Let's Destroy It

Ten years as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a novel editor.

The first words Kim Il-yong spoke upon receiving his final manuscript.

And with those words, a casual apocalypse was set in motion.

The work Il-yong was in charge of: Saving This Academy.

A world that felt alive. Characters with sharp, distinct personalities. A scenario that followed the classic royal road. It had everything going for it—and yet something about it was dull.

The cause, in all likelihood, was a shortage of tension.

Fortunately, planting a sense of crisis in a story was Il-yong's area of expertise. Of course, the solution to that particular problem was liable to be agony for the author.

The war of words with the author lasted a month.

The result was Il-yong's victory. Even against a writer overflowing with love for her own work, he had a weapon that always found its mark: a single, devastating phrase—it's the current trend.

It was nonsense, frankly. But Il-yong had a gift for making nonsense sound like sense.

It's my last work anyway…

And so a tale of doom was grafted onto the story. The kind of tale in which most of humanity is wiped out. The protagonist does, in the end, succeed in slaying the Demon King—but the countless people around him, his comrades, his lover, all of them die. After that, the story closes on a country boy receiving the Holy Sword, disguised as a cheap iron blade, from someone he does not know.

Just like that, an academy story in which the cast was massacred at the drop of a hat was complete.

So this is the end of it, too.

It was the last pass on his last work, and Il-yong reviewed it with even greater care than usual. He was still at it when a coworker wandered over.

"Hey, forty-year-old. You not going home today?"

"Oh, Seong-tae. Trying to wrap this up so I can get myself fired already."

At that, Seong-tae's face clouded with worry.

"Hyung, are you actually going to let them fire you like this?"

"You know how it is. The people upstairs don't think much of me."

"The recent numbers not looking good isn't your fault, it's—"

"Drop it, Seong-tae. I buried that accident a long time ago."

Seong-tae looked at him with a pained expression, then noticed something. The desk of a man preparing to leave the company, stripped bare. The only thing left was a family photograph.

It had been exactly one year since "that accident."

"Today's the anniversary, isn't it? Your wife and your little girl. I'll talk to the manager—let's go. I'll come with you to the graves."

"Sheesh, why are you like this, Team Leader. You'll get a pay cut talking like that. You know Manager Kim's got a goddamn awful temper."

Il-yong waved it off with his usual easy grin, and Seong-tae couldn't quite hide how that sat with him. He knew that for all the deflection, Il-yong's chest was pitch-black on the inside. Being the good-natured sort, Seong-tae changed the subject.

"They say authors get possessed into their last work when they finish it. What if that happens to you too, hyung?"

"Don't say something that awful. I'm an editor. Doesn't apply."

"If you do get possessed, just take it as karma and go, well, it was coming. You old doom-lover. But seriously, what would you even do if it happened? You've thought about it. Everybody does."

"I'd run like hell."

In truth, a great many of the works that had passed through Il-yong's hands had been turned into stories of doom. But it had only ever been a choice he'd made because he had to—for the sake of the work's survival.

"I'm heading out first, hyung. Wrap it up at a reasonable hour and go home. If you get lonely later, call me. I'll buy you a drink."

"I can't hold my liquor, you brat…. Yeah. I'll call you."

He sent Seong-tae off and looked back at the manuscript. Before he knew it, it was one in the morning.

"It's done. Hah…."

At last, he had finished editing all the way through to the ending. By his own standards, it was perfect. Late as it was, he sent the author a completion email and prepared for his last commute home before leaving the company.

On the empty desk, the family photo remained. He picked up the frame, and the voices and the warmth of his wife and daughter were still vivid enough to touch. He found himself pathetic beyond words for not even making it to their graves on the first anniversary.

Next year. Next year's anniversary, he would go.

"So this is the end of company life, too."

He finally stepped out of the building. He was breathing a sigh into the cold wind when a reply to his email arrived.

Ding.

Myself…?

HONK—!

A scream of a horn split the air, and his head snapped around. A truck was tearing toward him in a dead-straight line, out of its mind. For some reason, the driver's face was twisted with a rage that had gone past reason and into spite.

And it was a face he knew.

Author?

That was Il-yong's last memory.

He had barely come to his senses when a voice like a lash cracked over him.

"New student X! Get on your feet this instant!"

A foreign middle-aged man was glaring down at him, his face contorted with anger. The clothes looked like something out of a Western fantasy. If he stayed down any longer, the man was going to hit him, so he scrambled up in a hurry.

He looked around. Foreign students in uniforms were standing in ranked lines, and for some reason every last one of them was staring at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

What. What is this.

He hadn't even begun to understand the situation when the shouting came again.

"New student! Pay attention to the entrance ceremony!"

The shouting man glared at Il-yong, then turned his back. Only then did the surroundings come into focus.

The interior of a building that called an auditorium to mind. Foreigners of every color crowding the space around him. The whole atmosphere of an entrance ceremony.

A voice rolling through the hall explained the situation with perfect, merciless clarity.

A dream…?

He hadn't slept enough. Had he finally dozed off at his desk?

…There's no way.

A flood of reality came crashing in. He pinched his arm, secretly, quietly. It hurt. This was definitely not a dream.

Elion Academy? The 50th Entrance Ceremony? Leon Brave? These are settings from the novel I was just working on!

All at once, Seong-tae's snickering from earlier floated back, and with it a possibility so unreal he wanted to look away from it. This was a situation you could only accept by breaking through the wall of reality itself.

And then a line of text surfaced in his memory, as if to make certain of it.

If you love doom so much—try surviving it yourself!!

"D-don't fuck with me!"

Il-yong shouted, then caught his own trembling body. The foreign students around him frowned at the spectacle. From far off, the shouting man came striding over and seized Il-yong by the arm.

"New student X! What do you think you're doing?!"

That was when Il-yong looked down at his own arm.

It was not a middle-aged man's arm, thick with hair. It was a boy's arm, smooth, without so much as a scrap of down on it.

It was not his arm.

The primitive wrongness of it only made the reality sharper. Goosebumps raced over his whole body, and a scream climbed all the way to his teeth.

"What is this—?!"

In that instant, a scream that was not his own voice—a boy's scream—filled the auditorium to the rafters.

"I-it can't be—!"

"New student! Where do you think you're going, new student!!"

He tore his arm free and ran for the building's doors. He threw them open, sprinted down the corridor, and burst out into the sunlight.

And he faced the world.

The sun and the moon hung in the sky at the same time. A strange heaven, wrapping itself around him.

There was no way he wouldn't know it.

This was the world of the novel Saving This Academy.

His mind reeled, and something shoved itself in front of his eyes.

Anyone who had ever so much as glanced at a web novel would know what this was.

A status window.

Only then did he truly understand the situation he was in.

Il-yong had been possessed into a world with doom already written on it.

The wall of unreality was more than he could bear. His vision went black, and he lost control of his entire body.

"Ghhk—"

And so, with a faint, surviving in a doomed world began.

On the sacred day of the academy's entrance ceremony for new students, one student had suddenly screamed and thrown the hall into uproar. The academy reeled at an unprecedented incident that simply was not supposed to happen.

The commotion itself died down soon enough. But someone still had to answer for a catastrophe of this scale. And as a rule, that someone was whoever happened to be in charge of the person responsible.

Goddamn it. Why do I have to take the fall for a mess kicked up by some brat I've never even seen.

The man who was about to become that student's homeroom professor strode down the corridor with angry steps. Outrage born of sheer unfairness ran through his face and through the way he moved.

Still. It's not all bad.

Even as he vented the anger, the professor was thinking coldly.

If I use this right, I can send one of them packing today.

He'd been in too much of a hurry to properly check the student's personal information, but there had been nothing important enough to leave an impression. From the glance he'd managed, the student in question was a plain commoner—no background, no outstanding ability of any kind.

He was so unremarkable you had to wonder how a student like that had gotten into Elion Academy at all.

Which, as far as the professor was concerned, made this convenient.

Find a decent excuse, put the fear in him, and he'll walk himself out. I don't care about the rest of them—you, I'm expelling for certain.

With that intention held clearly in mind, the professor arrived at the place where the problem student was waiting.

The intention, put simply, was to throw him out of the academy.

When he opened his eyes again, what greeted Il-yong—now X—was that damned status window.

His body was heavy.

Heavy didn't cover it. It hurt. It was the same feeling as waking up after a car accident, years ago. If he thought about the state of his body before he'd fainted, the change made no sense. It wasn't as if he'd been hit by another truck in the space of a few minutes.

"Wh-what is going on…."

"Ah. You're awake."

He was lurching like a zombie when someone approached. A girl with radiant silver hair and a benevolent smile. He had the feeling he'd seen her somewhere, but he couldn't place it.

She blinked her white eyes at him, wide and round, and asked,

"Are you with us?"

"Where is this…?"

"The infirmary at Elion Academy. You fainted at the entrance ceremony, so we brought you here. Fortunately, you don't appear to be injured."

"Elion… Academy…."

He'd thought he might be seeing things. He wasn't. The moment he faced the reality of it, grief welled up and tears ran down his face.

Is it even legal to get dumped into another world without collecting ten years of severance? If you're going to possess someone, at least throw in a cheat ability. Cheat, my ass. The status window is attacking its own owner.

He didn't need it explained to him. He had been possessed into an extra with no setting of any kind. The name was X. X for extra, no doubt.

I can't even get my thoughts to catch up with this situation. How is anyone supposed to stay sane in this?

Sane or not, the world had no intention of leaving him alone.

Rattle—

The infirmary door opened, and a sharp, keen-looking person of androgynous appearance stepped in. The hair was long enough that it ought to have been tied back, and the face was beautiful enough that, at a glance, you could have taken them for a stunning woman. For a moment, the gender was genuinely hard to pin down.

Look closer, though, and the protruding Adam's apple and the distinctly male build gave it away.

He called to X in a high, blade-sharp voice.

"So you're the Screaming Herb, X? Hell of a face you've got. Even ground orc meat would look handsomer than that."

"Who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are you…?"

"Roxwell. The man who's going to be your homeroom professor. Take this."

Roxwell threw a sheaf of documents at X, who was still lying on the bed.

"Ghk!"

The weight of it knocked the breath out of him and sent pain lancing through his body. It wasn't that the bundle of paper was heavy. His body was simply wrecked enough for it to feel that way.

"New student guide materials you were supposed to have read already. Having to make a wasted trip because of an ignoramus like you. Unbelievable."

Roxwell clicked his tongue and leaned back against the door. That was when the silver-haired girl standing beside the bed rose to her feet. She looked as if she meant to slip out of the way. She spoke to Roxwell, who was still occupying the doorway.

"Professor Roxwell, may I pass through for a moment?"

"…Sorry about that, Saintess Candidate Frey. Thank you for coming in person on account of a student in my class."

"Not at all. It's only natural, as a cleric."

Frey? The reincarnated saintess, Frey Marten?

He tried to get a proper look at her face, but he was too late—Frey was already gone. His lost gaze collided with Roxwell's.

"What are you staring at. Read the guide. If you can read, that is."

"…Yes."

X opened the materials with trembling hands. There was a strange sense of dissonance, but the meaning of the letters came through.

I've never seen this script in my life…. But I was just speaking it a moment ago, wasn't I?

Thinking back, he had been carrying on a conversation in a language he'd never encountered, as naturally as if it were his mother tongue.

A correction for the sake of probability? Right. At least there's that. The problems you'd get from not being able to talk—there's no end to those…

The thought had barely formed when Roxwell spoke, suspicion in his voice.

"…You read rather naturally."

And the status window appeared.

What? A false charge?

A false charge, just for reading? What was that supposed to mean. The man standing in front of him was kind enough to clear up the question.

"Where did you learn the common tongue?"

Wariness flared in Roxwell's eyes. It was a look with hostility coiled tightly inside it. A gaze that went cold through the gut just to meet.

So this was how it worked. X understood.

The status window is a piece of shit…!

"Why aren't you answering?"

Click—

Roxwell pushed the sword out of its sheath with his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠thumb. In the space of a startled breath, X could see a future in which his head left his shoulders.

His survival instinct spun his thoughts fast. There was only one piece of knowledge he needed to find in this moment.

A setting in which it isn't strange for a commoner to have learned the Imperial common tongue!

He recovered his composure at once and dug through his memory. If he had to, he could suppress more or less any feeling. Right now, he needed the setting he'd read when he'd been picking the story apart for probability.

And then the problem hit.

I can't remember…! It's strange—it's too strange…!

Even in his previous life, memory had been the one thing Il-yong could count on. He had clearly remembered most of the setting in detail. And yet his recollection was cloudy now, riddled with holes.

He found the reason soon enough.

So this is what 0.1 intelligence does…!

At this rate, he wasn't going to be able to answer. He had no idea what kind of man Roxwell was, exactly—but the man was currently deciding whether or not to swing that sword. Whether an academy homeroom professor was even allowed to do this, X didn't know.

What he did know was that a half-baked answer wouldn't cut it. The best move was not to create a situation in which his head came off. In this academy, a noble—anyone with that kind of power—could kill a talentless commoner and make it so that nothing had ever happened.

Think. Think…!

The panorama of a life flashing before dying eyes began to play. Even that had holes in it. It was enough to drive a man insane.

Trickle—

On top of everything, his head throbbed and a nosebleed started running. His intelligence was so low that his brain had apparently worked itself past its limit. Roxwell's eyes glinted, ugly, at the sight.

"I told you to answer. I don't recall telling you to harm yourself."

He thought this was self-harm…?!

"The silence has gone on too long. Last warning."

Roxwell drew the sword at last. It was the worst possible situation.

"Where did you learn the common tongue? I have no intention of taking on a student of unclear identity. Depending on your answer, I will use my discretion to expel you from the academy."

He was about to invent some kind of excuse when something rose in front of his eyes.

In that instant, the holes in his cloudy memory filled in, just a little.

Genuine force was about to come down and pin him, and he threw the gamble of his life.

"The basic education curriculum of the Imperial lowest-class welfare program! I completed that education as a child!"

Roxwell's hostility stopped in the instant before it fully took shape. What X had said was not complete nonsense. Roxwell began his interrogation with a face like cold blood.

"Explain."

From here, he would have to spin the story. There could not be a hair's breadth of a problem with the probability. This was, in the most literal sense, the beginning of a lie with his life on the line.

"As a child, I was raised at Yol Orphanage in the Vesta Kingdom."

A place that existed in the setting. One of the original work's supporting characters had grown up there. At the present point in time, it had gone under and no longer existed.

"Proof?"

"Unfortunately, I can't present any. It collapsed a year ago. If I had to offer something, the fact that I even know the name of an unheard-of orphanage in a remote frontier kingdom—one that has already failed—is my evidence. If you doubt me, you're welcome to look it up."

If it was Imperial administrative records, it could be found. There might be no precise personal information on the children, but the name of a region that had gone through administrative processing would be there.

Roxwell doubted the words.

"Nothing but a convenient fit. That isn't evidence."

"I learned the Imperial common tongue at that orphanage. I liked books."

"Name a book you remember."

"Merlin's Introduction to Sorcery. Yustia's Twilight and Parting…. Bestsellers at the Imperial Royal Library."

"…You have read a few books, it seems."

Even so, suspicion remained in Roxwell's eyes.

"That still doesn't explain how an ignorant commoner like you entered the Empire's finest academy. I checked your admission records and your personal information. No matter how I looked at it, I could not see a reason you would be here. The only way that would be possible is…"

"I had a single inheritance from parents whose faces I never knew. A Special Admission Recommendation Letter. That should explain it."

"…Right. A Special Admission Recommendation Letter."

A Special Admission Recommendation Letter. A recommendation given to those who had rendered great service to the Empire and the academy, or who were of equivalent worth. In the case of a special admission, nothing was considered—not the student's origin, not the quality of their ability, nothing. They were admitted unconditionally.

It was the same setting as the original protagonist. The original protagonist had been fallen nobility, after all.

I made it all up as I went, but…!

Of course it was all fiction. All of it a lie. A precarious probability that would shatter from the root the moment anyone found so much as a crack. But this was the best he could do.

X's survival hung on this fragile lie.

The result:

"…Tsk. You've got a way with words. You couldn't argue like that if you'd never picked up a book."

Click—

Roxwell's sword, which had been pushed out by a thumb's width, slid back into its sheath. The cold-blooded expression stayed where it was, but the hostility was gone, clearly. He headed for the infirmary door as he was and tossed the words over his shoulder.

"Refer to the new student guide for the location of your dormitory and the list of what you'll need for your studies."

Before he went out, Roxwell added one more thing.

"I still haven't shaken my suspicions. By all means, make a mistake so I can turn that suspicion into certainty."

With that, Roxwell opened the infirmary door.

Frey was standing immediately on the other side of it. She was posed exactly as if she had had her ear pressed to the wood. She gave a sheepish smile and let out a little laugh.

"Ahaha. You caught me."

"Eavesdropping…. That's a nasty hobby, Saintess Candidate."

"I'm sorry!"

Frey fled. Roxwell vanished after her.

Only once he was alone in the infirmary did the tension finally let go. He had survived, somehow. He had prolonged this wretched life.

The moment he realized it, something rose in front of his eyes.

That's just too much.

In the midst of the pain and the fog, he fainted all over again.

Before he went under, a single line of the status window rose before him. It impressed one thing upon X, once more.