Once upon a time, there was a nameless earthling. And when I say nameless, I mean truly, spectacularly forgettable. He wasn't just an extra in the background—oh no, that would imply some kind of significance. No, this guy was invisible, practically non-existent. He couldn't even land the role of Tree A in the school play. He was the very essence of ordinariness wrapped in a human-shaped bundle of "meh."

But—plot twist!—something about him was special after all. The universe decided to take this walking definition of mediocrity and do something dramatic. How, you ask? By hurling a truck at him. Yep, nothing says "you’re chosen" quite like a good ol' hit-and-run. And just like that, he was transmigrated to another world.

And not just any world—oh no—he landed in Magnus. A world suspiciously similar to his favorite novel, Hero Ender. Of course, that had to happen. Because being completely average wasn’t enough. Now, he had to deal with knowing the future. Oh yeah, he could save lives, be a hero, all that jazz. Cue the wild fantasies of grandeur! He could totally be someone important now, right? A hero with a capital H.

But then, reality slapped him in the face—hard. "Wait a minute," he thought. "I'm still just me. Ordinary. Boring. No special powers, no secret abilities. Just a guy who somehow knows what’s coming but can't really do anything about it."

Yeah, maybe being a hero wasn’t in the cards. So what if he knew the future? That didn’t mean he could change it. Or did it? Nope. No, he couldn’t. Not really. He weighed the risks of being the hero he dreamed of or...you know, not dying.

"Okay, hear me out!" he screamed into the void. "I want to go back! Earth was fine! I’ll take the boring nine-to-five over this!"

But surprise, surprise—no one responded. Not a single cosmic whisper of sympathy.

So, what choice did he have? With a sigh and a dramatic eye roll, he accepted his fate. Fine, he’d stay in Magnus. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. He seethed. He fumed. He cursed Destiny for yanking him out of his mundane, yet predictable, existence and tossing him into this magic-filled mess.

Because if there was one thing this guy knew, it was that being ordinary was a lot easier when you're not surrounded by literal dragons.

Destiny might have had plans for me, but I had other ideas. I wasn’t about to play along with some grand cosmic script. Nope, not me. I was going to grab destiny by the throat, give it a nice shake, and tell it, "Thanks, but no thanks."

My plan? Lie low, stay out of sight, and remove myself from the equation entirely. If destiny wanted me to be a hero, then I’d do the opposite—I’d vanish.

"A timeskip," I concluded, feeling brilliant. "That’s what I need." It was the perfect way to spit in the face of whatever bored deity decided to dump me here. They wanted drama? They wanted action? Well, too bad. I was hitting pause on the whole thing.

Besides, let’s be real. I wasn’t exactly built for heroics. Heroes die young, and I preferred my lifespan to be… well, not cut short by some tragic prophecy. This wasn’t cowardice; this was strategy. I would run away, lay low, and wait out the main storyline of Hero Ender like someone avoiding spoilers. By the time the world reached its dramatic epilogue, I’d still be alive, sipping tea somewhere quiet.

"Sorry to all the people I could’ve saved from their inevitable tragic fates…" I muttered with a hint of guilt. But then, I reminded myself, "I’m just an ordinary guy." I wasn’t cut out for this. I wasn’t the protagonist, not by a long shot.

And so I prayed. Randel Eir Dromastus, they called me in this world, but it was still me. I prayed to whoever was listening. Maybe to the gods of this world, maybe to the universe, maybe just to my own sanity.

I was 17 when I dropped out of the , the very place where the main storyline was supposed to kick off. It was a bold move, I thought. A clean break from the plot, leaving behind all the messy entanglements of prophecy and heroism. While the world’s greatest sorcerers were training to save the realm, I was training to blend into the background. Genius, right?

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

What I didn’t realize—what I refused to realize—was that I wasn’t actually escaping my story. No, I was just hitting snooze on it. Destiny doesn’t just let you walk away. Not in a world like this.

But at the time, I thought I was free. Free to live in peace, free to stay alive. What I didn’t see coming was that my story had only been postponed.

.

.

.

A decade had passed, and there I was, sitting in my lonely little tower hidden deep within the forest, singing "Happy Birthday" to myself. Yep, I had officially lost it.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you~" I hummed, clapping to the beat like a one-man parade of pathetic. If someone walked in right now, they’d probably think I’d gone mad—and they wouldn’t be wrong. Ten years of solitude does things to a person.

In front of me, a single candle flickered in the dim room. No cake, no party hats, just me and this sad little flame. Every year, I made it a rule to celebrate my birthday, even though each one felt more tragic than the last. I almost wanted to cry, but what would that accomplish? There was no one around to pity me, and even I was running low on self-pity.

To be fair, I didn’t even know when my actual birthday was anymore. Time in Magnus worked differently—392 days in a year. After so long, it felt pointless to keep track of Earth’s calendar. So, I settled on celebrating my birthday on the day I’d arrived in this godforsaken world. It felt oddly poetic, like I was marking the anniversary of my exile from normalcy. How lovely.

After finishing my half-hearted rendition of "Happy Birthday," I leaned in and blew out the candle. No wish. No cake. Just a puff of air and a reminder of how far I’d fallen from anything resembling a normal life. Ten years. Ten years since I ran away from the and the main storyline of Hero Ender. Ten years since I decided to hide, to keep my head down, to live the most unremarkable life possible.

And what did I have to show for it? A tower in the middle of nowhere, a candle with no cake, and the haunting knowledge that I wasn’t really living. I was just existing, waiting for time to pass, hoping the story would end without me ever needing to step back into it.

But deep down, I knew. I wasn’t out of the woods. I wasn’t free from the story. I had just pressed pause, and sooner or later, someone—something—would press play again.

Was it paranoia?

I couldn’t know.

In this world, the calendar was as absurd as everything else. Thirteen months, alternating between 28 and 32 days. Twenty-three hours in a day. I couldn’t tell if the author of Hero Ender was a genius or just messing with us. The months were named An, Eb, Ar, Pr, Ay, Un, Ul, Ug, Ept, Cto, Ove, Ece, and End. Why? I had no idea. Maybe it was some clever fantasy world-building, or maybe the author just threw darts at a board.

I counted mentally how many days had passed since I’d been dropped into this strange body. "It’s been at least 3,900 days…" I murmured to myself, the number sounding absurd even in my own head. Nearly 4,000 days of solitude, of dodging the storyline, of avoiding fate. The loneliness I’d endured was enough to make anyone crack, but somehow, I hadn’t completely lost my mind. Yet.

Today was the 32nd of the Month End, Year 1672 of the Dawn Calendar. The end of the year in Magnus. A poetic day to celebrate the fact that I’d grown another year older.

"I’m now 27 years old… and I still don’t have a girlfriend," I muttered, as if that was the biggest issue in my life. But loneliness does weird things to you. Sometimes it wasn’t dragons or evil overlords that weighed on my mind, but the simple, human need for companionship. The idea of having a romantic partner, someone to talk to, someone to make the days a little less hollow… it crossed my mind more often than I liked to admit.

"Sigh…"

Yeah, I felt terrible. But what could I do? My whole existence had been about staying out of the story, hiding from danger, and preserving my ordinary life. What kind of relationship could I even have when I was living in a self-imposed exile?

I began singing a love song I’d been working on for the past month. It wasn’t exactly a ballad for the ages—no sweeping romantic declarations or heartfelt confessions. No, the theme of this little masterpiece was more… basic. It was about wanting to get laid.

Yeah, I had sunk that low.

The melody was simple, just a few chords I had plucked out on an old lute I found in the tower. The lyrics, though? Pure desperation.

"Lonely nights, empty days,

Someone, come take this haze away…

I just wanna get laaaiiiid…"

I strummed the lute, my voice echoing through the empty tower as I sang about all the things I’d never admit out loud to another person. I wasn’t proud of it, but after nearly 4,000 days of living alone, the frustration had gotten to me. Romantic ideals? Pfft. At this point, I was just hoping to have a conversation that didn’t involve me talking to myself.

"Love me tender, love me true,

Or just someone… anyone will do.

I just wanna get laaaiiiid…"

I paused, staring at the walls around me, wondering if this was what rock bottom felt like. I had written the song more as a joke, a way to vent my feelings, but now that I was singing it out loud, it felt… well, kind of sad. And not the good kind of sad that gets you sympathy, but the cringe-inducing, second-hand embarrassment kind of sad.

Still, I finished the verse, mostly because there was no one around to stop me.

"Come find me in this forest deep,

Save me from eternal sleep,

I just wanna get laaa—"

I stopped mid-note, cringing at my own lyrics. Yeah, maybe this wasn’t the song that was going to bring romance into my life. But hey, at least it kept me entertained.