I Got Reincarnated as the Game's Villain

The one who knows of the 'one' can never become the 'one,' for to know the 'one' is to forfeit the privilege of becoming it. The one who wishes to be the 'one' will likewise fail, for a wish is but a plea for a reality that does not exist.

Yet, to even wish for the 'one' demands knowledge of its existence—a paradox, for one cannot know of existence while defying it.

But…

...to defy existence is to challenge the fates themselves.

And to tempt the fates is to provoke reality.

Yet...

…the one who becomes reality's enemy cannot be the 'one,' for the 'one' must walk in favor with the fates.

To truly become the 'one,' one MUST remain unaware of the 'one'.

But upon becoming the 'one'...

...one becomes bound, a captive of destiny, as existence coils and orbits around the 'one,' ensnaring it within the very essence it sought to transcend.

...

When I was young, I often had these… thoughts. Strange, hazy ideas that tugged at my mind.

What if…

What if life were merely a chapter in a grand novel? Would that not mean that my destiny was already penned? That this so-called "fate" was just a script, dictating my every step?

Actors, after all, read parts that often lead to their characters' deaths, yet they cannot alter the script.

Why?

I thought I knew the answer.

Perhaps it's because for the story to go on, the character must meet their end. But what if—what if that character refused? Would not the story itself begin to fray, to twist?

So then...

...is fate inescapable?

In time, I began to understand.

Why would anyone strive to alter their fate? It could only mean they'd glimpsed some fragment of what lay ahead, perhaps sensed the end awaiting them. So they struggle, they grasp at whatever power they can muster to twist their paths.

But if fate is truly immovable...

...then what becomes of reality if one succeeds?

...

...

"You are here…" I heard a voice say, and I awoke.

Huh?

Where is this place?

I found myself here once again…

This void, this emptiness.

"Long time no see… old friend," the voice continued. I spun around quickly, trying to locate its source, but…

…no one was here…

…other than me.

"Who's there?" I asked, finally surrendering to the futility of my search.

"I am…

…the Weaver."

A chill ran down my spine. I frowned, recognizing that name.

I'd heard it somewhere before, but…

…where?

There exists a Weaver. I know neither his true intention nor his name… but I've seen it. He seems to be weaving a reality that should not exist into existence. And somehow, I feel as though I know who he is.

Yes… someone once told me this.

But…

…I still can't remember when.

"Where am I…? Why am I here?" I asked, spinning in the void, desperate for answers.

"A debt," the voice said. I looked up.

"A debt?" I echoed.

"I've come to repay my debt, old friend."

"Huh? What do you mean?" I wanted to ask, but suddenly, the world around me shifted…

…Huh?

I was somewhere else now.

The entire place…

…it was blindingly white.

I looked down at my hands.

I could see them.

I took a step forward, but it felt as if I were moving backward.

"Where… is this place?" I asked, confusion mounting.

"Stolen time…" the voice replied. I turned to face it, and there he was: a young man, blindfolded, floating mid-air. His white hair was frozen in place, as if tousled by an invisible wind, defying gravity. His skin was pale, and he was dressed… strangely.

"I don't… understand any of this. What is happening? Am I dead?" I asked, a sense of dread creeping into my bones. I remembered being stabbed multiple times, so perhaps… am I dead?

If so…

…where is this place?

"I've spent an eternity in my quest to understand this elusive thing called time. I sacrificed so much, lost so much, and made countless enemies along the way, one of them being the fates themselves," he said.

"Wait… so fate is an entity? No… entities?" I asked, my eyes wide with shock.

He smiled, a haunting smile. "There are things you should not know. There are truths you are still too weak to grasp. If I were to reveal the nature of the fates, it wouldn't matter if this time were stolen—the fates would know. For fate itself is woven into the fabric of time, and I fear… what might become of you in the days to come."

"…"

"In all my years of studying time, I've come to understand one thing. It is as you once theorized, my old friend."

"What?"

"At first, I doubted it. But over time, I came to understand. I have seen the past, I know the present, and I have glimpsed countless futures. And yet… in none of them have you triumphed. In none of them have you changed… your fate," he said, and a dull ache throbbed in my chest.

"I tried my best. I truly tried to change it; I tried to repay my debt, but the corrections…"

"The corrections?"

"…I once believed the fates were the only ones who prevented deviations from the script of existence…"

"But… isn't that the case?" I asked, frowning.

"No. Time itself is the true enemy."

"Time?" I repeated, bewildered.

"Time is like a thread. A straight, unyielding thread that continues eternally. That's what I came to realize. The end of a story is predetermined the moment it begins. So, when one tries to alter the story… to deviate from their destiny… they create a loose thread," he explained, his gaze shifting upward. I followed his gaze and saw it—a white thread suspended in the cosmos, shifting, straying.

"A loose thread?"

"Yes. One cannot alter what was always meant to be. For reality to accommodate such a change, another reality must come into existence," he explained, and suddenly, everything began to make sense.

"But… the problem lies in what you once called… arcs."

"Arcs?"

"Major, canon events that must occur to sustain the story?" he clarified. Suddenly, the loose thread began to recoil, moving back toward the original thread.

"What…?"

"It is inevitable. The loose thread… no matter how many there are, they will, at some point, return to the original thread, as that is the absolute."