A Background Character’s Path to Power Chapter 1 1: Please, Don't Be the Protagonist

"Ding-!"

"Ding-!"

'Hmm...?'

I blinked hard while gazing up at a ceiling that looked totally strange to me.

The gentle buzz of conversations drifted through the room, mixed with the sporadic drag of chairs over the ground. A subtle aroma of books and ink hung in the atmosphere, blended with a light gust from the nearby open window to my left.

I blinked again, allowing my eyes to drift across the space around me. Lines of tables, pupils dressed in dark outfits, and a massive chalkboard up ahead.

This seems like… a schoolroom?

The truth hit me fast.

I occupied a seat in the rear row, my palms placed on a spread-out journal packed with orderly yet unknown script. My digits moved faintly as I attempted to remember arriving here.

No memories emerged.

I scowled.

Alright, let's break this down gradually. Initially, I verified that this was an academy.

What next? I peered at my attire—crisply ironed, official, a style unfamiliar but matching those of the others nearby.

Hold on...

I appear to have overlooked the key detail...

Who am I, exactly?

"..."

What's my identity?

"..."

A piercing coldness slithered along my back.

No name appeared, no history, no sense of self.

It felt like my thoughts had been scrubbed bare, retaining just...

Hmm...

I squinted.

Certain elements remained.

Not related to me personally, but concerning… narrative devices? Overdone scenarios?

Online novels, video games, tales.

My mind resembled a repository of imagined worlds and their repetitive motifs. I remembered them with ridiculous precision, yet zilch about my true background.

Is this memory loss? Rebirth? Soul transfer? A vision?

"Eeek-!"

Before delving further, the room's entrance glided apart with a clean snap.

A lady entered, exuding command like a no-nonsense figure. Clad in business-like clothes, her stare swept over the space and the group as she marched to the head. She had to be the instructor, most likely.

Yet, she wasn't what drew my focus.

A young woman trailed after her.

She possessed striking beauty—flowing golden locks tumbling in gentle curls, vivid azure eyes holding a purity that set her apart. The instant she crossed the threshold, an odd feeling washed over me, as if a scene was playing out exactly as scripted.

This scenario rang a bell.

....

I hope this isn't the situation I suspect.

Perhaps I'd triggered a warning, a quiet tone resounded in my thoughts.

[Event Triggered: 'Fated Encounter – The New Transfer Student.']

Eh?

I muttered under my breath, my gaze expanding.

A luminous azure panel materialized directly over my table.

I nearly jumped—but restrained myself, since imagining things on the debut day in this odd academy wouldn't look good at all.

But a system? A system?

The inscription on the display shimmered gently, sharp and clear, reminiscent of countless ones I'd 'encountered' in tales previously. My heartbeat accelerated, the ridiculousness of the moment colliding with the eerie recognition of it.

This qualified as an occurrence.

A predictable one, no less. Perhaps the top cliché in this environment.

The refined, apparently flawless incoming pupil, in this instance.

Typically, when a leading lady shows up, the machinery of the narrative starts spinning. Be it love, competition, or looming catastrophe, such happenings often signal the launch of a main character's adventure.

But why is this visible to me?

I'm not the central figure, am I?

The educator's words interrupted my pondering.

"Class, we have a new student joining us today. Please introduce yourself."

The fair-haired girl advanced, delivering a poised grin. "My name is Emilia von Aveline. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

The group replied with whispers of praise and interest.

I, though, remained fixated on the hovering system panel before me.

My mind swiftly connected the dots. I existed as an anonymous person in an unknown institution, equipped solely with vast insight into imaginary works. Now, a mechanism hurled plot points at me ripped from a corny story's outline.

Crucially, I hope I'm not the lead.

I can't tolerate all this embarrassing material.

━━━◇◆◇━━━

[Event - "Fated Encounter – The New Transfer Student."]

The destined clash between two souls linked by former ties has commenced. The wheels of destiny start rotating as their shared background reemerges.

━━━◇◆◇━━━

What?

You're not aiding me whatsoever. Simply confirm I'm not the lead instead of spouting such ridiculous phrases, I griped at the system.

I'm not, correct? Correct?

Right when I inwardly panicked over my possible hero role, the response to my quiet wish showed up.

The incoming pupil, Emilia von Aveline, 'elegantly' let her sight roam the room, her gaze sparkling with hidden feelings. But I already understood her intent.

As though verifying my hunch, she abruptly halted.

Her face shifted—surprise, familiarity, uncertainty—all crammed into one instant. Her mouth opened a bit.

I stiffened.

No.

Please!

No, no, no—

Her arm rose.

"You!"

Yes! It's not me!

It's the lad seated immediately beside me.

As I reveled in delight, the whole group stilled, the whispers faded. Their initial exchange was underway.

I released a deliberate, steady exhale, resisting the temptation to slump with ease.

I wasn't the hero.

Thank—

━━━◇◆◇━━━

[Scenario - "A Reunion Written in the Stars!"]

"Two paths, once intertwined, cross once more. But time changes all things. How will this meeting unfold?"

Objective: React appropriately to the unfolding event.

Failure penalty: Full memory erasure.

Rewards: ??? (Determined by the course of events.)

━━━◇◆◇━━━

"...Hah?"

My fingers jerked as a fresh system alert surfaced, its message slicing through my brief comfort.

Why introduce the old acquaintance cliché so soon? Isn't this ramping up the embarrassment?

I almost tugged at my hair, my ideas surging.

And respond suitably? What precisely does that entail? Does it demand my involvement in this?

If I wasn't the hero, why—why receive a involvement alert still?!

I peered closely at the display.

What sort of absurdity was this?

Shelving my musings, how could I even join in?

Next, I examined the caution.

Full memory erasure.

Oddly, an icy dread enveloped me.

That... felt threatening.

Since, this wasn't merely a light consequence—this was grave. Should I forfeit these scattered recollections, I'd end up empty-handed. No identity, no trope wisdom, no grasp on the chaos unfolding.

Nothing.

Then...

Wouldn't that seal my 'fate'?

Urgh...

...That implied one outcome.

I needed to get involved.

But in what way?

...

I directed my focus to the supposed hero.