[Ethan Ward] 17 years old
A principled, sincere, and hardworking young man from a modest background. Ethan is a prodigy from the Academy of Military Strategy, respected for both his brilliance and moral compass. The world sees him as a rising hero, but he guards a personal secret no one knows.
[Grayson Locke] 17 years old
Fourth-generation heir to Locke Industries, one of the most dominant corporate dynasties in the country. Arrogant and born with a silver spoon, Grayson hides a growing resentment toward Ethan, whose natural gifts challenge his place at the top. "I have to be the best. No exceptions." That obsession pushes him down a darker path.
These two were the central figures in the novel I once wrote.
There were many more characters, of course, but naming them all would have been impossible. Most were just part of the world, there to populate scenes. Unless they played a critical role, a love interest, a rival, a key ally, they didn't need names. So why am I telling you this?
"Hero Association, Washington D.C. Campus. Class of 2025. Valedictorian: Ethan Ward."
The story from my novel… was unfolding right before my eyes.
Ethan stepped forward to the stage, nerves buried under the calm aura of someone destined for greatness. We were in a massive auditorium packed with 3,000 cadets and thousands more watching from balconies and VIP boxes. All eyes were on him.
"That's Ethan Ward? Damn…"
"He's gorgeous."
A group of cadets whispered and blushed as he passed.
"Talent. That's what really matters. Doesn't matter how hard you work, if you're not born with it, forget it."
"He totally lucked out. That 'Legendary Edge' ability? Ridiculous."
Jealousy buzzed beneath the admiration. Everyone knew who he was, the most brilliant cadet in the last decade.
"They say his academic record is flawless."
"Yeah, and that ability of his, what was it again? Something about blades?"
"Legendary Edge," one of the spectators said. "They say the world itself bends to him when he wields a sword."
Top executives from elite defense guilds watched him from the skyboxes above. Though they were easily a kilometer away, I could hear them, see them, clearly, almost as if I were standing beside them. Maybe that was my gift.
"We've already claimed him. No other guild's getting close."
That voice. I recognized her, Sarah Langford. In the novel, she was a mentor and eventual love interest to Ethan. They had started to fall for each other, well, he had several romantic threads, to be honest, but that storyline remained unfinished. I had shelved the novel before it ever blossomed.
"There's no such thing as dibs," a rival recruiter said with a smirk.
"Is that why your guild always plays second fiddle to us?"
Sarah gave a challenging smile, calm but sharp.
I had based her face on someone I once loved, a classmate from my university days. Funny how memories shape fiction.
"Is that a threat?"
"Of course not. Besides, we've got three more years before recruitment starts."
"Two, actually."
"You know early recruitment is against the law, right?"
"Only if someone finds out."
Their quiet standoff charged the VIP section with tension. And so, the battle to win Ethan Ward began.
"Class of 2025. Salutatorian: Grayson Locke."
The other protagonist rose.
Grayson Locke, the prodigal heir of Locke Industries, commanded just as much attention, but in a different way. There was no bitterness directed at him. Only awe. While Ethan inspired envy, Why him and not me?, Grayson inspired resignation, He was always destined to be better.
Like a born noble, he walked the stage with confidence only legacy could grant.
Ethan and Grayson stood side by side. Their eyes locked. The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken challenge.
They were exactly as I had imagined them. Straight out of my manuscript.
So then… who was I?
I wasn't on the stage. I wasn't even in the middle of the crowd. I sat in the last row of the furthest section, just another face among thousands.
A nobody.
No recruiter even glanced in my direction.
"Hey, what rank are you? I'm 2900," asked a pudgy cadet beside me. His badge read Miles Hopwood. In the novel, he was meant to be a late bloomer. Physically useless in combat, but gifted with a mind perfect for intelligence work. A future analyst. A supporting character.
"You're... Noah, right? Noah Swagger?"
"…I'm not sure."
The name didn't feel like mine. I didn't recognize it. I didn't recognize me.
Shouldn't I have been one of the two on stage?
"Seriously? You don't know your own rank?"
"I said I don't know."
Because I didn't.
I was inside the world I had written… but trapped in the body of a character I had never even created. I had no arc. No backstory. No relevance. Aside from being a cadet at this academy, I was entirely insignificant.
I wasn't a hero. I wasn't even a sidekick.
I was a background extra.
…No, less than that.
I was dust.