He tapped Load Save.
A ripple passed over the air again—like wind reversing for half a second.
The street blurred. Just a blink. The sounds around him warped—then snapped back.
Elias looked up.
Same alley. Same cobblestone. Same rat, still staring at him with that same little "what is your deal" look.
But—
As he turned his head, he saw it: the market.
The bustling market had been restored, as if he'd never moved from his original position. Vendors shouted, carts rolled by, and the bread stall remained, like a frame reset.
He stepped out, realizing the city had maintained its entire environment, as it was when he saved it.
"No freaking way," Elias whispered.
He crouched, ran a hand along the stone. Looked up at the sky. The clouds were identical to what they had been when he first saved.
Not a reset. A full state restore.
Elias took a deep breath...
Elias stood there, hands on his knees, trying to process what had just happened. The street, the vendors, the chatter—everything was precisely as it had been moments before, as if time had folded back on itself.
"This... this is insane," he muttered, more to himself than anyone around him.
He took another deep breath, feeling strangely calm despite the absurdity of the situation. Maybe it was the novelty of having control over his reality, or maybe the surrealism of it all was just too overwhelming for his mind to process.
But then a soft voice called out from behind him.
"Lord Veyron!"
Elias froze.
He turned, expecting another awkward encounter with the woman from earlier. But this time, it was a young servant, dressed in a simple tunic, looking at him with a nervous but respectful expression. His eyes widened as he saw Elias.
"Lord Veyron," the servant said again, this time bowing low. "Your father requests your presence in the manor. He said it was urgent."
Elias blinked, his thoughts spinning. His father? This world's father? Veyron's father, not his own?
"Yeah, okay," Elias said, trying to sound casual, though his mind was racing. "I'll be there in a moment."
The servant stood awkwardly, glancing up and down the street, before nodding quickly and hurrying off, leaving Elias to process the new development.
Elias watched the servant disappear around the corner and felt an odd surge of... something. Power? Relief? Maybe it was both. He was a noble now, and if he played his cards right, he could stay out of the protagonist's way and live a comfortable life, maybe even avoid the plot entirely. Veyron might not have been a hero, but he was still a noble. He had power, influence, a future.
"Well," he muttered, his voice lowering to a gleeful whisper, "if I don't mess with the protagonist... I could just live a good life. A really good life."
He walked down the street.
The fact that he was now a villain, playing the role of the side antagonist, made it even sweeter. He didn't have to be the hero. He didn't even have to try. All he had to do was survive, play his part, and let the story unfold around him.
As he approached the grand gates of the Maelor manor, he saw the tall, imposing structure ahead. It looked exactly as he had written it. The crests of the Maelor family were emblazoned on the gates—red, gold, and silver—his design, now in full living color.
"Alright, Veyron," Elias muttered, "let's see if you've got what it takes to fool everyone. Including me."
He smiled again.
After all, he had a save button.
Elias approached the gates of the Maelor manor. The guards, recognizing him, stepped aside with a nod.
"Lord Veyron," one of the guards at the gate said, giving a crisp bow. "Welcome home. Your father is currently in conference."
Elias kept his face neutral, nodding slightly. "Figures."
The gates opened smoothly, and he stepped through, boots clicking softly against the clean stone path that led toward the manor doors.
Inside, it was just as he remembered writing it—maybe worse.
Marble floors polished to a mirror sheen. Velvet drapes heavy enough to crush a small dog. Charm-lit chandeliers glittered above, casting a warm golden light across portraits of long-dead Maelors, all painted to look like they hadn't smiled once in their lives.
He barely had time to take it in before another servant approached—young, pale, and trying very hard to be invisible despite walking straight toward him.
The servant bowed low. "Apologies for the sudden summons, my lord. Lord Maelor was called to an urgent High Council meeting this morning. He regrets he could not speak to you in person."
Elias frowned. "Okay. And?"
The servant straightened with visible effort. "In his absence, he has appointed you to represent House Maelor at the summit with the Virean delegation. You are to depart by this afternoon."
The words hit like a hammer wrapped in velvet.
"I'm sorry—what?"
The servant bowed again, rapid and nervous. "You are to meet with Princess Iraleth of the Virean Empire. Your father mentioned the importance of negotiating favorable trade terms and maintaining cordial relations. He instructed me to deliver this personally and see to your preparations."
Elias stared.
Then blinked.
Then said, "You've got to be kidding me."
Princess Iraleth. Virean Empire. The summit.
His brain raced, flipping through the mental script.
That was the scene. Lin—disguised, desperate, undercover—attends the summit to track down a rumor about corrupted royal bloodlines. Veyron, ever the haughty noble, outs him in public. And Lin, backed into a corner, draws steel.
It doesn't end well.
For Veyron.
"…You said I leave today?"
"Yes, my lord," the servant said, looking faintly alarmed.