"Was that some kind of prophetic dream?"

Muen tapped on the black book’s cover, deep in thought.

The more he thought about it, the more that bizarre yet disturbingly vivid dream seemed best explained with one phrase: "prophetic dream."

Of course, it was just a theory.

"If it was a prophetic dream... did I do something to deserve that ending?"

His face paled as he muttered to himself.

He could still feel the pain on his skin.

No one could remain calm after seeing their own future as a human pincushion—slashed and bleeding from hundreds of wounds.

"Who hates me that much to do something that cruel?"

That shadow had called it love, but Muen wasn’t buying it.

What kind of love chops you into pieces?! Even psychotic serial killers leave a corpse behind!

"If you’ve got some twisted kink, can you at least leave me intact?!"

"The safest thing to do is find that shadow..." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

A plan started forming in Muen’s mind. If he could identify the would-be attacker before they acted, he could avoid the ending. He was a duke’s son, after all.

But then—

"Yeah... that’s probably impossible."

Cold sweat slid down his forehead.

He had no clues. The shadow had no visible face, no distinguishable voice—he could only guess it might have been female.

And with Muen Campbell’s record of pissing people off, that didn’t narrow things down.

Even a maid might have enough motivation to stab him in his sleep after everything the original Muen had done.

"Honestly, you really brought this on yourself."

Muen sighed heavily. He almost wanted to beat the original owner up himself.

But that wasn’t an option—because now, he was that guy.

Whatever sins Muen Campbell had committed, he now had to bear the consequences.

"I need a solution. Even if it was just a dream, I’m not letting myself be turned into mincemeat."

"Wait—the black book!"

He suddenly remembered the culprit behind that disturbing vision.

“...Huh?”

He looked around, but the black book had vanished. Just as he was about to panic, a single thought made it reappear in front of him.

"...Did it fuse with me?"

Another thought—and it dissolved into a dark glow, slipping back into his body.

Muen could feel it—calmly resting somewhere inside his consciousness.

"That’s... kind of amazing."

Excited, Muen summoned the book again, pressed his hands together, and muttered sincerely:

"Oh mighty black book, my fate’s in your hands now. Please carry me to victory!"

"Open!"

He shouted and flipped it open.

[Muen shouted and flipped open the black book.]

Muen: “...?”

Nothing happened—except a line of text appeared on the first page. Pure white paper, blood-red letters.

It was like a diary... narrating his every move.

"What the hell? That’s it?"

[Muen shook the black book, but nothing happened.]

His eye twitched.

He picked up a nearby mirror.

[Muen picked up a mirror.]

He set it down.

[Muen put down the mirror.]

He looked at himself.

[Muen admired his reflection, once again reaffirming how ridiculously handsome he was.]

"...You’re f***ing with me."

He threw the book in frustration.

[Muen began a tantrum fueled by powerlessness.]

“...”

Face in hands, Muen wanted to cry.

"What the hell was I expecting?"

A golden-haired villain is still a golden-haired villain.

Cannon fodder stays cannon fodder.

Thinking he could become the main character just because of some mysterious book?

Delusional.

"This world really isn’t kind to characters like me, huh..."

Maybe the book’s only purpose was to let him catch a glimpse of his {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} miserable future. A final act of mercy from the universe.

"But still... can’t you be a little more helpful?! Just tell me—was that a prophecy or just a hallucination?!"

He shook the book, clinging to the strange sense of familiarity it gave him.

"If I’m gonna die, at least let me understand why!"

Still, nothing happened.

[Sigh.]

Just as Muen was about to give up, he heard it.

A faint sigh—ethereal, almost inaudible.

And on the book’s blank page, new words appeared.

Written in bright red.

[Don’t change.]

"..."

Muen’s eyes narrowed.

"Don’t change...? What does that mean?"

"Are you warning me not to alter the plot? Or else I’ll trigger that ending?"

"But—if I don’t change anything, I’m doomed to that same miserable fate anyway!"

More words appeared:

[For fate.]

[For destiny.]

Each phrase struck Muen’s chest like an invisible fist.

But no matter how many questions he asked, the book said nothing more.

Just silently returned to its useless state.

A glorified typewriter from hell.

"So... in the end, all my hopes were just wishful thinking?"

Muen stood in silence for a long time. Then let out a bitter smile.

"To survive, I have to walk straight into ruin?"

Back in his old life, he was just an average worker. He’d never had some grand desire to rebel against fate.

Especially not in a world where he couldn’t even see a path to victory.

He was scared.

And he had every right to be.

"Actually... the original ending wasn’t that bad, come to think of it."

At least Muen Campbell didn’t die. He just lost his noble status, got kicked out, and became a commoner.

"Wait a second..."

His eyes widened as a new thought hit him.

"In the novel... how exactly did I end up as a beggar?"

The story never said.

But it wasn’t hard to guess.

A pampered noble, suddenly cast out by imperial decree. Disowned, banned from contact with his parents, and strictly watched.

Even with the king’s order that no one was allowed to harass him further—what survival skills did a spoiled young master have?

None.

He probably couldn’t even cook instant noodles.

Maybe he tried to take out a high-interest loan the next day and got his limbs broken when he couldn’t repay it.

That would explain the beggar thing.

"But I’m not that guy!"

Muen slapped his knee and shouted with renewed determination.

Who was he?

Not the arrogant noble brat Muen Campbell.

But a battle-hardened, overworked, underpaid modern office warrior! Forged in the fires of 996 overtime and 007 schedules!

Turn him into a commoner? Fine!

Throw him into the gutter? He’ll live like a king among rats!

"And the best part—I’d finally be free from the protagonist’s plotline!"

Hope lit up in his eyes again.

He’d already died once in his past life. This time, he wanted to truly live.

Come to think of it, what was so great about being a noble?

"Just a parasite living off the suffering of the working class. As a proud, red-blooded proletariat with strong socialist values... I spit on this aristocracy!"