Chapter 167 Changes happened

Chapter 167: Chapter 167 Changes happened

Dr. Whitmore stopped at the hospital entrance, where a car was parked near the road leading out of the premises.

"This car will take you straight home. I made sure the driver is someone trustworthy," he explained.

Noah gave him a knowing look.

"Trustworthy? That’s what they all say until they drive a knife straight into your throat and cut it open."

He didn’t know why those words came out so naturally, but the moment he spoke them, his body tensed.

For a brief second, an unfamiliar heaviness settled over his chest. The image of a blade flashed through his mind, accompanied by a terrible sense of betrayal. It was almost as if his body remembered something his mind couldn’t quite grasp.

He quickly looked away from the car and fixed his gaze on the man standing beside him—the very person who had changed his entire future.

"Well, I don’t know what you’re waiting for. Carry me into the car already!" Noah complained. "You might not have noticed, but this antiseptic smell has practically entered my hair, and I don’t fancy smelling like a hospital for the rest of my life."

Dr. Whitmore stared at him for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.

Even after everything Noah had told him, the young man could still complain about something as trivial as the smell of a hospital.

Perhaps that was a good sign.

Without arguing, he opened the car door and carefully helped Noah into the back seat. He made sure the injured young man was comfortable before gently closing the door.

For a moment, Dr. Whitmore remained beside the vehicle, his expression growing serious.

"As I said before, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. I never imagined that someone could be used as an experiment in such a terrible way. If this were a real situation, I would never knowingly allow something like that to happen."

The light shining from the vehicle illuminated his face, revealing the sincerity in his eyes.

Noah looked at him briefly before turning away.

"It’s already done. There’s no point crying over spilled milk now."

He shifted against the seat, trying to find a comfortable position despite the lingering weakness in his body.

"Just let me handle this myself. And please, if possible, don’t make any more changes to that novel you’re writing."

Dr. Whitmore frowned.

"Why?"

"Because your writing might be causing damage in that world. Have you ever considered that possibility? Maybe the things you write aren’t just words anymore."

The doctor fell silent.

He had considered many things since meeting Noah, but the possibility that his writing could directly influence another world was something he was still struggling to understand.

However, there was something he had been meaning to tell Noah.

"There’s a problem," he admitted.

Noah slowly turned his head.

"What problem?"

"I already wrote some things before you came."

For a moment, Noah didn’t move.

Then he sat up straighter, ignoring the discomfort that shot through his body.

"What?"

Dr. Whitmore hesitated.

"I mean, I wrote a few Chapters before you arrived at the hospital. Some of them have already been posted."

Noah stared at him as though the man had just announced that he had personally set the world on fire.

"What in the world is wrong with you?"

"I didn’t know you would—"

"Didn’t know what? That I was going to show up here and tell you that the world you created is real? That your fictional characters are living, breathing people who can feel pain and suffer because of your decisions?"

Noah’s voice rose with every word.

He wanted to grab the man by his collar and shake some sense into him, but his body was still too weak to support even his own weight properly.

Dr. Whitmore looked genuinely uncomfortable.

He wasn’t sure whether he should tell Noah the truth immediately. However, considering the circumstances, hiding it would only make things worse.

"There’s something else you should know," he said carefully.

Noah narrowed his eyes.

"What now?"

"The characters I wrote about are going to die."

Silence.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop moving.

Noah’s entire body turned rigid.

"What did you just say?"

"Your harem," Dr. Whitmore clarified, his voice growing quieter. "I wrote a storyline in which all the male leads are going to die."

Noah’s expression changed instantly.

The irritation on his face disappeared, replaced by disbelief. Then came horror, followed by a wave of anger so intense that he could barely breathe.

His men.

Eugene, Killian, Marcus, Damian and Lysander.

The people he had fought so desperately to protect.

The people he had left behind in that terrifying world.

They were going to die?

"How could you?!"

The words tore out of Noah’s throat.

"Didn’t you think about what would happen to them? Didn’t you consider that they might have lives of their own?"

Dr. Whitmore opened his mouth, but Noah was already shaking his head.

He couldn’t believe this.

Of all the things he had expected to hear today, this was the last.

He had spent so much time worrying about the dangers he understood that he had completely forgotten about the person who might be responsible for dangers he hadn’t even imagined.

The monsters, the witches, the palace disaster, the Heavenly Sword, and the countless enemies surrounding his loved ones were already enough to drive him insane.

Now he was being told that the person responsible for creating that world had written a future in which his men would all die.

And the worst part?

The Chapters had already been posted.

There was no guarantee that Dr. Whitmore could simply erase them without consequences. Noah didn’t even understand the rules governing the connection between the novel and the world he had lived in.

For all he knew, changing a few words might cause an even greater disaster.

He didn’t know where his anger was coming from anymore.

Was it because the man sitting in front of him was a complete disaster of an author?

Or was it because the people he loved were apparently destined to die, and he had no idea how to prevent it?

Perhaps it was both.

Whatever the reason, Noah had reached his limit.

He slammed his hand against the back seat and turned toward the driver.

"Take me to the estate. The Silver Crest penthouse."

"Yes, sir."

"And drive quickly. I don’t want to look at this man’s face for another second!"

The driver immediately started the journey.

As the car pulled away, Noah deliberately turned his back on Dr. Whitmore, refusing to spare him another glance.

The doctor stood beside the road, watching the vehicle disappear into the traffic.

Then he slowly raised a hand and covered his face.

"Damn it. I was going to explain everything."

He had intended to tell Noah exactly how the characters were supposed to die. There were details he believed might help Noah understand the situation, and perhaps together they could find a way to prevent the disaster.

Unfortunately, the young man hadn’t given him the opportunity.

Dr. Whitmore sighed.

"Well, I suppose I’ll have to visit him at the penthouse."

He couldn’t simply leave Noah to deal with everything alone, especially when he might be responsible for some of the problems.

The entire situation sounded absurd when he thought about it.

Imagine telling someone that the person who wrote their life story had accidentally created a world where their loved ones were destined to die.

Anyone who heard such a confession would probably assume he had lost his mind.

They might even recommend that he seek psychiatric help.

But what was he supposed to do?

He believed in magic.

He had always found supernatural phenomena fascinating, even when other people dismissed them as nonsense. Now, after hearing Noah describe an experience involving an entirely different world, he was more intrigued than ever.

He couldn’t ignore the possibility that something extraordinary was happening.

And if his writing had somehow become connected to that world, then he had a responsibility to help Noah find a solution.

Even if Noah hated him for it.

"Whether you like it or not," Dr. Whitmore murmured, watching the traffic, "I’m going to help you."

He just hoped the young man wouldn’t try to throw him out of the window when they met again.

******

Inside the moving car, Noah sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery.

His body was still weak, and every movement reminded him that he hadn’t fully recovered. However, resting was the last thing on his mind.

How could he relax when he had just learned that another disaster might be waiting for his men?

He pressed his fingers against his forehead.

Damn it!

He hadn’t even asked Dr. Whitmore for the details.

What kind of person was he?

He had spent the entire conversation arguing with the man, yet somehow forgotten to ask the most important question.

How were his men supposed to die?

Was it during a battle? Would they be betrayed? Would they fall victim to the witches, the creatures, or some enemy he hadn’t encountered yet?

Or was their death connected to the destruction he had caused when his powers awakened?

The possibilities made his head hurt.

"Marvelous," he muttered bitterly. "Absolutely marvelous."

He had enough problems dealing with things he understood. Now he had to worry about a future he knew nothing about, written by a man who seemed determined to make his life more complicated.

He could return to the hospital and demand an explanation.

That was one option.

But the thought of facing Dr. Whitmore again made his irritation flare.

Noah leaned back against the seat.

"Forget it. I’ll figure it out myself."

Perhaps it was reckless, but he preferred to investigate the situation on his own rather than rely on someone who might accidentally make things worse.

After all, he had already experienced what it felt like to be trapped inside a story.

He had suffered, fought, and nearly lost everything.

He wasn’t going to sit around and allow someone else to decide how his life would end.

Not again.

"Sir, we’ve arrived."

The driver’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Noah lifted his head.

Through the window stood the magnificent structure of the Silver Crest estate, the place that had once been his home before he was transported into the novel.

The familiar building rose elegantly against the sky, its polished exterior reflecting the afternoon sunlight. The landscaped gardens were immaculate, the driveway wide and clean, and the entrance grand enough to remind anyone of the wealth and status of the person who lived there.

It was a place he had once taken for granted.

Before everything changed, this estate had been part of his ordinary life. He had owned expensive clothes, luxurious accessories, and cars that cost more than most people could earn in several lifetimes.

He had possessed practically everything money could buy.

Yet none of it mattered to him now.

What good was a luxurious penthouse when the people he loved were trapped in another world?

What was the point of returning to his old life when his heart remained with Eugene, Killian, Marcus, Damian, and Lysander?

Noah stared at the estate for a few seconds.

Then he exhaled.

"Home, huh?"

The word sounded strange.

He wasn’t sure whether this place still deserved to be called home.

Nevertheless, he needed somewhere to recover, gather his thoughts, and figure out how to return to the world he had left behind.

He pushed the car door open.

"I’ll take it from here."

The driver immediately stepped out, intending to assist him, but Noah waved him away.

"I can manage."

He placed one foot on the ground and began to rise from the seat.

For a brief moment, everything seemed fine.

Then a strange sensation swept through his head.

Noah blinked.

The estate blurred before his eyes.

He frowned and tried to steady himself against the car door, but the dizziness intensified. The ground seemed to tilt beneath his feet, while the magnificent building before him stretched and twisted as though he were looking at it through rippling water.

"What the—"

He grabbed the edge of the door.

His fingers felt strangely numb.

The world spun again, harder this time.

Noah swallowed, trying to fight through the sensation, but his body refused to cooperate. The weakness he had been ignoring since leaving the hospital suddenly crashed over him like a wave.

He couldn’t even feel his legs properly.

Not now.

He had too much to do.

He needed to find out what Dr. Whitmore had written. He needed to discover how to return to his men. He needed to prevent the future that threatened to take them away from him.

He couldn’t afford to collapse now.

Not when he had barely begun.

"Sir?"

The driver’s voice sounded distant.

Noah tried to answer, but his tongue felt heavy.

His vision darkened around the edges.

He reached out, hoping to catch the car before he fell, but his hand slipped from the door.

The last thing he saw was the estate entrance rushing toward him.

Then his knees gave way.

His body crashed onto the ground, and the sound echoed across the quiet driveway.

"Sir!"

The driver rushed toward him.

But Noah was already unconscious, lying motionless on the ground just outside his own home.