The roasted chicken’s skin crisped to a golden perfection and was glazed with herbs that stayed in the dining room. Steam drifted from each dish in gentle spirals, softening the edges of the timber wall.

Nothing lavish or fancy, as his mother had always favoured meals that felt lived in, comfort over ceremony.

For all the effort people put into grand dinners, nothing ever quite smelled like home the way a simple dinner did.

So the Castelor household ate in a quiet rhythm. The occasional clink of spoon against ceramic marked time more gently than any clock.

Then his mother’s voice slipped in, smooth and deceptively idle.

“You were in the plaza today, weren’t you?”

Ruvian didn’t respond, not because he didn’t hear her, but because his mind had drifted far beyond the oil-lit dining room.

Faded into the afterimage of the plaza where a single blindfolded woman spoke with the voice of someone far too close to godhood.

Even now, seated safely at the table, the memory of her voice still threaded through his thoughts, refused to quiet.

“Ruvian,” his mother called again, voice warmer this time, slightly amused.

Still no answer.

Across from him, Avina leaned forward slightly. Observing the way her son stared blankly at his bowl without so much as lifting a fork.

So, with all the gentle wickedness of a mother who had learned precisely how to deal with her son’s bouts of brooding, she tore a small piece from the crust of fresh bread.

And with careful aim and not an ounce of remorse, she flicked it directly at his hand.

Pft.

The bread bounced harmlessly off him and plopped unceremoniously into his untouched stew, sending a small splash against the rim of his bowl. Thɪs chapter is updated by novelFɪre.net

Ruvian blinked, slowly returning to reality.

“You’re doing that thing again,” she said with a smug little smile, resting her cheek against her knuckles.

“You stare into the distance like a man who just got heartbroken, except you are not in any relationship. Unless… I missed something while seasoning the soup?”

“No, it's nothing…”

She glanced up at him from across the table, elbow resting lightly near the breadknife, her spoon pausing halfway to her mouth.

“So, tell me, were you out shopping, or… was there someone cute-looking in the plaza today?”

She asked, eyes twinkling with mischief.

‘Why is it always about some girl? Can’t she ask about… I don’t know, literally anything else?’ he thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Nothing much, I was just… wandering around,” he said after a soft sip of water and a glance at the bread that had gone untouched.

“Just something useful for my enrollment later. Picked up a flyer and some forms. That sort of thing.”

He finished his bite, unrushed, casual, perfectly normal. The longer he chewed, the less time he had to talk. Avina smiled, the usual smile that meant she wouldn’t push the matter anymore.

Which, as far as Ruvian was concerned, was good enough.

Because he wasn’t sure he could lie to her twice.

Not without slipping or guilt.

He couldn’t involve them. That thought returned now with the same cold certainty it had struck him with back in the plaza.

This family wasn’t his. This warmth, this house, this meal, these people… they weren’t his, not really. But he was in the body of their son.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from NovelBin; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

And if he couldn’t return to that life, if he couldn’t give Ruvian Castelor back his place when all of this was over—then the least he could do was protect what he left behind.

He glanced sideways at Ciela, too caught up in arguing about who got more carrots to notice the heavy silence hanging from their brother’s spoon.

They were safe now.

But stories had a habit of pulling in anything that lingered too close to the protagonist and Ruvian knew, without a doubt, that the system wouldn’t stop at just him if he wasn’t careful.

So he needs to be careful.

He lifted another spoonful of stew to his lips, took a slow bite, and said nothing else. Then came the voice.

“Look! Look!”

Across the table, Ciela Castelor beamed, her excitement barely contained as she balanced a spoonful of stew, a feat worthy of triumph.

And then…

Plop!

The spoon slipped, vanishing into the bowl with a splash.

Tiny droplets of broth freckled her sleeve.

She stilled. Wide-eyed, she turned to Ruvian, awaiting judgment. He sighed, reached for a clean spoon, and handed it to her.

Ciela blinked, then grinned, undeterred by her little disaster.

At the head of the table, Dieren Castelor remained as silent as ever. He hadn’t said much since the meal started, his presence calm, almost detached.

He was the type who didn’t waste words, always observing, listening, and yet…

After a long pause, he broke the silence.

“Do you need money?”

Ruvian’s hand hovered over his spoon, the question catching him off guard.

‘Dieren wasn’t one to engage in casual conversation, especially not with a direct question like that in the middle of a meal.’

Dieren’s face remained unchanged, as if asking about money was no different than asking if it might rain tomorrow.

It was simply a question.

‘And if Ruvian needed it, his father would give it without hesitation, no further discussion necessary.’

“No. I’ll manage with my savings.”

[You have been awarded +10 Plot Points]

‘Huh? Why did it suddenly reward me for saying that? Was that really significant to the plot?’

Dieren’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual. There was something in it, something more than the usual unreadable mask.

Maybe concern or something else.

After a beat, his father nodded, slow and decisive.

No words needed to be exchanged. The understanding was mutual, clear without a single verbal acknowledgement.

Ruvian, however, found his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

‘Come to think of it…’

Through the remnants of the previous Ruvian Castelor’s memories, he recalled the quiet tension that had once filled this house.

‘A few weeks ago, his family hadn’t opposed his decision to enrol in Velthia Academy out of doubt in his abilities… but out of concern for the cost.’

It wasn’t a baseless worry.

‘And the previous Ruvian had assured them he would manage. Scholarships, part-time work, anything that would let him study without becoming a financial burden.’

He had been determined.

‘Fortunately for him, the academy’s delayed payment system meant students weren’t required to pay tuition until after graduation. Even so, the price was nothing to scoff at.’

Currency: Bronze → Silver → Gold

1 Gold Coin = 10 Silver Coins

1 Silver Coin = 10 Bronze Coins

Yearly Tuition = 100 Gold Coins

Total Cost for Full Course (4 Years) = 400 Gold Coins

It was a significant sum for a commoner family, even a slightly wealthy one.

‘Well, at least I wasn’t planning on paying it the normal way.’

…

After dinner and a swift bath, Ruvian collapsed onto his bed, dragging a towel through his damp hair.

Weariness settled over him like a heavy cloak, seeping into his bones, pressing him deep into the mattress.

It had been a long day, too long.

He couldn’t remember the last time his mind had worked this hard, turning endlessly from dawn to dusk. He needs to learn more about the system. And now that he had that system? He had to rebuild his plans.

‘But not tonight.’

Sleep pulled at him, insistent, inevitable. Even so, before surrendering to the dark, he carved a final thought into his mind.

‘First, Zian’s expulsion needs to come faster. If that reckless fool lingers too long, his family will crumble. And I also need to accompany his journey of dropping out of the academy.’

Second, he needed people. Side characters, nameless extras, the ones whose potential had been left to wither. If he could guide them toward their rightful paths, they would become weapons in his hands.

‘Third, I need to grow stronger.’

It was the hardest of the three. Ruvian was not a mage, just an ordinary boy. His knowledge of this world is not enough. But the academy’s structure, its tangled web of power and magic, he had helped shape it.

That gave him an edge. Probably. His thoughts blurred, the weight of exhaustion finally dragging him under.

And yet just before his consciousness slipped away… one last thought flickered.

‘That damn author. Why the hell did I end up inside her novel? Why can't she stop the calamity? That doesn't make sense.’

‘… I should charge her once I get back… or arrest her… if I can even go back…’

The thought wavered, a dying ember, before fading into the hush of night. Sometime past midnight, the door eased open with a whisper of wood against its frame. A shadow slipped inside, moving with grace.

The blanket had slipped halfway off, tangled in the restless sprawl of sleep. His posture was anything but proper, an arm flung out.

A faint sigh stirred the still air.

“You’ve been working so hard again, you precious boy…”

Gentle hands moved with practised care, adjusting his position, pulling the blanket back up, tucking it in place as if warding off the chill of the night.

For a long moment, she simply stood there.

Watching her son.

“You always give it your all, don't you?”

In the gentle glow of the bedside lamp, the lines of exhaustion on his face seemed softer, the weight he carried in waking hours momentarily eased by sleep.

Then, in a voice no louder than a breath, woven with warmth only a mother could offer.

“Thank you, and good night, sweetheart.”

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving nothing behind but the steady rhythm of her son’s breathing.

[Warning!]

[Inconceivable deviation to the story has occurred!]

[You have been rewarded +2000 Plot Points]