But There Is a Price
A pristine white ceiling. The bright glow of the lights, a cool breeze slipping through the window, and the peaceful chirping of birds outside.
"—You're awake!"
When he snapped back to awareness at the sound of the woman's voice, he found himself lying in a bed in the academy's infirmary.
"—What about the villain?"
The first rasping words out of his mouth upon waking were about the villain who had left him in this state. There was so much he wanted to ask, but the most crucial was whether the boss, who was supposed to appear later, had survived.
Because if all his suffering had been for nothing—if his actions had been utterly pointless—he would have to assume the world would follow the game's story from here on out and act accordingly.
But—
"She's been caught."
"...Haha."
Caught. With that single word, he realized the situation had resolved itself, and he laughed.
The original story had been derailed.
The villain who was meant to lead an army in the future, sniping relentlessly from afar in an infuriating manner—the boss who would claim countless lives—had been captured before the story even reached that point. The lives she was fated to take could now be saved, and since no academy intel had leaked, the villains' invasion would face serious hurdles.
He, a mere mid-game boss fodder, hadn't met his end. He was still breathing. An extra like him had altered a grim future.
This was incredibly good news for him. No matter how weak he was, no matter that he could barely fight, the fact that he could change the future gave him a boost to his shattered self-esteem—the kind of validation he'd desperately needed after drowning in self-loathing over his incompetence.
"—Teacher. How long was I out?"
"A week."
A week. Short if you thought about it that way, but plenty long otherwise. He'd clearly been pierced through the chest, yet he'd woken up—thanks no doubt to the infirmary teacher's miraculous healing ability.
"...Are you okay? Your arm—"
But even the most skilled medical hero couldn't reattach a severed limb. Indeed, where his right arm should have been was just empty space, the sleeve of his shirt hanging limp and useless.
"I'm fine."
And yet he still smiled.
He'd already ruined his legs before, unable to walk. Losing one arm felt downright preferable by comparison. Sure, both were inconvenient, but this world had the tech for prosthetics—and an arm like this could be replaced anytime.
Losing one arm was a price he could gladly pay to change his fate. He hadn't lost his life, after all.
"What about the others?"
So he decided to savor the victory, content with the results, and asked after everyone else.
His childhood friend Jihyun, the game's protagonist, the other heroine classmates. And the hero teachers who'd instructed them. Were they safe?
In the original timeline, that would have been his first question, but only now, reassured, did he ask the beaming teacher watching him.
It was the order he'd thought made sense. If even one of them had died or been gravely wounded, she wouldn't be smiling like that with such genuine warmth—or so he truly believed.
"...Oh, the others? Want to go see them?"
He knew what kind of world this was. A place where lives could snuff out so easily. And yet he'd let himself feel that relief so sincerely.
"...Be careful. It might be dangerous if you jostle anything."
How foolish that optimism seemed—something he only realized once he left the infirmary room for elsewhere.
Beep, beep—
The intensive care unit hummed with the clamor of medical machines. Mechanical beeps echoed amid rows of hospital beds holding students who lay with eyes closed, as if asleep.
He stood before his childhood friend's bed, frozen, utterly speechless.
Her body was swathed head to toe in bandages. A ventilator covered her mouth, an IV pierced her arm. A week had passed, and the infirmary teacher was top-notch, yet the wrappings were still stained crimson with blood. Worst of all, she hadn't regained consciousness.
"They're all critically injured. It was touch and go. Better off than you, losing an arm, I suppose—"
He barely registered the teacher's words, one ear in, one ear out, standing there in hollow stupor.
He'd caught the late-game boss and prayed everyone would be safe—and he'd been the fool. On top of that, the teacher's relieved expression up till now had been for his own regained consciousness.
Maybe it was something he could have seen coming with a moment's thought.
She was the boss in disguise—one of the game's strongest villains, holding an entire chapter. The principal had sniffed her out and ambushed her, inflicting wounds, but she was still a late-game boss regardless.
How could the protagonist—who hadn't even grown properly yet—the heroines, his childhood friend lying there now—capture her unscathed?
In the original, she'd achieved her goal and fled without looking back. But he'd wounded her, and his childhood friend had charged in right after, sparking the fight—
"...What about Teacher Kang Haeseong?"
"......"
A key teacher had died, and the other students and heroes were like this.
The butterfly effect in full swing. His attempt to help had plunged her—everyone—into greater peril. Realizing that, he ground his teeth.
"Don't make that face."
How could he not? If he'd died there, the story wouldn't have twisted this far, and his friends wouldn't be hurt like this. Or if he'd just been a little stronger—they could have overcome the crisis together, leading to a better outcome.
"If not for you—for all of you—we might have lost the villain entirely."
And yet all he heard was praise, as if he were some hero.
Was this right? Students and heroes downed, a teacher dead—and he was being lauded?
"You'll face this a lot as a hero. The damage is too great to call it prevention, but—steel yourself."
Just because this was a world of heroes and villains—where heroes met such ends—did that make it okay to be so numb to it all? Was this world truly just?
"...I'll step out for a bit. Go see them whenever you're ready."
No. Absolutely not. This world was anything but right.
Nausea churned in his gut. Doing the "right" thing—clinging desperately to life—had left his most precious childhood friend comatose. He'd rejoiced at saving others' lives, but failed to protect the ones he should have—no, he didn't even have the right to claim he'd tried.
He was just an extra, after all.
He was the one who got protected, not the other way around. It didn't make sense for someone like him to shield the stronger ones.
"...I'm sorry."
He apologized. Bowing his head to his childhood friend, who couldn't even hear him, he clenched his fists and let the tears fall.
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
Then he broke down in helpless sobs. What could he do? No matter how he racked his brain, no answers came.
He felt utterly powerless. An extra like him had no strength to alter the future. He couldn't help them—in fact, not hindering them would be a miracle.
He had knowledge of the future, sure. But it was worthless. If anything, that knowledge had wrecked everything.
Telling others—those with power—wasn't an option either. The note he'd secretly passed to the protagonist's group had vanished as if it never existed, and he physically couldn't speak the words aloud.
Some penalty for being isekai'd into the game world? If they were handing out penalties like that, they could have at least given him some power—but even thinking that changed nothing. He'd already been inserted, and he had no clue why.
Preemptively taking out other villains? Impossible.
He lacked the strength to begin with, and as an academy student, he couldn't just wander freely outside. Quitting wouldn't fix it either. In a world where non-heroes capturing villains was illegal—where even heroes killing them sparked scandals—what punishment awaited a civilian?
"...Ah."
His eyes widened at the thought that flashed through his mind.