They say first impressions matter.
Which is unfortunate, because my first impression of the Royal Academy was that it looked like it wanted to eat me.
The gates were tall, black, and spiked—like someone designed them while going through a dramatic breakup. Past them stood a sprawling campus of marble towers, floating crystals, and gardens that looked like they'd eaten an entire landscaping budget.
I stood in line with the rest of the new students, all dressed in their cleanest robes and putting on their best "I belong here" faces.
I just looked tired. But, like, mysteriously tired. The good kind.
One of the professors—a tall guy with a beard so sculpted it deserved its own noble title—was checking names on a list.
"Caleb Thorne," I said when I reached the front.
He looked up, paused, then did a double take.
I braced myself.
"You've… cleaned up," he said carefully.
"I exfoliated the despair," I said with a straight face.
He made a noise somewhere between a cough and a laugh, then waved me through.
I was in.
The Academy Courtyard
The place was buzzing. Everyone was pretending to be casual, but you could feel the tension in the air. Everyone sizing each other up. Wondering who was strong. Who was rich. Who was dumb enough to say something cringe on day one.
I was none of the above.
I was the observer.
And boy, was there a lot to observe.
Aris Valentine stood at the center of a small crowd like the sun pretending not to notice her own gravity. Long silver hair. Calm expression. A faint smile, like she was listening to a joke only she understood.
In the story, she was the cold-but-kind genius. The ice queen with a soft heart. The MC's first rival and eventual ally.
Right now, she looked... bored.
And then, of course, he showed up.
The Main Character.
Reed Alvaron.
I recognized him immediately.
He had the look.
The "I came from nothing, but fate loves me" energy. Black hair. Simple clothes. That humble aura that somehow screamed protagonist harder than a narrator with a megaphone.
He walked past everyone like he didn't know who he was.
Aris glanced at him.
Their eyes met.
Oh no.
I felt the plot activate like a landmine.
They exchanged that classic, silent "You're important" look that makes everyone else in the room disappear.
And just like that, it began.
The original story.
Only this time... I was in it.
A few people turned to whisper when they saw me. Some remembered my previous "infatuation" with Aris. I gave them nothing. No expression. No lingering glances.
I was a new man. Literally.
Instead, I walked to the back of the crowd, leaned against a tree, and started sketching.
That's right. While the chosen one met his destined rival, I drew.
Not out of boredom.
Out of calculation.
People underestimate the guy who sketches. They think you're just zoning out. But really, you're collecting data.
And right now, I was drawing a map of the game board.
Faces. Reactions. Postures. Microexpressions.
The nobles trying to charm Aris.
The commoners watching Reed.
The enchanter kid picking his nose behind a pillar (bold move).
All of it went into my notebook.
The professors began calling names. Dorm assignments. Class groups. Expectations.
I wasn't listening.
Because in that moment, I wasn't part of the story.
I was the guy watching from behind the curtain, sharpening his pen like a blade.
Let the heroes clash.
I'll be over here, building my legend in the margins.