There were moments—small ones—when Cassian forgot this wasn't his world.
The smell of old stone. The sound of boots scraping against marble. The distant crackle of a mana lantern sparking to life above one of the arched bridges connecting the Academy's outer halls. They were too real, too consistent.
But then something always reminded him.
Today, that reminder came in the form of a name spoken too loudly.
"Ren Arkwright? He's the one from the eastern provinces, right? No noble house, but the system marked his resonance off the charts."
Cassian's breath hitched for a second. Not enough to show. Just enough to feel.
He turned slowly, pretending to glance casually across the crowd of new students being sorted into their preliminary dorm groups.
And there he was.
Ren Arkwright.
The original protagonist of the novel Cassian used to read. A boy who rose from dirt and fire to become a divine-tier hero. The golden child of the system. Polite. Brooding. Powerful. The kind of person people described as a 'natural leader' just because he could brood handsomely under rain.
Cassian folded his arms, leaning lazily against a cold marble pillar.
He didn't like Ren. Not because he was dangerous.
Because he was boring.
Because everyone in that damn story had fallen over themselves to serve, love, or sacrifice for him. And because, somewhere between the dungeon arcs and the divine invasion, Ren had collected a harem of god-tier women like rare cards.
He didn't even treat them like people, Cassian thought bitterly. Just plot points with legs.
Ren stood off to the side of the courtyard, talking to a small group of other students. He still had that same tired, overly serious look—shoulders tense, eyes scanning everything like he expected betrayal from a class roster.
Cassian's lips curved into a half-smile. "Still pretending to be normal, huh?"
He wasn't going to approach him. Not yet. That would be stupid.
He had no interest in making friends with the protagonist, much less becoming one of the sidekicks orbiting him like lost moons.
No. Cassian had his own axis now.
And he wasn't here to play along.
A sharp tone rang across the open courtyard—a bell note laced with magic. Students began to file toward the central plaza for their dorm assignments and first orientation test.
Cassian slipped between groups, taking the longer path through the covered walkways. He liked the quiet.
As he walked, he pulled up his status window again, if only to ground himself.
The glass-like pane shimmered into view.
❖ STATUS WINDOW ❖
Name: Cassian Elor
Age: 17
Race: Human (Transmigrated Soul)
Bloodline: sealed [Dormant]
Rank: G+
Talent Limit: ???
Affinities: Spatial (Low), Mental (Low), ??? (Unawakened)
▸ Base Attributes
Strength: 9
Agility: 11
Endurance: 8
Arcana: 13
Perception: 12
Willpower: 15
Luck: ???
(Note: Average human adult = 10)
Passive Trait – [Observer's Isolation]
You do not belong to this timeline. Immune to most fate-based detection and prophecy. Your presence weakens the narrative weight of surrounding individuals.
Active Trait – [Boundary Sense Lv.1]
Innate sensitivity to dimensional walls, seals, and distortions. Effectiveness scales with intent and environment.
––Current Potential: E+
World Anchor – [Unwritten Fate]
Your future is not recorded in any divine ledger. You are a wild anomaly. Higher beings cannot track or predict your actions.
He exhaled.
Still weak on paper. But what mattered wasn't the numbers. It was the variables.
He wasn't trying to power-level his way through this world. He was trying to navigate it like a chessboard with live blades.
And so far, none of the pieces knew he was playing.
Cassian found himself standing in a side hall lined with murals of the ancient gods—twelve divine thrones, each with their symbol: Flame, Mind, Echo, Blood, Chains...
The Codex war, as it was known, had broken the old pantheon and scattered their relics across the continents. The Academy was built over one of those relic vaults, though most students didn't know that yet.
A voice pulled him from thought.
"You're not heading to the plaza?"
Cassian glanced back.
The girl standing there had sea-dark hair tied in a short braid, olive skin, and dark robes lined with navy thread. A utility satchel hung at her hip—common among ritual track students.
"No," he said smoothly. "Too many egos in one place. Might start a divine incident."
She blinked, then laughed—genuine, unguarded.
"I'm Elira. Research division. You?"
"Cassian. Avoidance division."
She tilted her head. "Gatebound crest. That's rare. I thought they dissolved their estate years ago."
"They did," Cassian said. "But I'm stubborn."
He didn't miss the way her eyes narrowed slightly—not judgment, just calculation. This was a smart one.
"You should be careful," she said. "This year's batch… something's off. They're pulling more legacy lines and checking mana cores three times over. Like they're expecting something."
Cassian nodded. He already knew what. The Codex would stir soon. And with Ren Arkwright around, fate was sharpening its knife.
Back in the central courtyard, Ren was still standing with his group—people already gathering around him like moths to a bonfire they didn't know would burn them.
Cassian kept walking.
Let Ren have his spotlight.
Cassian had no interest in the center stage.