Disaster 1.

"A year after Casikorvan trapped Varian in the ancient relic, the Eternal Prison of Mental Anguish. When the trap didn't deactivate—signifying Varian hadn't died—the Calamity King had a dreadful epiphany: Varian De Virelune was Incapable of mental weakness."

—Volume 4 of Varian De Virelune: The Series. 

Perhaps it was Varian's natural ability to return to his emotional baseline, or perhaps her confession was the final push I needed to become so overwhelmed that my own brain switched off.

Either way, I stopped crying immediately.

In retrospect, I'm pretty certain it was one of Varian's skills.

Realistically, I should have been spiraling into an existential crisis. The fact that I wasn't was a huge indicator that one of Varian's most useful skills was at play here.

I'll look into it later. For now, I turned to Morticia. I am so damn proud of her.

In that emotional high, seeing Morticia express an original, sentimental thought sparked genuine joy within me. Even though it was a long shot, knowing that the characters I had so rigidly defined could still change made me feel less guilty about Morticia's sad existence.

It also gave me a silver, a tiny sliver of hope that not only the characters but the world as a whole could be changed, too. Maybe even Fate could be changed, and—even though I might have to work harder than I've ever worked in my entire life to achieve it—I could avoid the doomed ending in my story.

After all, Varian had the brawn and the brains, but he didn't know how the universe worked—I did. And now our strengths have combined. If I can't do it, I seriously doubt anybody can.

My hands clenched as I made a solemn vow to myself. From the outside, I wrote this world into its doom. Now, from the inside, I will rewrite it to prevent it.

As absurd as that sounded, I was serious. I will make it happen. Just not immediately, I need some time to gather my thoughts first.

Morticia looked at me, her face tear-streaked and nose red.

I wanted to say something that would acknowledge her courage for going outside of her comfort zone, without questioning her existing belief system. 

In the end, I only mustered, "If you consider yourself a tool, then know this: You are the most glorious tool any man has ever had the fortune of wielding."

"Y-your words are too kind for me, your highness," Morticia said with a short bow. "If I may, I believe you should wash your visage, change your attire, and prepare to travel to the Athenaeum. You are short on time, your highness."

"About that–I mean, regarding that, I won't be going there just yet. Relay this to my mother: I believe I am sick and will be enrolling in the Athenaeum ten moons from now."

"Understood, your highness," Morticia bowed again, without a shred of curiosity or doubt. "Is there anything else I may assist you with?"

"Hmm," I tapped my chin, an idea brewing. "Delegate your daily chores. Formally, you are my personal maid, yet your presence is indistinguishable from any other maid. That is unacceptable. Starting tomorrow, you shall accompany me wherever I go."

Morticia's eyes widened ever so slowly. Her voice quickened. "It would be my greatest honor–I-I mean, I will begin at once, your highness." She gave a final, curt bow and hurried from the room.

You're absolutely right, my apologies. Presenting the feedback in pieces is useful for seeing the 'why,' but it's much more helpful to see the final, integrated product.

Here is the complete scene with the proofreading edits and suggestions woven into the text for a smooth, cohesive read.

"Haah…" I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

These clothes are so uncomfortable, I thought with a frown. I was wearing some sort of multi-layered upper garment—beautiful and breathable, but itchy.

I tried to get the garment off, but my gigantic black wings made taking off a shirt a whole new experience. An experience that officially became a learning one when I failed spectacularly.

Now, I know how to retract my wings; I just couldn't. I had Varian's memories and muscle memory, yes, but that didn't mean I could access everything as flawlessly or intuitively as he did. I could probably resolve this by cross-referencing his memories with his system status and practicing a bit, but the process was tedious, and now wasn't the time.

So, I resorted to Varian's one sure-fire way of dealing with problems.

Focusing on my torso, I pictured a gas explosion. BOOM! A wave of fire erupted from my body, a flash so bright and violent it momentarily outshone the daylight and scorched the nearby ecosystem.

Oh, and it also vaporized my upper garments. Just according to keikaku, hehe-hehe-heh!

The explosion didn't exactly harm me. Varian's base constitution could shrug off a nuke at point-blank range. What's a little baby gas explosion going to do?

"Whew, finally I feel good," I muttered, shoving my hands in my pants' pockets (which were perfectly intact; a testament to Varian's precise control over his mana) and leaning on the portal pillar behind me—which was also perfectly intact.

My shoulders dropped instinctively, and slowly, the quietude of my surroundings reminded me of my circumstances.

My thoughts drifted to Morticia. Having her around all the time was a good thing. Not only was she the ideal maid, a total eyecandy, and a great advisor; she also had a higher [Death] element affinity than an actual lich. A damned lich!

That meant, even without training, she had the raw potential to naturally become as strong as a lich while alive… But she had trained. Almost her entire life, too. 

The original Varian never noticed—from his perspective, everyone was an insect in terms of power—but I knew the truth from my own writing. 

Morticia was a 5th circle Death Mage. She could eradicate a city full of similar mages in a heartbeat and, given enough time, topple nations. Keeping her on chores and regular maid duties was a tremendous waste of her talents.

Similarly, pending my academic enrollment by ten days was important too. Because otherwise, the Demon King would figure out about Varian's overwhelming power, and send in a general.

Also, in the long run, this wouldn't negatively affect me in any way. Especially when factored in my parents' influence and my talents.

But with those immediate problems handled, what now?

The logical step was to train, plan, or prepare. But honestly… How?

The world I'd written was like a floor of overstretched rubber bands; every move I made vibrated the entire structure. 

By that logic, there's a good chance that if I just hide away, nothing bad will happen. Varian de Virelune is the trigger for everything. Take him out of the equation, and the world should maintain a steady, peaceful course.

The problem was, Varian was also the only solution to everything. Without him, everyone else would be powerless against the disasters they were bound to trigger. And with billions of people in the world, the chances of that were basically 100%.

"At least, I'd prevented the first disaster," I exhaled a defeated sigh. "...But only for now."