"Should I make the hero stronger?
So that he can give the villain a proper fight?"
Lucas was walking down the road, lost in that thought.
There was a phone in his hand, and his finger moving carelessly up and down on the screen. His other hand was thrust deep inside the pocket—not from the cold but from habit.
His mind was not present in the current situation.
It was stuck somewhere else entirely.
His novel.
His unfinished novel.
The office gate was already behind him. Neon lights were slowly dying away, left behind with the building, and the city's noise felt duller with every steps. Weather was quite heavy, and dark clouds clung to the sky, as if something was about to happen… just not yet.
Lucas always went home at this time. Always took this road. Always like this—buried inside his phone.
But today, his mind felt heavier than usual.
The hero is still weak.
The villain feels more convincing than him.
What if the readers don't like the ending?
He stopped mid-step and looked down at his phone. The draft was open. The ending chapters lay incomplete, abandoned halfway through.
"There's still plenty of time for the ending… I'll look at it tomorrow," he muttered to himself.
The words carried no confidence. They were hollow from inside.
And then he started walking again.
The wind had picked up a little. The road was even wet a little bit, as if it had rained down here not too long ago. Street-lights were already on, but the glow seemed dull—like even they were tired too.
Lucas sank into another thought.
Maybe the hero needs to make a sacrifice…
Maybe another side character this time?
Then—
A sharp horn.
Then a blinding light.
And then—
CRASH!
A car coming straight from the front slammed into Lucas.
His phone flew out of his hand and rotated in the air before falling on the other side of the road.
Lucas hit the ground—
But he didn't stop right there.
His body dragged across the asphalt. His clothes tore apart. His skin burned. The rough surface of the road scraped off straight down to the bone. Every single second felt heavier and a different kind of pain remains in every fraction of seconds, it was a sharp, and a merciless pain.
Blood spread across the road, forming a thin red trail.
Voices began to rise around him.
"Hey—!"
"What the—!"
"Stop the car!"
But those voices felt distant to Lucas.
His breathing began to falter.
His eyes were half open but his consciousness was already gone. The dark sky above him melted on his visions.
"N-no…"
His lips trembled.
"I—I can't... die like this…"
His throat tightened.
"My novel's ending is still—"
He couldn't finish the sentence. His voice broke apart in the air.
People started gathering around him. Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook him up, as if an attempt were made to pull him back.
"Hey! Can you hear me?"
"Call an ambulance, quick!"
"There's too much blood!"
Lucas felt like something was pulling him away—like his body was lying there, but he was drifting somewhere else.
Breathing was getting harder.
Then an old man stepped forward. He bent down and placed his fingers near Lucas's nose. Then he moved his hand to his neck.
For a few seconds, everything went silent.
The old man straightened up and spoke slowly, firmly—
"He's… dead."
And in that moment, for Lucas—
His world ended.
When Lucas opened his eyes, he saw a mirror right in front of him—and a dark room.
I'm alive? But how? I died… didn't I?
Cough! Cough!
It was so dark that he could not even see his own face in the mirror. There was a strange smell hanging in the room. He looked for a window and pulled the curtain aside to allow sunlight and fresh air to flood in.
His body still ached.
Then suddenly, a sound echoed inside his head.
Ding!
[Author has been transmigrated into his novel]
[CONGRATULATIONS, AUTHOR!]
"Huh? A system? As far as I remember—I got into an accident on the road…"
"Did I really end up inside my own novel? But… which one?"
Renlith took a step toward the mirror—and froze.
The face staring back at him wasn't his.
"What—what the hell…!? No… no no no, this can't be real…"
His breath hitched.
"This… this is a side character from my novel 'The Villain's Progression'. And not even an important one. Worse—this idiot dies because of his own stupidity. Out of all the characters… this is the only one I get?"
Renlith Shiyota.
Eighteen years old.
Jobless.
A sharp, mature face that didn't match his situation.
Silver-white hair, medium length.
Black eyes—eyes weighed down by debt.
Neither short nor tall. Just… average.
Before his mind could process any further—
Knock! Knock!
The sound snapped him back.
Without thinking, his body moved toward the door.
He opened it.
A small girl stood there—around thirteen.
Black hair. Ember-like eyes.
Looking straight at him.
"Ceci?"
The name slipped out automatically, even though he knew her full name was Cecilia Shiyota.
"So?" she said casually. "What were you doing inside all this time? We've got guests. They're calling you."
"Guests? Who?"
"The landlady."
Holy shit!
He crouched slightly and looked at her.
"Stay in this room. Don't come out, okay? Adults talk about things kids shouldn't hear."
"Okay, big brother," Ceci replied, smiling.
Renlith turned away.
His legs trembled as he walked downstairs—
like his body already knew what was waiting.
At the bottom, a woman stood there.
Slim figure.
Short hair—moss-green color.
Eyes burning with anger—sharp and cold.
Behind her stood four men. security guards. Two mages, two knights.
"So, Mr. Renlith," she said coldly.
"Ahem! Your rent? Not this month. Not last month. Not the one before that either."
"Three months."
"You owe rent for three months."
"Lady Yella, please—just give me a little more time. I swear I'll return everything this time."
"That's what you said last month too."
Her gaze hardened.
"You never learn."
She gestured.
Two men stepped forward and grabbed Renlith's arms.
A third man came from behind—
The first punch smashed into his face.
Blood burst from his mouth.
The second punch landed in his stomach.
"P-please… don't do this… I'll pay you back, I swear. If I can't—do whatever you want. Kick me out from here. Anything. Just… just give me one more chance."
"…Fine."
Yella crossed her arms.
"If the rent isn't paid by next month, you won't just be homeless. You won't even have a face worth showing to anyone."
"Th-thank you—next time—"
The third punch cut him off.
"L-lady… Yella?"
One of the men grabbed Renlith by his throat and lifted him into the air.
Renlith clawed at the man's arm, his legs kicking uselessly.
"M-my… th-throat…"
The sound barely escaped.
"This is today's punishment," Yella said coldly.
"Fail again, and it'll be far worse."
She gestured.
The man dropped him.
"Well then, Mr. Renlith," she smiled faintly.
"I hope you manage to gather all the money by next month."
With that, Yella and her men left.
Renlith lay there, gasping.
I need to get money. Anywhere. Fast.
If I don't… Yella will—
Blood was still dripping from his mouth.
"Damn it… I need to wash up. Ceci will worry."
He staggered to the bathroom, rinsing his face again and again until it looked… acceptable.
Not healed, just presentable.
He wiped his face with a towel.
"First thing… I need to find work."
He paused.
"…Wait."
Why should I work?
I'm the author of this novel.
I know there are places where I left free monster loot—ahem! lazy shortcuts so the hero could sell it and earn money without trouble.
Now that I think about it…
I really was a terrible writer.
Always choosing convenience. Always avoiding complications.
Renlith returned to his room where Ceci was waiting.
"So? Is it done?" she asked.
"Yeah. Listen—I'm going for a hunt. I might come back late. Don't wait for me. Eat by yourself."
Ceci was only thirteen, yet far more mature than her age.
She knew what Yella did to Renlith.
She just never said anything.
"…Okay, big brother."
Renlith picked up his sword and stepped outside.
If I go there… take all the monster loot and sell it…
At least I can pay the rent.