After that incident, the atmosphere around Aria shifted.

Students who had once ignored or quietly looked down on her now watched with entirely different eyes. Yet their gazes were not pity alone; ever since Mikael Rein’s meeting, they’d made a collective decision:

If we rush in to comfort her, we might hurt her more. Better to stay back and help only when it truly counts.

Which is why—

…What is with this vibe?

The moment Aria stepped into the classroom, she sensed she’d been cast as the tragic “survivor of a suicide attempt.”

Side-glances.

Hushed whispers.

One student froze mid-page-turn, another fiddled with her glasses to avoid eye contact.

“We were pretty awful back then.”

“We basically stood by and watched.”

“What if she’d actually died…?”

Their guilt was obvious, but so was their caution. The more they’d ignored her before, the harder they vowed not to repeat that mistake.

Aria, of course, knew none of this. All she felt was an odd hush, as if the whole class had eaten something funny. She sighed—deeper than usual.

“Ha, I’m gonna die from this, seriously—”

Instantly, the air froze.

Her seatmate choked on water; the girl in front buried herself in her textbook.

You took that literally?

Aria pressed a hand to her forehead. She did not mean she wanted to die—just an exasperated figure of speech. Now she couldn’t even say “I’m dying” without scaring people.

She shot to her feet.

“Excuse me, everyone! I have no intention of dying! I love my life! Waking up is great, food tastes amazing, naps are a blessing—life is pretty fantastic!”

A timid whisper drifted from somewhere in the back:

“…That level of denial… Is she actually in more danger?”

Aria squeezed her eyes shut. Every attempt to clarify only backfired.

“I’m serious! I’m fine!”

She flailed her arms, but received nothing save worried stares and soft sighs.

And the students silently repeated:

Don’t poke the bear. Just stay nearby and quiet.

Aria collapsed into her chair, buried her face in her arms, and muttered,

“…I really will die—why is everyone acting like this…?”

At that moment, a girl in round glasses—in the far corner—pulled out a notebook. Too shy to speak, she worried about Aria more than anyone. Carefully, she scribbled:

Subject of Concern: Aria Seren / Suicidal references—2nd incident

Aria… You’re okay, right?

Closing the notebook, she sent a nervous glance past her lenses.

What is wrong with everyone lately?

Even when I publicly declare, “I’m not dying, life is awesome, ha-ha-ha!” no one believes me. I risked all that embarrassment for nothing!

At this point, the misunderstandings are so tangled they feel impossible to unravel.

“Ugh, whatever. Let it all burn.”

Compared to the tiny rumor mill, I’ve got a much bigger problem: preventing the end of the world. A few gossip headaches? My own reckless doing. Who can I blame?

Day 4 since transmigrating into this world.

Original plot events are about to kick off, so prep work is in order. With a whole day off, it’s the perfect time to think.

Arcadia Academy—the novel.

The world doesn’t end for just one reason. If only it were as simple as “beat the villain and roll credits.”

This realm relies entirely on divine traces: magitech reactors, holy relics, ancient spells, prophecy—all originate from the god. Even the legendary “miracle” that purged the Black Mist ten thousand years ago is credited to divine intervention. For these people, a world without a god is unthinkable.

But the foundation is crumbling.

First, fewer children are born with mana—“the god’s gift.”

Prophecies grow erratic, then outright wrong.

Ancient magic? Repeated misfires until no one alive can cast it.

Only the imperial court and high clergy know the details, yet even they can’t utter “the god is dead.” To them, that’s pure heresy. Instead, fringe zealots cry, “The god is angry!” or “The god has turned away!”—and get ignored, because that miracle on the far-western wasteland still shines.

Problem: the anomalies have become so blatant that ordinary folk are starting to notice. Enter the top-secret Artificial God Project—a mechanical substitute to keep mana flowing, schedule prophecies, and reassure the masses that “the god” still functions.

The idea wasn’t terrible—until people got greedy, tried to monopolize the artificial god, and everything exploded.

Can’t we just stop the project, then?

Sadly, that’s only one domino.

Once the god’s absence is exposed, fanatics begin human sacrifices “to bring the god back.” Mana-dependent infrastructure fails, plunging society into chaos. And the final blow: the brightest minds who tried to stop the project all die in its rampage.

Game over. No experts left to propose solutions, no one to steer the world back. Total collapse.

Conclusion?

To truly avert doomsday, we must rip out the belief that “Humanity dies without a god” from everyone’s head.

First step: stop the Artificial God Project—but the job doesn’t end there.

1. God’s disappearance

   ↓

2. Artificial God Project activated

   ↓

3. Human greed & division (loss of control)

   ↓

4. Artificial God rampage + loss of key figures

   ↓

5. Infrastructure collapse + fanatic havoc

   ↓

⚠ ENTER DOOM ROUTE

That’s the neat summary.

But what’s the real story behind the god’s disappearance? Truly dead? Or something else?

There is someone I can ask.

“Status window.”

A transparent blue panel bloomed before her eyes; a chat prompt flickered at the bottom.

🟦 [Connecting to BARAEL…]

Aria (Sua Yoon):

“Barael, do you know anything about the god’s whereabouts?”

A pause—then letters began to appear, one by one, across the glowing screen.