? Noah''s POV ?


    Transmigrating into a novel was one thing, but ending up as Noah Ashbourne—viin, narcissist, and walking disaster—was an entirely different level of cosmic cruelty.


    Yet here I was.


    Plotting my next move like the textbook antagonist I was supposed to be.


    The system that bound me here was annoyingly clear about its rules.


    I needed "plot points" to gain leverage and grow stronger.


    Farming those points required interaction with key events in the story.


    But if I outright stole Draven''s moment, I risked destabilizing the narrative and inviting consequences I couldn''t predict.


    That meant I needed to be... strategic.


    If I yed my cards right, I could get what I wanted without disrupting Draven''s ascension.


    The n was simple, really.


    The undead soldiers would rise in waves, drawn by the curse that had gued the cemetery for centuries.


    The first wave would be weaker, more disorganized.


    That''s where I''d strike.


    I''d eliminate them before Draven and the heroines arrived, harvesting the plot points for myself.


    By the time Draven showed up, he''d face a manageable horde and still get his heroic moment.


    Everyone wins—except the undead, of course.


    Selfish? Yes.


    Arrogant? Definitely.


    But I wasn''t here to y the hero.


    The system chimed softly in the back of my mind, a subtle reminder of the stakes.


    Every choice I made rippled through the narrative.


    The thought of those ripples kept me grounded.


    I had no intention of bing a reckless fool who derailed the story and got himself obliterated by the plot''s natural defenses.


    No, I''d y my part—carefully, methodically, and always to my advantage.


    The first act of the novel was already unfolding.


    And I could practically recite it word for word.


    It began with Princess Era wandering into the academy cemetery—lured by the eerie voice of an undead entity.


    The scene was atmospheric, heavy with foreboding.


    The cemetery, cloaked in a dense fog, was littered with broken gravestones and skeletal trees.


    It was a ce of death, decay, and despair.


    There, the princess would get consumee by her guilt.


    And would get possessed by a dark necromancermander.


    Command a horde of undead soldiers rising from their graves.


    Their soulless eyes set on seeking revenge.


    That was when Draven would enter the stage.


    Draven, the protagonist, the noblemoner, the one destined to rise from obscurity and im his rightful ce in the world.


    He would appear at thest moment, armed with nothing but his courage and sheer willpower.


    He''d fight off the undead, save the princess, and solidify his role as the hero of the story.


    ra, overwhelmed by his bravery and unyielding resolve, would start to fall for him.


    The world loved Draven.


    I, on the other hand, wasn''t even supposed to be part of this arc.


    The original Noah Ashbourne had already been suspended from the academy by this point.


    His reputation was in tatters after one too many scandals.


    But since I hadn''t gotten suspended, I still needed to erase my presence during the first episode.


    So I  had to go into hiding following a staged explosion in his dormitory.


    Staging my disappearance had to be perfect—meticulous, theatrical, and untraceable.


    Anything less would risk exposing me, and that wasn''t an option.


    If I was to erase Noah Ashbournes presence for a certain period.


    I needed a n so intricate, soyered, that even the academy''s most brilliant minds wouldn''t be able to untangle it.


    It began with the room itself.


    Silvercrest Hall wasn''t just any dormitory.


    It was a symbol of prestige, of power, housing the academy''s elite.


    My room was no exception.


    It wasvishly adorned, with high ceilings, ornate furniture, and enough magical artifacts to fill a minor museum.


    It was the perfect setting for what would soon be described as a tragedy.


    The first step was the enchantments.


    I had spent weeks weavingyers of magic into every corner of the room.


    Runes of fire,bustion, and containment.


    Each rune was strategically ced, invisible to the naked eye, and designed to trigger in a specific sequence.


    The key was subtlety.


    A single misstep, a single rune out of ce, could have caused the entire room to erupt prematurely or faly.


    The central piece of my design was the hearth.


    Every room in Silvercrest had one.


    They acted as security when a threat urred and the students had to be containes in their rooms.


    Just the same as the game.


    A symbol of warmth andfort.


    Mine became the core of my n.


    Beneath the hearthstones, I carved awork of runes connected to a timed activation spell.


    The spell was calibrated to detonate in two phases.


    The first would ignite the initial explosion—


    A sudden burst of mes and embers that would shatter windows and send shockwaves through the hall.


    The second phase, momentster, would unleash a controlled firestorm.


    Consuming the room and reducing everything within it to ash.


    But the brilliance didn''t end there


    An explosion, no matter how destructive, would naturally lead to questions.


    Investigators would search for evidence, for remains.


    To ount for this, I left behind subtle traces—charred remnants of clothing identical to my own.


    And fragments of personal belongings strategically ced to suggest I had been caught in the st.


    A touch of blood—my blood, carefully harvested and preserved—was added to the scene, sttered in just the right ces to make it believable.


    The final touch was the diversion.


    On the night of the event, I ensured there would be a gathering in the main hall—a celebration for one of the academy''s favored professors.


    Nearly everyone in Silvercrest Hall would be present, their attention fixed on the festivities.


    The timing was critical.


    As the clock struck the predetermined hour, I activated the spell remotely, using a focus crystal hidden in my sleeve.


    The explosion was magnificent.


    The roar of mes, the shattering of ss, the screams echoing through the halls—it was chaos personified.


    As the mes consumed my room, I slipped away into the night, leaving behind only the carefully curated evidence of my supposed demise.


    By morning, the academy would be filled with rumors, spections, and partial grief.


    Noah Ashbourne—the detestable, arrogant viin—was gone.


    And yet even with all that nned and wlessly executed.


    I never thought that someone such as her would be included in my n of ying missing.


    I heard her turn in the bed as I also turned to look at her.


    "Awake, I see..."


    I said.


    My voice low and smooth.