It happened faster than he could blink.
One moment, he was trudging across the street, hoodie pulled up, earbuds blasting some random playlist, and the next—BAM—headlights, metal, and impact.
Then... silence.
No pain. No weight. No world.
Just darkness.
He didn't even scream. Not that it would've mattered. Death came without drama—no slow-motion regrets, no final thoughts, not even a cheesy flashback montage. Just a hard stop.
And then... something else.
The darkness peeled away like a cheap theater curtain, revealing an infinite white void. Blank. Still. Empty. Until—
Desk.
A simple one. Wooden. Scuffed. Covered in open notebooks, a half-eaten sandwich, and a cup of instant noodles that smelled suspiciously divine.
Behind it sat a figure.
Hoodie. Sweatpants. Socks that didn't match. One eye glowing gold, the other shifting through colors like a broken RGB light strip.
"You're here earlier than I expected," the figure muttered, scribbling into a floating notepad.
He blinked. "Where… am I?"
"Ah, the classic question," the figure said, setting the notepad down and spinning it toward him. The name on it read: '[REDACTED] – Main Character Candidate #3247'
"You're in my workspace. I go by 'Author.' You just died. Truck-kun sends his regards."
He squinted. "...Wait. You're the one who—?"
"Yep. I wrote your death scene. It's classic isekai protocol: random accident, no meaningful last words, and a clean exit from Earth-616-Casual Edition. Tragic. Efficient."
The guy—Author, apparently—leaned forward and steepled his fingers. "So. Want to reincarnate?"
He stared, stunned for a moment. Then: "Is that even a question?"
"Good. I hate indecisive protagonists." The Author snapped his fingers.
A glowing interface materialized in midair like a video game HUD.
---
[ROLE PLAYER SYSTEM BOOTING…]
> Welcome, Host. You have been chosen to bear the Role Player System.
> Your journey begins now. Every universe is a stage. Every life is a role.
> Assimilate your role. Play the part. Become the legend.
> Fail to act in character and power will stagnate or be lost.
> Succeed, and you will wield the might of gods.
---
"Hold up," he said, eyes darting across the screen. "Role Player System?"
"You're not just getting power. You're becoming power." The Author stood, arms wide. "Each universe you visit, the system assigns you an identity and a character template. You must act like that character. Think like them. Be them. The closer you are to the role, the stronger you get. Synchronization begins at 1%. Reach 100%... and you'll be terrifying."
He swallowed. "What's the catch?"
"You have to live the role. If your character's an arrogant genius, you better start acting the part. If they're cruel, kind, disciplined, chaotic—you become that. Think method acting, but cosmic. And yes, the stronger the template, the harder the role."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you stagnate. Or worse. Lose sync, lose power. Get kicked from the stage—or die for real. No respawns."
He inhaled. Exhaled. Slowly. "So what's my first universe?"
The Author grinned. "Ah, now we're getting to the fun part."
---
[Initializing First World: Magical Realm Detected…]
> Universe: Harry Potter
> Assigned Identity: Hogwarts Professor – Magical Theory (Substitute)
> Template: Archmage Veylan, The Ruinbinder
> Threat Potential: High. Starting Synchronization: 1.2%. Current Power Output: Weak-tier Sorcerer.
---
He blinked. "Harry Potter? Like… wands, robes, magical staircases?"
The Author leaned over and whispered, "Try not to get expelled, Professor."
The void split apart like glass, and he felt himself falling—
---
One moment, there was only the blank whiteness of the void and the Author's parting words.
The next—stone beneath his boots. Cold air. A looming castle framed by mist and sky.
Caelum didn't move for a second. Just breathed.
The chill bit at his face. His fingers tightened around the wand already tucked into his palm. Instinct? No—System.
He was standing at the edge of a forested path, just outside the gates of a vast stone fortress. Turrets spiraled into the gray clouds. Lanterns glowed from within high towers. The sheer magical pressure in the air pressed down like ocean depth.
Hogwarts.
Not the Hollywood version. Real. Dense. Timeless.
A line of text slid quietly across the back of his mind:
>System Message: World Entry Complete
Current World: Wizarding World of Harry Potter
Template Assigned: Archmage Veylan
Synchronization: 1%
Current Identity: Professor Caelum Vey, Hogwarts DADA Instructor
Then another line appeared—bolder, more urgent:
> Main Mission: CHANGE THE PLOT.
Objective: Eliminate Voldemort. Permanently. No Horcruxes. No returns. Speedrun this world's conflict.
Caelum blinked. "That's... direct."
But before the panic could set in, the system pushed one more line:
> Note: You are currently in-character. Continue roleplaying to maintain and increase synchronization. (1–10% gains are accelerated.)
Caelum let out a slow breath, centering himself.
No time to panic. No luxury to question the physics of magic realism. He was here, and he had a job to do. Pretend to be the powerful wizard this world thought he was, gain power, and kill the dark lord before he got dramatic.
He moved.
The gates to Hogwarts creaked open before him with no effort. His boots clicked softly against the stone path as he approached the castle. The doors were ajar—almost like the world had been waiting for him.
The air inside was warmer, heavy with candle wax and old magic. A student or two passed by, robes billowing, but they barely gave him a second glance. To them, he belonged here.
Good.
He needed information—fast. Who was alive? What year was it? Where was Voldemort in all this? Dead? Banished? Hiding under a turban?
The main hall was familiar in shape but overwhelming in scale. And standing just ahead, almost as if summoned by narrative gravity, was Albus Dumbledore himself—alive, in full color, and wearing plum robes decorated with golden stars.
Dumbledore turned as Caelum approached, eyes crinkling.
"Ah, Caelum," the headmaster said with the ease of familiarity. "Settled in alright?"
Caelum didn't miss a beat. "Everything's in place."
It was strange—he didn't know how, but the voice that left his mouth wasn't quite his own. Firmer. Older. Sharper around the edges. The System's doing, no doubt. Veylan's confidence layering over his own unease.
"Excellent, excellent," Dumbledore said. "You'll find your quarters unchanged from last term. And your classroom's fully stocked—though I imagine you'll rearrange it anyway."
"I usually do."
Caelum offered a small smile. The kind that didn't show teeth. His brain raced behind the expression.
> So. Dumbledore's alive. That narrows it down. Probably pre–Half-Blood Prince. Could be anywhere between the '80s and second or third year. No sign of Harry yet...
"Your schedule begins tomorrow," Dumbledore added, eyes twinkling. "Plenty of time to get your bearings. Dinner's in an hour."
With a nod, the old wizard swept away, robes billowing like a departing prophecy.
Caelum watched him go, fingers still loosely curled around his wand.
Speedrun the plot, huh?
That meant finding out the timeline, the current status of Voldemort, and which pieces on the board were already moving. He didn't need to be subtle—not too subtle. Not when the world thought he belonged here.
> Synchronization: 3%
Three percent, and he'd barely done anything. Just walked, talked, and acted like someone who knew what they were doing.
Caelum's lips twitched into a grim smile.
If all it took was pretending, he'd pretend his way straight to godhood.
But first—he needed intel. Dinner in the Great Hall sounded like a good place to start.