Marcus forced himself to take a deep, measured breath, pushing down the impulse that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Forget it," he muttered to himself, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them. "In the original novel, this incident was dangerous but ultimately harmless. After Elena falls into the water, Adrian will appear in time to save her. I just need to ensure the plot develops smoothly, their romantic feelings intensify, and everything will be fine."
It was a rationalization, thin and transparent, but he clung to it.
However, precisely at the moment when he was attempting to convince himself to function as a qualified spectator—a passive observer of events he could theoretically influence—the System's emotionless electronic voice suddenly erupted within his consciousness:
[WARNING! HOST, ABNORMAL EMOTIONAL FLUCTUATION DETECTED. THIS EVENT CONSTITUTES A CRITICAL PLOT NODE. YOU MUST MAINTAIN OBSERVER STATUS AND NOT ENGAGE IN RASH INTERVENTION!]
[REPEAT: AS A TARGET CAPTURER, THEY ARE MERELY NPCs WITHIN YOUR MISSION WORLD. YOU MUST NOT INJECT EXCESSIVE PERSONAL EMOTION AND MUST NOT PREVENT THE OCCURRENCE OF PREDETERMINED EVENTS!]
[FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL TRIGGER UNPREDICTABLE PLOT DISRUPTION, LEADING TO SUBSTANTIAL HIDDEN DANGERS AND POTENTIALLY RESULTING IN MISSION FAILURE!]
Marcus's ears felt practically calloused from hearing this particular warning repeated across multiple scenarios. He responded internally with undisguised impatience:
I know! I wasn't planning on interfering. I'm just going to sit here and watch. Satisfied?
[SYSTEM: PLEASE REMEMBER YOUR CORE MISSION, HOST. YOUR PRIMARY OBJECTIVE IS TO ACQUIRE POSITIVE VALUE POINTS, ACCUMULATE FINANCIAL RESOURCES, AND ACHIEVE AN "INTACT CORPSE" ENDING SO YOU CAN SAFELY RETURN TO YOUR ORIGINAL WORLD. AS FOR ELENA NIGHTSHADE, SHE WILL FOLLOW HER ORIGINAL DESTINY TRAJECTORY AND SPEND THE REST OF HER LIFE WITH THE PERSON SHE TRULY LOVES. THIS IS THE OPTIMAL ARRANGEMENT FOR ALL PARTIES INVOLVED.]
Marcus could almost visualize the System delivering this lecture with a completely straight face—a mechanistic, utterly soulless recitation of optimization parameters. He responded with barely restrained irritation:
I understand. I know. I promise absolutely, without exception, I will not interfere with the plot this time. Is that acceptable?
The moment the internal argument concluded, a distinctly chilly autumn wind suddenly swept through the forest canopy, passing directly over his position. The cold air raised involuntary goosebumps across his skin, and he shivered despite his attempt at self-control.
He subconsciously raised his head and looked back toward the lake.
And there—finally—the delicate figure that had remained so perfectly still showed signs of movement.
From behind the enormous banana leaf that concealed him, Marcus possessed an excellent vantage point. He could see with crystal clarity as Elena slowly, gradually regained consciousness.
Her slender fingers first twitched unconsciously—tiny, reflexive movements suggesting the brain was reconnecting with the body. Then her fingertips pressed hard against the wheelchair's armrest, her grip tightening as though seeking something solid to anchor herself to reality. Her other hand rose weakly, moving to support her forehead—that still-aching, impossibly heavy head—and her delicate eyebrows drew together in obvious discomfort. Her lips moved silently, forming words she didn't quite have the strength to voice:
"It hurts so much..."
"How did I... end up here?"
At that moment, despite the distance separating them, Marcus felt as though he could read the emotions conveyed through her silent lips. Her confusion was palpable—a deep, existential bewilderment mixed with the helplessness of being trapped in an unknown, threatening situation with no one to turn to, no one to ask for clarification.
Immediately afterward, Marcus observed Elena seeming to gather her strength, apparently intending to leave this location. She extended her arm, fumbling for the electric control switch mounted on the wheelchair's frame.
The wheelchair began to move. It started slowly, rolling smoothly across the flat grass.
But very quickly—too quickly—the front wheels made contact with the subtle slope.
In that single, crystalline moment, the wheelchair transformed. It lurched forward like a wild horse suddenly released from its restraints, completely outside Elena's control. The chair accelerated with gathering speed down the incline, carrying the increasingly panicked girl toward that distant, deep, emerald pool at an escalating, irreversible velocity.
The girl dressed in pure white—fragile, vulnerable—was thrown forward by the tremendous inertia. Person and wheelchair combined, she flew through the air like a mercilessly discarded stone, tracing an arc of pure despair through the sunlit afternoon.
"SPLASH!!!"
The sound was catastrophic—a heavy, violent crash that shattered the tranquil afternoon by the lake. The impact startled the white egrets that had been resting peacefully on the bank. They erupted into flight, their wings beating frantically as they scattered in all directions, fleeing from the sudden violence.
Before Elena even fully submerged into that all-consuming lake water, she hadn't managed to release a complete cry for help. The water had swallowed her too quickly, too completely, stealing even her voice.
After that brief moment of violent commotion, the world descended into a deadly silence—as though the very universe was observing a moment of mourning for this "tragic accident."
Marcus's body reacted before his conscious mind could process what he'd witnessed. He nearly leaped from his hiding place, moving on pure instinct. His heart felt as though it was going to burst directly through his ribcage, the organ pounding with such force that it seemed impossible his body could contain it.
However, in the next microsecond, the System's warning voice and the original novel's plot details crystallized in his consciousness like chains of ice, instantly binding his feet in place.
This is not your moment to appear.
The hero-saves-beauty scene belongs to Adrian.
You are merely a spectator. Only a few meters away, yet forced to watch with complete indifference.
The enormous white splash that had erupted from Elena's impact had now completely subsided. Only a few faint ripples remained, expanding weakly across the surface before gradually settling, as though nothing significant had occurred at all.
The emerald lake surface had returned to its characteristic calm—smooth as a piece of cold jade, silently swallowing everything that fell into its depths.
Why isn't he here yet?!
Marcus stared intensely at the water's surface, his eyes refusing to blink, while simultaneously glancing down at his wrist watch in a gesture of desperate anxiety.
Time of impact: 12:20:52 PM.
Every second that passed felt like a needle pricking directly against his nerve endings, each moment stretching into subjective eternities.
His heart began to pound with a rhythm he could no longer control—thump-thump-thump—accelerating faster and faster, the rate increasing until it felt almost like it would shatter his entire ribcage from within.
Marcus understood better than almost anyone how brutally short the golden window was for rescuing a drowning person. Every additional second of delay meant the survival probability for that fragile life underwater dropped exponentially. The human brain, deprived of oxygen, began to suffer irreversible damage within minutes. Every second mattered. Every second was potentially the difference between recovery and permanent, irreversible death.
But now—he could see nothing. No sign of Adrian. No rescuer emerging from the villa. No one coming to perform the hero's role that the original novel had written for this scene.
According to the "script" of the original work, shouldn't Adrian be descending like a god at precisely this moment? Shouldn't he be diving into the water immediately, retrieving his "fated person" with the desperate passion of true love?
Marcus held his breath, his chest tight from the suppression of panic and anxiety. He practically squeezed out a low whisper between his clenched teeth:
" Adrian, if you don't come soon... your future wife is genuinely going to be gone forever."
In his mind, the System's untimely, attempting-to-be-soothing electronic voice sounded once more:
[HOST, PLEASE EXERCISE PATIENCE AND REMAIN CALM. THE KEY CHARACTER SHOULD ARRIVE AT THE SCENE MOMENTARILY, AND THE PLOT WILL CORRECT ITSELF. ONLY THIRTY SECONDS HAVE ELAPSED. YOUR LEVEL OF CONCERN FOR HER APPEARS... EXCESSIVE.]
Marcus roared internally, his response nearly shattering his own composure:
Of course I care! If she dies, I probably won't survive either!
He was, of course, referring to mission failure—the inability to acquire additional positive value, the ultimate descent into the "death" ending from which there was no recovery.
The System fell silent for several beats before responding in a tone that was almost, impossibly, teasing:
[IF YOUR WORDS WERE HEARD BY OTHERS WITHOUT THE CONTEXT OF YOUR MISSION PARAMETERS, I FEAR THEY MIGHT PRODUCE... A LESS THAN FAVORABLE MISUNDERSTANDING.]
Marcus internally: "..."
He had absolutely no intention of debating semantics with this heartless, emotionless system at the present moment.
Every fragment of his attention, every neuron firing in his consciousness, was seized and held captive by the unknown, rapidly fading life beneath the water's surface.
He found himself tormented by involuntary speculation: How much lung capacity could the tiny, chronically ill Elena possibly possess?
In that bone-chillingly cold lake water, with her frail body already weakened by medication and unconsciousness, how many seconds could she possibly endure before her lungs involuntarily inhaled water, before her consciousness fragmented and dissolved entirely?
Thirty seconds had elapsed.
Forty seconds.
Fifty seconds.
Where was Adrian?
Beneath Mirror Lake
Below the surface was another world entirely—a realm of absolute, deadly silence.
Sunlight struggled desperately to penetrate the water's surface, eventually managing only a dim, fractured passage. The light refracted into swaying, dancing columns that shimmered downward, creating ethereal patterns as they illuminated Elena's slowly sinking body with ghostly illumination.
Yet this light brought no comfort, no warmth, no sense of life or rescue. Instead, it only emphasized the terrible depth surrounding her—the enormity of the water, the infinite darkness waiting further below.
Elena felt as though her entire body had been encased in ten thousand years of accumulated ice. The biting, searing cold penetrated every pore of her skin, every cell of her being. It froze her blood in her veins, it paralyzed her nervous system, it rendered her muscles nearly incapable of coordinated movement.
The deep bottom of the lake seemed to hide an invisible monster, dragging at her ankles, pulling her steadily downward, intent on drawing her into eternal darkness.
Her lungs, already starved for oxygen, began to burn with a sensation that transcended ordinary pain. It was agony—pure, primal, the body's most fundamental demand for air transformed into torture when that demand could not be met.