Chapter 11
He wanted to make sure Ilux Rediona, the main protagonist, and the important women surrounding his life could move and act without straying too far from the path already determined.
In that silence, Theo realized that he bore a double burden.
Not only as an observer or writer mapping out the plot, but also as the guardian of a living script—one who must ensure that tragedy and victory unfold as they should, even when pity for certain characters—especially Erietta—shattered quietly within his heart.
He drew a long breath, letting that thought calm him, while the world around him kept moving—filled with shadows, light, and sounds that tangled his senses.
'Funny, isn't it? I'm like a shadow that's never invited, but must always exist.
Ilux moves, I follow.
Ilux falls, I bleed.
Ilux shines, and I only look for a place not to burn.'
Fuuuuh!
'I'm not a follower, but not a spectator either. I'm merely dependent.
If Ilux dies, my story ends too.
So whether I like it or not, I must make sure he stays alive, stays strong, and keeps walking according to the scenario.
This is his stage, and my task is simply to keep that light from going out—even if it means I must keep watching him from behind my own shadow.'
Theo had to keep watching every move Ilux made, especially in the decisive battle against Ar'tushamth, like an inseparable shadow.
This kind of near-stalking vigilance was not a choice, but an inevitability born from an unseen bond.
Theo was fully aware of how rotten Ilux truly was—a protagonist with wild obsession and lust for conquest that made him even more disgusting than Theo's worst image of an antagonist.
Yet none of that mattered anymore, because his own life hung upon every breath the protagonist took.
The deepest reason behind it all was dependency.
Ilux's death would mean Theo's end.
The wounds Ilux suffered would also be felt by Theo's body, as though threads of fate had sewn their pain together.
Conversely, every surge of new power Ilux gained would reflect back, granting Theo a version of similar abilities—unique, yet connected.
Ironically, Theo's suffering had no effect on Ilux whatsoever, making their connection a bitter, one-sided servitude.
Ilux was the center of the entire story, while Theo was merely the support behind the curtain.
He had to ensure that the protagonist remained strong and moved according to the set scenario, even if that meant watching from an unsafe distance, amid the lurking dangers between the scenes.
In the end, Theo was like an uninvited servant.
When Ilux walked, he followed.
When Ilux fell, he bled.
And when Ilux finally shone, he could only search for a dark corner so he wouldn't burn along with him.
This was Ilux's stage, and Theo's only duty was to ensure the light of the star never went out—even if it meant he must remain forever hidden within his own shadow.
'The line between the real world and the game no longer exists.
Suddenly, Flo Viva Mythology merged with my existence, erasing everything and leaving only the last one percent—including me, Theo Vkythor, as the sole victim of a world already destroyed.
What's strange is, I am not the writer.
Just a viewer who accidentally fell into the narrative, feeling the pain that was never meant to be mine.'
Uuuushh!
'When Ilux was mocked for not being able to wield a weapon, my chest screamed in pain—as if those insults were meant for me.
I felt meaningless.
So worthless, I almost stopped fighting.
And when Nusburath stabbed him—when the spear pierced through Ilux's stomach and blood flooded the ground—I collapsed immediately, convulsing, as if my own body had been pierced.
Unable to move.
Unable to help.
I could only laugh bitterly at a life that had lost all its boundaries.
Between me, him, and this world—everything had dissolved into madness, one I no longer understood.'
With the real and game worlds fused into one, Theo was trapped in a new reality he could never fully grasp.
He was not the creator of the Flo Viva Mythology universe—only an ordinary writer thrown into a story born from his own work.
His old world had vanished, erased by ninety-nine percent, and Theo was among the one percent that managed to remain.
In this distorted reality, the rule binding him was simple yet cruel.
His fate was tied unilaterally to Ilux, the main protagonist.
That bond had twice proven its strength in ways that broke him—both mentally and physically.
First, when Ilux was humiliated for his foolishness in holding a weapon for the first time.
Theo, watching from afar in what should've been safety, suddenly felt his own dignity shatter and the sting of mockery pierce him—as if it were his own soul enduring it.
A wave of helplessness and despair struck, echoing the powerful urge to end everything, even though the source of that shame wasn't his.
The second, and far more tragic moment, was Ilux's defeat against a member of Nusburath.
As Theo tried to reach Ilux—whose body was impaled and bleeding from a spear wound through his stomach—he was suddenly thrown to the ground.
The same stabbing pain struck his abdomen, leaving him paralyzed and convulsing helplessly upon the dirt.
He could not move at all, only writhe in torment, watching Ilux's torn body while feeling the mirrored pain, powerless to do anything.
It was an experience both absurd and excruciating—a cosmic joke at his expense.
'The drizzle is gentle, yet enough to make the earth breathe again.
Funny, after all the madness that's happened, this world can still hold something as simple as rain.
Dozens of days have passed, but it feels like an instant—as if time at Star Academy has never flowed normally.'
Days passed without notice, and time slipped away like water dripping through stone, eroding what little peace remained.
That morning, Star Academy stood beneath a damp gray haze.
The drizzle fell timidly, as if afraid to truly soak the ground—merely brushing the leaves and the old rooftops that gathered small puddles along the eaves.
The air carried the scent of fresh earth, faintly mingled with the aroma of wet paper from the textbooks stored behind the glass windows of the classrooms.
In the distance, the academy's clock tower ticked softly, as though reminding every soul that time—whether noticed or not—always demands sacrifice in every second.
Meanwhile, within the quiet painted by morning dew, someone was lost in thought.
A man named Theo Vkytor.
At this moment, thoughts of the game world Flo Viva Mythology kept spinning in his head, probing the edges of logic and absurdity surrounding it.
That world was not just a game—it was a living system, breathing, demanding understanding beyond pressing buttons or completing missions.
He pondered the hidden laws governing the flow of power—how even the smallest action could alter the threads of fate of the characters within.
Perhaps, there were hands greater than mere developers—hands that deliberately allowed that virtual world to become something beyond human creation.
There, the concept of "Human Change" began to feel like an anomaly—both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
A term marking the transition of living beings into demi-god entities, depending on how they controlled the Lu Core—the source of energy pulsing within the body and around the world.
To be continued…