I woke up with a jolt, sunlight hitting my face through unfamiliar blinds.
Not a dream then.
Still trapped in a fictional world.
Just perfect.
I sat up in bed and ran my fingers through my long white hair—still weird, still not mine, still freaking me out.
The apartment looked exactly the same as last night—small, minimalist, and definitely not where I went to sleep two days ago.
"So I'm really stuck in 'The Infinity Hero,'" I muttered to the empty room. "Cool. Cool cool cool."
My stomach growled, reminding me that even fictional bodies need breakfast.
The kitchen was stocked with basics—bread, eggs, something resembling coffee but glowing faintly blue.
I decided to stick with water.
After a quick breakfast, I needed to get organized.
My memory of the novel was spotty at best—I'd binged it during a weekend procrastination session last summer.
Not exactly comprehensive study material for suddenly living in it.
I rummaged through desk drawers until I found something like a notebook and pen.
"Time to write down everything I remember before I forget," I said, sitting down at the desk.
Then I hesitated.
This world had trains that floated on light and doors that recognized their owners.
Who knew what kind of surveillance they might have?
"Should I write this in code or something?" I wondered aloud.
I knew three languages—English, French, and Spanish.
Learned them to talk to exchange students and foreign girls in high school.
They were surprisingly easy to pick up since their structures were so similar.
"But then again, if they have flying trains, they probably have translation algorithms too," I reasoned.
Still, some protection was better than none.
I decided to write in Spanish, with French vocabulary mixed in for important plot points.
Not exactly CIA-level encryption, but it would keep casual snoopers confused.
I started scribbling down what I remembered.
The main character was some prodigy with a rare essence type.
There was a prestigious academy called Lyserra Arc Institute.
A tournament arc, because of course there was.
Some villain who wanted to steal ancient magic or something.
My memories were frustratingly vague.
"Why couldn't I have been obsessed with this series?" I grumbled, tapping the pen against the paper. "Or at least taken notes?"
As I tried to piece together more details, something occurred to me.
In these kinds of stories, everyone always had some sort of—
"Status," I said out loud, feeling slightly ridiculous. "Open status?"
To my shock, a translucent blue window materialized in front of me, hovering at eye level.
Name: Zensalem Holloway
Race: Human
Innate Essence: [Shadow]
Essence Rank: F+
Essence Flow: 13/100
Essence Mark: None
Vein Stability: 97%
Known Techniques: None
Affiliation: None
I almost fell out of my chair.
"Holy crap," I whispered, reaching out to touch it.
My finger passed right through, creating ripples like disturbed water.
I stared at the information, processing what I was seeing.
Innate Essence: [Shadow].
That sounded potentially cool, at least.
From what I remembered, everyone was born with an affinity for some type of essence.
Shadow-types were relatively rare.
They specialized in stealth, illusion, and messing with perception.
Not the most powerful in direct combat, but tricky and adaptable.
Like the rogue class in RPGs—sneaky backstabbers rather than frontline tanks.
Essence Rank: F+.
Well that was thoroughly underwhelming.
The ranking system went F through S, with mythical ranks beyond that.
F+ basically meant "slightly less useless than average."
The main character had started with a C rank, I was pretty sure.
"Great," I muttered. "I'm officially cannon fodder."
Essence Flow: 13/100.
This was basically mana points.
My tiny pool of 13 meant I could probably cast the magical equivalent of a flashlight spell before running dry.
People regenerated essence through rest or meditation.
At least my Vein Stability was good at 97%.
Essence veins were the body's channels for magical energy.
High stability meant less risk of magical backfire or "Essence Rebound" when spells went wrong.
Below 40% meant you were in danger territory.
No mark, no techniques, no affiliation.
A complete and utter noob.
I dismissed the status window with a wave of my hand, somehow knowing intuitively how to do so.
"This is just great," I said to the empty room. "Dropped into a world where magic ability determines everything, and I'm basically starting in the tutorial zone."
I got up and paced around the small apartment.
In stories like this, the academy was always where the plot happened.
Lyserra Arc Institute—I definitely remembered that name.
The prestigious school where the protagonist trained and where most of the story took place.
I grabbed my wallet again, checking the birthdate on my ID card.
"Fifteen years old," I confirmed.
And Lyserra took students starting at sixteen.
That gave me about a year to prepare before I could even apply.
A year to turn my pathetic F+ rank into something respectable.
A year to figure out how to not die as a background character.
Because if there's one thing I knew about these stories, it's that weak characters existed solely to be killed off when the plot needed to raise the stakes.
"Not happening," I declared to my reflection in the window. "I refuse to die as an extra in someone else's heroic journey."
I flipped open the notebook again and started a new page.
"SURVIVAL PLAN," I wrote at the top.
Step 1 would be figuring out how to train my essence.
Even with my limited understanding of the novel's magic system, I knew that essence control was like a muscle—it grew stronger with practice.
Step 2 would be learning actual techniques.
Having shadow essence was cool and all, but useless if I didn't know how to use it.
There had to be beginner books or tutorials somewhere.
Step 3 would be preparing for the entrance exam at Lyserra.
I had no idea what it entailed, but they wouldn't just let anyone in.
I needed to reach at least D rank by then, probably.
My stomach knotted thinking about how much work lay ahead.
In one year, I needed to transform from a magical weakling into someone strong enough to survive whatever the plot would throw at me.
"System Editor."
The words popped into my head from nowhere.
I blinked, confused.
"System Editor?" I repeated out loud, waiting to see if another window would appear.
Nothing happened.
Weird.
Must have been a random thought or a fragment of memory from the novel.
I returned to my notes, creating a daily training schedule.
Morning meditation for essence regeneration.
Afternoon practice with whatever techniques I could learn.
Evening study of theory and academics.
If I was going to survive in this story, I needed to take control of my own character development.
No plot armor for side characters like me.
Just hard work and careful planning.
I closed the notebook and stood up.
"First things first," I said, heading for the door. "Find a bookstore and learn the basics."
One year until Lyserra.
One year to become strong enough to not die.
Challenge accepted.