Damien Blackthorn sat on the stone railing of the Academy’s upper balcony.
He took a loud, crunchy bite of a green apple.
Below him, the courtyard was empty.
The sun had set an hour ago. The magical lamps were flickering to life.
He wasn’t looking at the scenery. He was looking at a notebook in his lap.
It wasn’t a school notebook. It was a personal diary.
"Subject: Marcus Aldridge," Damien read aloud to the empty air.
He flipped the page.
"Diagnosis: Glitch in the Matrix. Or a rogue DLC character."
Damien took another bite of the apple. He chewed thoughtfully.
He had been watching Marcus for weeks.
At first, it was just curiosity.
The original Marcus Aldridge was supposed to be a minor villain. A stepping stone.
He was scripted to be lazy. He was scripted to be jealous of Theodore.
He was supposed to gamble away the family fortune and force Theo to grow up.
"But this guy?" Damien muttered. "This guy is playing a different game entirely."
He tapped the page with his charcoal pencil.
He thought back to the Royal Ball.
Flashback 1
At the ball, Damien remembered standing near the punch bowl.
He had expected Marcus to be drunk. He had expected him to be making crude comments to the debutantes.
Instead, Marcus had been dodging women like they were high-level raid bosses.
Damien had watched closely.
Seraphina Ashwood had approached Marcus.
A normal man would have preened. A normal noble would have bragged.
Marcus had looked terrified.
He had actually checked his surroundings for an escape route.
"He looked like he was trying to skip a cutscene," Damien whispered.
He flipped the page again.
Flashback 2: The Praise Campaign.
Damien had overheard Marcus talking to Duchess Catarina in the garden three days ago.
Most men tried to seduce the Duchess. They talked about their own lands. Their own wealth.
Marcus had spent twenty minutes talking about Theodore’s "structural integrity."
He had used words like "reliable investment" and "long-term yield."
He sounded less like a suitor and more like a marketing executive pitching a new blender.
"Who talks like that?" Damien asked himself. "Not a noble from the Valerian Kingdom."
He circled a phrase in his notebook.
Target Demographics.
He had heard Marcus mutter it while staring at a chart in the library.
"That’s Earth speak," Damien concluded. "That is corporate jargon."
He closed the notebook with a snap.
The evidence was piling up.
The weird vocabulary. The frantic attempts to push the heroines toward Theo.
It all pointed to one thing.
Marcus Aldridge wasn’t Marcus Aldridge.
Or at least, not the original one.
"He knows the script," Damien realized.
He hopped off the railing. He tossed the apple core into a nearby bin.
"He knows the script, and he is terrified of it."
It made sense.
If you knew you were a minor villain destined for a bad end, you would panic too.
You would try to change the story.
But Marcus was doing it in the most chaotic way possible.
He was trying to force the plot back onto the rails while simultaneously derailing it with his own personality.
"He’s accidentally speed-running the romance routes," Damien chuckled.
"He thinks he’s the wingman. But he’s actually becoming the main character."
It was the funniest thing Damien had seen since arriving in this world.
But it was also dangerous.
If Marcus broke the plot too much, things could get messy.
The Demon Invasion was on a timer.
If the alliances weren’t formed, the game over screen would be real.
And permanent.
"I need to know," Damien decided.
He adjusted his sword belt.
"I need to know if he’s a player or just a bug."
He checked the time.
Theodore usually practiced late on Fridays. Marcus usually watched him.
"Time for a little PvP," Damien grinned. "Verbal PvP."
He headed toward the stairs.
The hunter was going to check his trap.
✧✧✧
The training grounds were quiet at night.
The only sound was the rhythmic hiss-crack of a blade cutting the air.
Theodore Aldridge was in the center of the ring.
He moved with fluid precision. Sweat dripped from his brow. His eyes were focused on an invisible enemy.
Marcus sat on a wooden bench on the sidelines.
He looked terrible.
His clothes were rumpled. His hair was a disaster.
He was staring at Theo, but his eyes were unfocused.
He looked like a man who had just gone twelve rounds with a heavy bag and lost.
Damien approached silently.
He kept his footsteps light. He wanted to observe the target in his natural habitat.
Marcus sighed. It was a long, heavy sound.
He pulled a small notebook from his pocket. He scribbled something.
Damien stepped into the light of the mana torches.
"Good form," Damien said loudly.
Marcus jumped. He nearly dropped the notebook.
"Damien!" Marcus gasped. He put a hand over his heart. "You startle easily... I mean, you move quietly."
"Assassin training," Damien joked. "Elective course."
He sat down on the bench next to Marcus. He didn’t ask for permission.
Marcus shifted away slightly.
"What brings you here this late?" Marcus asked. His voice was tight.
"Just watching the competition," Damien gestured to Theo.
Theo finished a complex sequence. He spun, slashed, and froze in a perfect guard stance.
"He’s getting better," Damien noted.
"He is," Marcus agreed. "His footwork has improved by twelve percent."
"Twelve percent?" Damien raised an eyebrow. "That’s a specific number."
"I count the steps," Marcus lied. He rubbed his eyes. "I track the variance."
"Right. Variance."
Damien leaned back. He crossed his legs.
"You’re a dedicated brother, Marcus. Most guys our age would be at the tavern. Or the brothel."
"I have responsibilities," Marcus mumbled.
"To the family?"
"To the world."
Marcus stopped. He clamped his mouth shut.
Damien smiled internally. Gotcha.
"To the world?" Damien repeated. "That’s a big scope for a Viscount’s heir."
"I meant... to the world of the estate," Marcus corrected quickly. "The microcosm. The ecosystem of the family."
"Uh-huh."
Damien watched Theo start another set.
"He fights like a protagonist, doesn’t he?" Damien said.
He dropped the word casually. Like a stone into a pond.
He watched Marcus’s face.
He saw it.
The freeze. The widening of the eyes. The sudden cessation of breath.
And for a split second, Marcus wasn’t a noble.
He was a guy from Earth hearing a familiar term.