Ruvian bolted a few questions.

“Alright, you have not answered my second question. Why me? Why was I summoned into this damned world?”

“And now I have even more questions. Who the hell is the Curator of Dreams? What about the messages? Who are they? I mean the watchers of something.”

He took a deep breath then added:

“No, I think I understand a bit, the creator of this place is the Curator of Dreams, right? She's the author, right? So, why couldn’t she just rewrite the ending? Why not change it like she changed everything else?”

The blindfolded woman didn’t answer at first until at last, her head tilted slightly toward him.

“... I didn’t know either, I was not created for that,” she said after a long pause, her voice lacking any theatrical weight now, quieter, more human.

“She never told me. So I didn’t pry.”

Ruvian nodded with a sigh, more out of reflex than understanding. He let the silence draw out for a few more seconds before speaking again, his voice steady but no less sharp for its calm.

“Then let me ask you this… if even she couldn’t stop it, if the author of this world, the one who literally created it from scratch, couldn’t prevent this so-called calamity…” he narrowed his eyes, “then what the hell makes you think I can?”

The blindfolded woman smiled, not the coy smile from before but more oddly soft.

“Because she said,” the woman answered, “that you would know this world better than she does.”

“Huh?” Ruvian tried to parse the statement.

‘Is the author out of her mind?’

Ruvian sighed dejectedly.

“Listen carefully, I was not the creator. I wasn’t even a reader who had finished the damn thing. I had only made it through half—maybe less than that. I’d read early arcs, well that's true, I had opinions about pacing and plot holes and character deaths that didn’t land right… But that was it.’

He hadn’t even seen the ending!

“I don’t get it,” he said finally, dragging a hand through his hair and letting out a breath of frustration.

“—So what did she mean by that? I know this world better than her. I’m not the goddamn writer. Hell, I never even finished the damn thing. How the hell am I supposed to know anything about what comes next?”

The blindfolded woman raised her hand slowly in a simple gesture, like someone offering something invisible between two fingers.

“You don't need to worry about that, she brought you a gift to help you create a good ending for this story,” she said gently with a lyrical voice.

The world turned bright for a moment. The air shimmered around Ruvian, swirling in coils of unreadable runes and fragmented sentences.

DING!

A melodic chime rang in the air.

[System booting…]

[Synchronisation with the host…]

[You have received a gift: Editorial System]

[Welcome, Bearer Of The First Fable… to this humble damnable world!]

Before his eyes, a hologram appeared—a book made of sapphire light, levitating before him like a massive grimoire. The spine glowed faintly, etched with moving runes that rearranged themselves based on his thoughts.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The moment his gaze landed on the open page, the text unfurled on its own.

[ EDITORIAL SYSTEM INTERFACE ]

◇ Name: [Ruvian Castelor (Yuzuki Nozomi)]

◇ Designation: [Bearer of the First Fable]

◇ Relevance Tier: [Stage I – Footnote of Fate]

◇ Plot Points: [000 PPs]

◇ Current Arc: [Arc 1 – The Prologue]

◇ Editorial Skills [!] tap here for more info

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ruvian stared at the interface.

Designation: [Bearer of the First Fable]

◇ A rare and anomalous title granted to one who has witnessed the world from within and is more than just a reader. This designation is bestowed upon an outsider who possesses foreknowledge of the original narrative, including key characters, foundational events, and discarded plotlines from the story’s earliest incarnation. As the Bearer of the First Fable, you are both bound and burdened by a story that was never finished. Updates are released by n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

‘Huh?’

Then slowly, he looked toward the blindfolded woman who had, somehow, stepped back just enough to gesture toward the system.

“Oi, what the hell is this?” he asked, voice dry.

She smiled wider, as if this was the part she had been waiting for the whole time.

“Something she crafted herself. A divine system… gifted to the only person she trusted and hoped to rewrite this dying world.”

He frowned. “Hey, I’m not even a fan of her writing. I only skimmed through half of it.”

“...Well, you would know it better than I am about that.”

She stepped forward and gently tapped the glowing book once, it rippled in the air and turned a page on its own, displaying a new screen.

[RELEVANCE TO NARRATIVE THREAD]

Footnote of Fate ← You Are HereWandering AnnotationDrafted CatalystPivotal RewriteCore Canon.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She said sweetly:

“Anyway, right now, you’re basically a background prop. A misplaced scribble on the edge of someone else’s story. But this system… It’s yours now. And she’s giving you a chance to rewrite everything, from your relevance to the very climax of this world.”

Ruvian clenched his jaw, eyes flicking across the system’s interface.

‘Tch. No more point in arguing anymore.’

“Relevance to the story, huh,” he muttered under his breath, the words tasting half-sarcastic, half-exhausted.

“So what, if I climb this weird narrative ladder, the world suddenly cares more about me?”

“Yes but the Relevance Tier isn’t just a number, and it’s not just about vanity or screen time. It is the world’s recognition of you or rather, how deeply the story begins to revolve around your presence.”

Her fingers moved in a slow circle through the air, and the system’s page shifted again, revealing a breakdown of the five narrative tiers.

She pointed lazily at the first stage.

“At Stage One. Footnote of Fate. You’re little more than background noise. The story barely notices you. Quest options are fewer, and the rewards are pitiful.”

She waved her hand, and the glowing bar shifted to the second tier.

“But once you reach Stage Two. Wandering Annotation. The world starts to whisper about you. Side characters will remember you. Minor events might bend slightly to accommodate your choices. You may even start seeing optional story branches… and more importantly,” her voice lowered, “the rewards for any completed narrative tasks will begin to double.”

“Oh~ You will unlock some of the Editorial Tools as you go up too.”

Ruvian glanced back at the system window, watching those five titles hover. He sighed, dryly, dragging a hand to his chin.

“Wait, so in short,” he muttered, “level up the meter, unlock broken tools, get stronger rewards, and slowly turn into the main character of a story I never agreed to finish.”

“Exactly!” she said triumphantly. “Isn’t that what readers always wanted?!”

‘Fuck that!’

Ruvian didn’t curse it aloud only in his head and slightly with his face.

His eyes were still fixed on the system window, the weight of everything she had just explained folding itself around him.

Then, finally, he let out a breath.

“Listen. I don’t want to be the main character of this damnable story.”

The words didn’t come from defiance, and not from fear, either.

They came out raw and honest.

The blindfolded woman’s head twitched slightly, not in offence, but in quiet surprise. “…That was unexpected.”

“However…” Then, she gestured toward the frozen plaza, still bathed in eerie, unmoving light, “you won’t get anywhere by staying as a bystander in this world. Passive pieces won't stay alive for too long. You should know it better, right?”

Ruvian fell silent again, but this time the quiet was different.

Because as much as he wanted to reject it, to deny the cliches and absurdity of it all, part of him recognised the truth in her words.

This world didn’t play fair. He had already watched its cruelty firsthand, and that was just during an illusion.

So maybe refusing the role wasn’t brave.

Maybe it was just irresponsible.

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue.

The woman responded with a nod.

Ruvian’s gaze drifted back to the glowing interface again, this time landing on the two features:

[Plot Points] and [Editorial Skills].

“Fine… then, explain these,” he said at last, gesturing slightly toward them with two fingers.

The woman gave a small, sheepish smile, as if remembering something obvious only now.

“Oya~ I forgot about that.”

She lifted her hand and made a single fluid snap of her fingers, the holographic book interface glowing brighter in response, revealing faded icons beside the still-locked functions.

“My apologies, Bearer of the First Fable,” she said in a sing-song voice once more, reverting slightly to her old rhythm.

“Let me explain that properly.”