CHAPTER 46: A NEW NOTIFICATION

Sigh~

I let out a slow breath, low and tired, as the faint voice echoed in my head. It felt like someone was whispering my name just behind me, but when I turned, there was nothing.

Just shadows and silence.

Ding.

Ding.

The cracked phone in my pocket buzzed again, that same high-pitched chime ringing out in the stillness. It didn’t even sound like a normal ringtone anymore. It was too warped and sharp. Like a child’s toy left to rot in the rain.

I didn’t want to take it out.

Ding.

Every time it rang, something about the world seemed to shift—barely noticeable, like a picture frame tilted half a degree, or the lights dimming just a little too much.

I could feel it pulsing against my thigh, like it was trying to get out on its own.

Ding.

It buzzed again. Louder. Longer.

I clenched my jaw.

The screen was cracked—spiderwebbed all across, like something had clawed at it from the inside. Half the time, it didn’t respond to touch. The other half? It showed things I wish I could unsee.

I didn’t want to look. God, I didn’t.

But the sound wouldn’t stop.

I stood frozen for a moment, the night pressing down around me like thick, wet cloth, until finally, slowly, I reached into my pocket.

My fingers trembled just a little.

And as soon as my skin touched the cold, broken glass, the buzzing stopped.

Dead silent.

Like it had been waiting for me to give in.

Like it had won.

I pulled it out.

The screen was already glowing — no lock screen, no passcode, just the cold blue-white light spilling into my hands like it had been waiting for me all along.

My thumb didn’t move. I hadn’t touched a thing.

But the message was already open.

At the top of the screen, in bold letters that seemed to flicker ever so slightly, sat the name of the sender:

[AUTHOR]

There was no number. No profile picture. Just that one word. Staring back at me like a nameplate on a grave.

And then the text began to crawl down the screen, line by line, like someone—or something—was typing it in real-time. Only, it was too fast.

The letters moved like insects, skittering into words with disturbing precision.

CONGRATULATIONS, LOKI!!!

You did it! Our little star has finally stepped into the spotlight!

First place! The cunning boy genius! The smug prince of the plot!

Oh, how deliciously predictable.

My chest tightened as I read.

The font wasn’t normal. It didn’t match the system settings. It looked hand-drawn — sharp, jagged, and uneven.

Like someone had scratched each letter into the screen with a nail dipped in blood.

I knew you’d rise to the top. I always believed in you.

You’re following your script perfectly, Loki. I have high hopes from you.

I wanted to drop the phone. To let it fall and shatter and never see it again. But I couldn’t move. My fingers stayed clenched around the device like something unseen had laced them with iron wire.

The screen gave a low, static pulse, almost like it was breathing. And the next message hit harder.

But now that the prologue is done...

Let’s start the real story.

You don’t get to predict the story so easily anymore. You don’t get to skip the boring parts. You don’t get to cheat fate with clever words and lucky timing.

Now...

You bleed through it.

The screen trembled.

I didn’t mean that metaphorically.

It shook in my hands, a faint vibration that grew stronger, like the device was struggling to contain something inside—something that wanted out.

And then a new message burst onto the screen, in massive bold text that stretched across the width in blood-red letters:

HOW DO YOU LIKE BEING THE MAIN CHARACTER NOW?

ISN’T THAT WHAT YOU ALWAYS WANTED? TO SEE THIS STORY UNFOLD BEFORE YOUR EYES.

That’s when the voice came.

It crackled through the speaker like a broken radio being tuned by trembling fingers, a warbled blend of a thousand voices layered on top of each other—young and old, male and female, human and not.

Like a child laughing underwater, like a man screaming through a smile.

"Looooook at you! All dressed up in someone else’s skin, walking around like it’s yours. You thought transmigrating would be fun, didn’t you?"

"You thought you could outplay the gods, outthink the plot, rewrite the ending—be the clever little thief who stole a story."

"But you forgot, my precious little protagonist—"

"I’m still writing."

My stomach dropped.

Something in the room shifted.

Not physically—no. It was subtler than that. The air itself seemed to twist, like the ceiling had bowed slightly inward, and the shadows grew longer than they should.

And then, with the cruel timing of a punchline delivered by a lunatic, the voice whispered into my ear—far too close, far too real:

"And I always kill my favorites last."

The phone snapped and sparked in my hand.

A faint trail of smoke curled from the charging port. The screen went pitch black, cracked in half with a quiet, sickening pop.

It was dead.

Completely dead.

I stared down at it, still feeling the warmth from where the voice had burned through.

The message was gone.

But the words stayed.

Louder than silence. Heavier than noise.

And I knew now deep in my gut that the Author wasn’t just watching.

He was here.

Somewhere between the lines of this world, with his pen pressed to the page, smiling.

Waiting to write the next scene.

And then, just as I started to breathe again, as my fingers relaxed and the tension in my spine began to untangle, the shattered phone in my hand glowed again.

Faintly at first.

A single pulse of soft, golden light blinked behind the cracked screen, then again, brighter.

Like a heartbeat. Steady and growing.

I nearly dropped it this time. But it didn’t burn. It didn’t spark. It just... lit up.

Whole.

Repaired.

Like it had never been broken at all.

I stared, wide-eyed, as the pieces knitted themselves back together, glass fusing like water folding over itself, the jagged lines vanishing beneath a shimmer of golden dust.

Then, with a gentle chime, something disturbingly cheerful for what had just occurred, the screen flicked on again.

"REWARD GRANTED."

Below it, more lines began to form. But this time, the letters didn’t crawl or tremble. They wrote themselves in smooth, elegant strokes, like they belonged in religious textbooks instead of glass.

You have completed the First Mission.

As a reward...

The Author has granted you two glances into the future.

One of which must be redeemed right now.

Do you wish to look ahead?

My mouth went dry as I read the message.

There was no countdown, no blinking button, just a simple prompt.

A choice.

It wasn’t asking me for confirmation like a machine would. There was no "yes" or "no," no tap to accept, no ’terms and conditions.’

It was waiting for my decision.

I felt it.

And maybe I should have said no. Maybe every instinct in me should’ve screamed don’t play their game.

But I was Loki.

Curiosity wasn’t a trait I had.

It was a curse.

So I whispered, "Yes."

The screen immediately flared white and then blackened completely. Like an old CRT television flicking off, sucked into its own void.

But my eyes didn’t close.

Because the vision forced itself in.

Suddenly, I was somewhere else. It was the same feeling I had when I saw that white child and those two figures....

It was raining. But it wasn’t water.

It was something thicker, something darker, falling in slow motion.

And there in the distance, I was.

I could feel it was the older me, scarred, stripped of any smugness and charm.

Clothes torn. Knees in the mud. Breathing like each gasp might be the last.

Across from me stood a figure I couldn’t fully see — Cloaked in red and black, wrapped in chains, smiling.

Not friendly. Not cruel.

Just... inevitable.

Between us, the ground was broken.

Cracked like glass underfoot, and from the fractures rose names. So many names.

Names that I knew, names I had yet to meet, and the names of those who would one day destroy this world.

Then a voice whispered, not from the phone, not from the Author—

But from my own mouth. The mouth of the older me.

"This is the price of knowing how the story ends..."

And then—

I was back.

Back in my dorm room. Back in the moment.

The phone was still in my hand.

And the screen?

Once again blank.

I set the phone down slowly, like it might bite.

And this time?

I made damn sure it was face-down.