And opened my eyes.