The Poet's System
Chapter 57: Boredom Effect

Chapter 57: Boredom Effect

Dexter felt no urge to resist his boss—this wasn’t the first time he’d been pressured into signing something. Besides, he had nowhere else to be, and a part of him was slowly accepting his fate.

A week had passed, and he was still in the hospital—but somehow, his injuries kept getting worse.

According to the doctors, the injuries he sustained from the fall alone weren’t enough to cause such severe damage—at least, not to the best of their knowledge.

This led him to believe he had somehow brought Daylan’s wounds into reality, further reinforcing the idea that he had truly lived as Daylan. But even if he did recover, there was nothing he could do about it.

He coughed up blood uncontrollably, his vision blurring to the point where he was nearly blind. It felt like he was finally getting what he had secretly wanted—death.

But somehow, the doctors said he would survive, but at a cost. The news irritated him, yet, once again, there was nothing he could do.

With each passing day, his condition worsened, his vision growing blurrier by the hour. Many of his fans went out of their way to find the hospital where he was being treated, hoping to offer their condolences and show their support.

In truth, they were the only ones who gave him a reason to keep living. And yet, as time went on, he couldn’t see them at all.

It was late into the night, and Daylan had already spent nearly two weeks in the hospital. By now, his limbs had improved slightly, though they were still in plaster casts. He could move a little, but every motion came with pain.

Dexter couldn’t sleep. He simply lay there, listening to the quiet in the distance, waiting for sleep to finally take him. That’s when he heard a smooth, gentle voice—so tender it could lull a baby to sleep.

He wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him again—just as it had when it convinced him he had lived as Daylan. Still, he chose to ignore it.

The voice echoed again, just as soft as before.

Why would they let someone into my room at this hour? Where are the nurses?

What if it’s a ghost?

He tried to brush off the creeping unease, attempting to cheer himself up. But then the voice echoed once more.

"I am not a ghost, Dexter."

He remained still as fear slowly crept in. He didn’t have any friends who would visit him—let alone a female. But what scared him the most was that whoever this was... could hear his thoughts.

"Because I am an Ascendant—the Pry Ascendant, to be precise, Dexter. Or perhaps I should say... Daylan."

Dexter forced himself not to think, convinced he was on the verge of madness—imagining things that existed only in his mind.

The Ascendant of Pry let out a clear sigh—loud enough for Dexter to hear.

"Let’s put it this way," the voice said. "I’m someone who understands what you’re going through... and I have something you’ll want to hear."

For a moment, Dexter’s mind went quiet as he debated with himself—should he give in and speak to the voice, or resist what felt like slipping into madness?

But the boredom was overwhelming, and deep down, he knew it wouldn’t hurt to talk to someone who, at the very least, seemed to understand him—even if it was all a lie.

Besides, he might fall asleep mid-conversation anyway.

Dexter braced himself. Are you a goddess or something? Because clearly, I’m supposed to believe you’re the one who transmigrated me.

"This is why I like you, Dexter—your mind, your ability to adapt. It fascinates me."

Dexter remained silent, unwilling to believe a single word she said.

"I’m not a goddess," she said softly. "Not even an angel. Honestly... I think I wish I were."

What are you, then?

"I’m simply a human who has outlived her humanity—not a god, not a celestial. But Ascendants watch over the mortal worlds... so if it helps, you can call me a goddess."

Dexter found himself yearning for more of what Pry had to say—maybe he wasn’t losing his mind after all.

But he couldn’t afford to hope. His heart had already been broken once, and he wasn’t sure it could survive another blow. So, he chose to stay guarded... and pessimistic.

Tell me... what’s going on? Did I really live as Daylan?

Everything went silent for a moment.

"You did live as Daylan. And I think it’s safe to say... you are Daylan."

What do you mean? If I were him, then why am I here? Why can’t I go back?

Dexter sat up slightly, doing his best to stay detached from the conversation.

"I think you’ve already noticed this," Pry said.

"Your system tends to prepare you for whatever lies ahead—considering both the time frame and the nature of the situation. In other words, it goes far beyond what you thought you knew."

And?

"What you’re experiencing right now—it’s your system’s doing. It deems you too weak... not quite worthy of it."

Those words were enough to make Dexter question his sanity. Through all his time as Daylan, he had never heard of anyone being deemed unworthy. Sure, he knew little about the Fate Abilities, but even so, he felt certain he would have heard something—anything—about that.

He tried to push the madness away, letting his body relax in hopes that sleep would take him. He was too young to be losing his mind.

Maybe this is a punishment from my parents—for creating a whole world where they’re the villains. Maybe... I’m the villain.

Pry spoke up, her voice laced with disappointment.

"How could all your resolve and determination vanish in just a few weeks? What happened to the Dexter I cherished?"

Dexter didn’t respond. He simply focused on relaxing his muscles, pretending not to care.

"Man up, Dexter."

That stung. His pride flared.

Man up? Who are you? And what gives you the right to tell me what to do?

"I am the Ascendant of Pry. That means I make things that don’t concern me... concern me, at my will."

If that’s the case, Dexter thought, then I doubt you’d be wasting your time on someone like me.

Pry chuckled, a hint of irritation in her voice, and began explaining herself—caring little whether Dexter believed her or not.

The world Dexter was in was real—everything from the people to the non-living things, even the air he breathed. Except for one thing: him.

Dexter Grey had died of natural causes in his original timeline—a news story that shattered his boss’s company, Stepnovel, ultimately forcing it to shut down. His death was inevitable, but it was triggered by the comic book he had been reading.

Pry simply took advantage of that moment, using his inevitable death to make him recite the transmigration words. She was drawn to Dexter’s soul, mind, and determination and wanted to put them to good use.

However, the timeline Dexter currently found himself in had been conjured by his system—the Spiral Force System. In this version of reality, Dexter had never died and was meant to live his life as if nothing had ever happened.

Dexter was still awake, his senses fully alert as he listened to Pry—yet he remained caught between believing her or dismissing it all as a delusion.

But I died as Daylan... I remember it—both of my arms were severed, and... my mother stabbed me in the heart.

"That’s where you’re wrong, Dexter. You’re not truly dead—not yet. What you’re experiencing now is a penalty. Your system believes you’re too weak... and worse, it wants to control you. To turn you into something you’re not."

Everything Pry said sounded promising—thrilling, even. Something he wanted to believe. But at the same time... how could any of it be possible? Who survives severed arms and a stab to the heart?

So, despite the allure of her words, Dexter refused to give in. He wouldn’t let himself be swayed that easily.

"You’re hanging on by a thread, Dexter. Medora came to your rescue and did everything she could to keep you alive. You exist now in the Nether Stage—more dead than alive. Just like your father."

Dexter said nothing. He simply listened.

"Right now, your system is the one in control. And if you ever want to take that control back, there’s something you’ll need to do. Honestly, it’s unfair—being punished this cruelly just for being ’too weak,’ when it should be helping you instead."

You got me into this mess, aren’t you supposed to be helping me?

"I may be the Ascendant of Pry," she replied, "but I’m not all-powerful, you know? In your current state as Daylan, you’d need divine intervention just to wake up."

She paused for a moment before speaking again, her tone serious.

"Before I can help you, Dexter, we need to strike a deal. I must have a say in your life—you must answer when I call and do as I ask of you."

Dexter’s expression darkened.

What the fuck? Aren’t you the one who reincarnated me in the first place? Do I even have a say in my life?

"Yes, I did," Pry said calmly. "But your life—and your choices—belong to you and your system. I may be Pry, but I have restrictions. If I want a say, you have to permit me."

Dexter sighed, clearly irritated. At this point, he felt cautiously optimistic about the possibility of getting back. Even though he knew he might be heartbroken if it turned out to be just a delusion, he didn’t care—because either way, he had nothing left to lose.

Fine. Okay.

"Good. Then it’s done. We’ll speak again."

Wait... what?