Amy groaned as her consciousness returned, her head throbbing with each pulse of her heart. Her cheek was smashed against something cold and hard. Concrete? No—stone. The air reeked of mildew and something metallic that she couldn't place.

"Please just be a hangover," she mumbled, eyes clamped shut. "Please be the worst hangover of my life, I'm begging."

When she finally cracked her eyes open, reality slapped her in the face. Instead of her bedroom ceiling, a beautiful blue sky peeked between ancient-looking buildings. She was sprawled in some dirty alley with cobblestones digging into her side.

"Shit…" Amy pushed herself up, wincing as her palms scraped against the rough ground. “This isn’t happening. I refuse to believe this is real.”

Honestly, at this point, she did believe all this was real, and denying her situation over and over again probably did not help much, but it sure made her feel better.

With a defeated sigh, she stood and checked herself over. Still rocking her oversized "CRITICS DO IT BETTER" t-shirt and sweatpants. The only difference? She now had shoes on. And her phone was gone, because of course it was.

With another louder sigh, Amy began walking. The alley opened onto a wider street, and she approached cautiously, one hand dragging along the grimy wall for support. When she reached the street, she froze.

A bustling marketplace stretched before her, alive with colors that popped against the bright sky. Market stalls lined a winding cobblestone street, selling everything from fresh fruits to weird objects that glowed with a soft pulse.

But it wasn't the goods that made Amy rub her eyes in disbelief. It was the people.

Humans mingled with beings that couldn't possibly exist. Tall figures with pointed ears, short bearded folks, and people with animal-like features moved through the crowd. Vendors called out their wares in a language that she somehow understood despite never having heard it before.

"No way," Amy whispered. "It's actually Eldoria—also, furries!?"

She recognized the city from the countless illustrations she'd analyzed as Quest for Avalon's most dedicated hater. The northern capital was home to the Arcanum Academy where the manga's protagonist studied. The place she'd torn apart in brutal reviews for its "lazy worldbuilding" and "predictable design."

As she stepped fully onto the main street, looking everywhere with curiosity she noticed something uncomfortable. People were giving her looks—not exactly staring, but definitely noticing her. A couple of passersby did double-takes.

"What's their deal?" she mumbled, suddenly self-conscious.

There was no way all the glances were because of her clothes, right? Had that petty goddess turned her into something weird…? That thought kind of scared her since it wasn’t that far-fetched.

She walked quickly, searching for a reflective surface, and eventually found a shop window that made her stop in her tracks.

The face looking back was both hers and not. It was her face, but... enhanced. She still looked like her seventeen-year-old self, but her normally average brown long hair and eyes were now golden. Her features seemed cleaner, her skin clearer, her eyes a bit brighter. She looked like herself with good lighting and maybe a subtle filter—the kind of look that existed in...

"Manga," she said, touching her face. "I look like a manga character."

It took a lot of willpower not to laugh. Not because she found it funny or was happy in any way, but because she finally gave up on trying to run away from reality.

"Cool. Cool cool cool. Either I've completely lost my mind, or I’m truly a manga character now," Amy muttered, turning away from her reflection.

It wasn't like she'd never fantasized about getting isekai'd like in the stories, but like... what about wi-fi? Videogames? Instant ramen? Was she supposed to just live without all that?

She wanted to believe this wasn't real, but the cobblestones beneath her feet felt solid enough. The evening air carried the scent of unfamiliar spices and something else that made her skin tingle. Magic, she realized. If magic had a smell, this was it: like ozone and cinnamon.

God, I hate this.

As she continued down the street, the glances continued. Most people were subtle about it—a quick look, then back to their business. Others, like some little kid who pointed at her before his mom shushed him, and a few old women who whispered among themselves had zero chill. Were her clothes, in addition to her face, really that noteworthy? Amy hugged her arms around herself, suddenly feeling exposed despite being fully clothed.

It wasn’t like she was a timid person, but like… this attention was low-key unbearable.

She approached a small fountain in what looked like a market square, hoping to collect her thoughts. The liquid inside wasn't water at all, but a silvery substance that defied gravity, flowing upward before cascading down in mesmerizing patterns.

Pretty.

She reached out a finger to touch it.

[I wouldn't do that if I were you.] A voice came from beside her. [Unless you enjoy surprises. Not all of them pleasant.]

Amy snatched her hand back and turned to face the speaker but found nobody there.

[Down here,] the voice said, sounding annoyed.

She looked down to see a small leather-bound amber book hovering at waist height. Just floating there, like gravity was optional.

"Did you... just talk to me?" Amy asked, immediately feeling stupid. She glanced around nervously, suddenly aware she was standing in public talking to a literal book.

The book's cover flipped open, revealing blank pages that somehow formed into a crude approximation of a face. [Yes. And before you ask, you're not dreaming, hallucinating, or dead.]

Amy leaned in closer and whispered harshly, "Can everyone hear you talking, or am I just going to look insane?"

[They can't hear me. Only you can. So yes, to them, you're talking to nothing, which does make you look...unbalanced.]

Sick.

"So you're... a talking book," Amy whispered, barely moving her lips.

[Wow. Nothing gets past you. How did you manage to notice?] the book replied flatly, making Amy pout. [I am the Manga's Will, and I've been assigned to accompany you.]

"By the crazy goddess lady who kidnapped me? The one who violated probably more than ten human rights to teach me a lesson because I criticized—and maybe shit-talked a little bit—a manga online.”

[Correct. Though I wouldn't recommend calling her 'crazy'. The Goddess has many names, and she expects respect for all of them.]

Amy ran a hand through her newly golden hair, trying to disguise the fact that she was still talking to the book. "And what about... this?" She gestured vaguely at her face. "Why do I suddenly look like I walked off a magazine cover?"

[That would be the manga effect.]

"The what?"

[Manga effect. Stories have rules. You're in one now. Don't worry about it.]

"That makes me even more worried for some inexplicable reason."

The book sighed—an impressive feat for something without lungs. [You're still you. Just…the protagonist version of you. As I said, don’t worry about it; that truly is the least of your problems right now.]

“Ugh, everything is so confusing…”

[We should find somewhere less public to discuss your predicament.]

Amy crossed her arms, suddenly feeling defensive. "And what exactly is my 'predicament'? That goddess said something about readers and power and...changing the story? Made zero sense."

The book sighed once again. Kinda rude, honestly. [Let's find somewhere quieter first.]

"So you can actually help me?" Amy asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

[Within limits. Very specific limits.]

"Of course…there is always a but…" Amy muttered.

The book guided her through winding streets, away from the main market. Amy tried to act normal, just casually walking with a floating book beside her, occasionally pretending to fix her hair when she needed to say something to it. A few people gave her curious glances, but nothing dramatic; most of the attention was instead directed towards the floating object, understandably so.

"So…where are we going?" she whispered after they'd been walking for a while.

[Somewhere relaxing.]

They turned down a narrow side street and came upon a small tea shop nestled between a bookbinder and an apothecary. A wooden sign hung above the door with "The Dreamer's Brew" painted in flowing script alongside a steaming cup.

They entered and approached the counter.

"This seems... cozy…and weirdly familiar," Amy said, eyeing the establishment.

[Back in Act 1, this is where the protagonist first meets their mentor.]

Amy raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying I'm going to meet—"

Before she could finish, an elderly woman with white hair greeted them at the counter. Her gaze stayed on the floating book for a few seconds before it returned to Amy.

"Young lady," the woman said in a gentle voice. "What would you like today?"

Amy blanked for a moment.

[Ask for chamomile tea.]

"Just looking for some tea. Chamomile, please," Amy managed.

"That'll be twenty copper coins."

The book suddenly flipped open. A small silk pouch emerged from between its pages and floated toward the woman.

The woman accepted it with only slight surprise and a polite nod before turning away.

Right after she left, Amy's jaw dropped. "You have money? A book with its own cash? Seriously?" she whispered.

The book's pages ruffled slightly. [Yes. And?]

"The hell you mean ‘and?’. I'm in a fantasy world with a book that has its own bank account."

[I wouldn't call it a bank account.] The book replied, sounding almost offended. [It's more of a... dimensional pocket containing negotiable assets.]

"Oh, well. When you put it that way, it sounds completely normal," Amy rolled her eyes. "What else can you do? Make avocado toast? File my taxes?"

[Sarcasm noted. And no, I cannot make food, though I do have recipes. As for taxes, it depends on which realm's tax code you're asking about.]

Amy stared at the book, unsure if it was being serious.

The book hovered toward a nearby table, and Amy followed, taking a seat.

Soon, the woman returned with a tray carrying a porcelain teapot decorated with constellations.

"Your tea," the woman said, setting down the tray. "And some sweetcakes, on the house."

What a nice person, Amy thought, then said "Thank you." with a smile.

The woman bowed again to Amy, then glanced at the book. Her gaze stayed on it before leaving.

When the woman had gone, Amy leaned forward. "Are flying books not that weird or something? Because I haven’t seen anyone freak out over you."

[I am most probably being mistaken for an artifact. They are not unheard of, after all, just extremely uncommon.]

“I see… By the way, can you even drink tea?”

[What do you think, Sherlock?]

Amy frowned. “Well, I was wondering that maybe the floating, sentient magical book with gravity powers and potential ties to divinity could drink tea. Just saying.”

[Touché… And, no. I can’t eat at all. This is for you.]

"Seriously?"

[Yes.]

"Seriously? This is actually for me?"

[That's what I said.]

“Well, then thank you. You might be grumpy and somewhat of an annoying book, but it's good to see that you aren’t a bad pers—err, object.”

[You're welcome?]

Amy poured some tea, watching as it shifted from blue to purple in her cup. Weird.

She took a few sips, letting the calm wash over her, and then returned her gaze towards the book.

"So what now?"

[Dunno.]

"..." Amy stared at the book. "What?"

The book's pages ruffled in what seemed like a shrug. [I'm here to observe you and provide limited help. Not to handhold you through everything.]

"Cool, cool, cool," Amy muttered, taking another sip of the color-changing tea. It tasted like honey and something floral she couldn't identify. "So I'm supposed to figure out everything myself? How to change the ending of a tragedy I barely remember?"

[Yes.]

Amy sighed, drumming her fingers on the table. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths for a couple of seconds before opening them once again.

"Fine then… I suppose the first step is to enter the Academy where the main plot happens. That's where all the important characters are, right? Somehow I need to get into Class S if I want to be relevant to the plot."

Class S was the elite class and not divided by year. If you were talented or unique enough, you could get in, which was convenient since the protagonist was a second-year. If classes were separated by year, she wouldn't be able to interact with the main cast even if she got into the Academy. But since Class S mixed years, her main hurdle was obtaining a unique special ability.

[Not a terrible plan. Though there is one small issue...]

"Let me guess—I'm basically powerless?"

[That too. But I was mostly referring to your outfit. It’s a bit too...meta. You need to change it.]

Amy looked down at her oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. "Yeah, my 'CRITICS DO IT BETTER' shirt probably doesn't totally complement the medieval-inspired fantasy world. But where am I supposed to get something else?"

[As a final favor—and I do mean final—I can provide you with something more... suitable. Stand up, please.]

Amy hesitantly rose to her feet, glancing around to make sure no one was watching too closely. The elderly woman was busy with another customer and had her back turned.

[Now, hold still.]

The book began to glow, its amber cover emitting a warm light that enveloped Amy from head to toe. She felt a tingling sensation wash over her skin. In an instant, her modern clothes vanished, replaced by an ensemble that wouldn't look out of place in the fantasy world around her. A white fitted bodice. A dark ankle-length skirt. Practical but stylish boots. And dark gloves on her hands.

"Whoa," Amy breathed, running her hands over the unfamiliar fabric. "This is... actually really nice."

[No need to sound so shocked. I have excellent taste.] The book's pages rustled with what could only be described as pride. [And remember, this is the last favor. From now on, you're on your own... mostly.]

Amy barely paid attention to its words. The clothes were weirdly comfortable, more than they had any right to be.

After sitting down once again, she turned to the book. "Thank you," Amy said, still examining her new outfit. "It's—”

She stopped mid-sentence as the door to the tea shop opened, bringing a gust of twilight air and the distinct smell of magic—stronger now, more concentrated. Amy froze as she turned to see who had entered.

Even without being a hardcore hater of the manga, she would have recognized him. The dark hair falling across one eye. The Arcanum Academy emblem on his dark uniform. The sword at his belt with runes glowing faintly in the dim light. The edgy look on his face.

"It's him," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's actually him.”

[Indeed. And right on schedule too.] The book sounded almost smug. [The protagonist himself, just as the Filler Arc is wrapping up.]

"Filler Arc? Is that why you brought me here?" Amy hissed, mentally reviewing the story's timeline. If they were at the end of the Filler Arc, then that meant... Oh crap.

[Yup, today's the last day to register at the academy and the beginning of classes for second years, within two hours specifically. Your chance to join the story just walked through the door.]

"And you're telling me this now!? How am I supposed to get powers in two hours?" She kept her voice down but wanted to scream.

[Calm down, girly. It's not that serious. The next chapter starts in a little under two hours. Plus, time flows differently between worlds, so if you can convince people you have powers in this chapter, and if your ability seems unique enough, you should easily get into Class S.]

The young man—Crow, the protagonist of Quest for Avalon—moved with the quiet confidence of someone who'd already faced and prevailed over serious danger. His dark eyes scanned the tea shop before he settled at a table in the corner.

This was her chance, her first real opportunity to insert herself into the story, to begin the impossible task the Goddess had set before her.

[Well?] The book prompted. [What are you waiting for?]

"The hell do I do?" she whispered urgently. "I can't just walk up and tell him my situation!'"

[That would indeed be ill-advised.] The book agreed. [You need to consider what character type you want to be before approaching. First impressions are key in stories like this.]

Amy bit her lip, thinking fast. What role would give her the best chance to change things? Childhood friend? Too late for that. Mysterious transfer student with secret knowledge? Maybe, but risky. Rival? Hell no, people would hate her. Mentor? She would make a fool of herself. Comic relief?

[I suggest you start by making your introduction somehow. Before your opportunity walks out that door.]

Amy took a little more time before deciding. She had no time to prepare a good cover without plot holes, so the mysterious persona had to do…

As to how she would introduce herself… There was still something only she could take advantage of: knowledge of the future.

If she managed to fool the audience into thinking she was a seer, she would be able to get into S class rather easily. After all, seers were extremely uncommon, if her memory served her correctly, which honestly was a dangerous gamble to take.

She took a deep breath, straightened her new clothes, ran a hand through her golden hair, and then took her first real step into the story she had once sworn to shit on for the rest of her life.