And I was stupidly, blissfully excited. Which, in hindsight, was dumb. Like first-day-of-school energy but the school was run by literal carnivores who hate outsiders and solve argunts with bite marks.
I didn’t even bother asking the bunny for more details. I’d brushed off the warnings like a pro gar entering Nightmare Mode with a spoon and blind optimism.
"Don’t get your hopes up," Bunny had muttered, sipping carrot juice. "B-rank worlds are a whole new level of pain."
"I like it in Nightmare Mode," I’d replied. Like an idiot.
Well, now I was here. And judging by the ominous full moon, the eerie howls in the distance, and the fact that the air slled like freshly spilled blood and pine needles, I had officially entered a horror fantasy novel written by a caffeinated sadist.
Bring it on, fangs and all.
So there I was—yeeted, quite literally, into a fantasy world where werewolves ruled the narrative like it was a full moon every night and nobody believed in emotional stability.
This ti, the plot dropped into one of those stories. You know the type: alphas growling, rejected mates crying, pack wars brewing, and an unshifted girl with a Destiny she didn’t ask for. Yep. Classic.
Our main girl? The one and only Talia Fenwyn—a tragically unshifted, tragically underestimated female werewolf who couldn’t even talk to squirrels let alone shift into a majestic predator.
She was shy, a little clumsy, and about as threatening as a damp paper towel. But underneath all that? Oh, she was packing. Not physically, obviously—she hadn’t shifted yet—but emotionally, she had the stuff of legends (or at least emotionally repressed revenge arcs).
And of course, what’s a female lead in a werewolf romance story without a ridiculously hot, emotionally constipated alpha male?
Enter: Rhett Vireaux.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Jaw carved by moonlight. Voice that could lt steel—if he wasn’t busy using it to reject people.
Alpha of the prestigious and wildly aggressive Silver Moon Pack, Rhett had zero interest in taking Talia as his Luna. Why? Because she hadn’t shifted yet. And if she hadn’t shifted, then clearly she was useless, weak, and undeserving of being seen in the sa room as him unless she was mopping it.
Instead, he had his eyes set on Yvonne, the fierce and stunning she-wolf from the neighboring Nightfang Pack. Yvonne already had battle scars and a fan club. She looked like she’d walked out of a perfu comrcial for blood and dominance.
Rhett thought she was Luna material. Talia? In his eyes, she was barely pack material.
But see, Rhett wasn’t just a brooding jerk with a stupidly symtrical face—he was also ambitious. His dream? To unite all the packs in the land and crown himself the one, undisputed Alpha King. A throne of bones, howling wolves at his feet, dominance written in blood across every territory. The usual lighthearted goals.
Talia, anwhile, just wanted to stop crying in the woods and maybe find a friend who didn’t try to alpha-command her into silence. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. And so did Rhett—plans that didn’t involve her. In fact, he rejected her. In public. During the Moon Summit. With witnesses.
He stood there, all bronze skin and stormy eyes, and growled, "By blood and moonlight, I renounce you, Talia Fenwyn. May the spirits bear witness—I sever our mate bond and release you from all claim."
Brutal.
But here’s the thing about Talia: she was more than just a late bloor. Way more. And while Rhett went off to wage war and polish his ego, Talia’s wolf was waking up—and she was mad.
But in the end—co on, we all know how these things go—they still ended up together. Talia and Rhett, the drama llama power couple, after enough twists and turns to qualify as a rollercoaster built by drunk engineers. True love prevails, blah blah. Cue the moonlit reunion, steamy mating marks, and at least one dramatic "You’re mine" mont.
But let’s talk about the real plot twist.
The big bad villain of this werewolf fantasy epic?
None other than Henry Nightingale—the pint-sized, pre-teen Alpha of the Bloodhowl Pack. Twelve years old.
That’s right. The "final boss" of this B-rank nightmare world was barely out of middle school. And before you even think it—no, I am not romancing him. This ain’t That Kind of story. I have standards. Also, morals. Also, probably a criminal record if I did.
Now, despite being a certified NEET who’s played every oto ga under the sun (and even a few questionable ones that broke my soul), this wasn’t one I could flirt my way through. No route, no "good ending," no "accidentally fell on top of him during training and now we’re married."
This was a tragedy on rails.
Because according to the original storyline? Rhett—our hulking alpha with a god complex and an ego collection compensating for sothing—would eventually go full warlord.
He’d conquer Henry’s pack, burn their lands, and slaughter his clan mates in one go. Henry, understandably, would lose his adorable tiny mind and, in desperation, sell his soul to demons. Boom—first-ever Lycanthrope. Stronger than any Alpha, aner than a rabid moon bear, and glowing with that tragic ani-boy energy.
He becos the Final Boss.
And Rhett kills him. Because of course he does. He’s the hero. Talia has the divine moon-blessed power of "healing through belief and glossy fur," and the final battle ends with claws through Henry’s chest.
Yeah . . . not under my watch.
I might’ve been knocked into this world with zero powers, a mouth that gets into trouble, and just enough confidence to be dangerous—but I’ve got sothing better: a save file in my brain from dozens of gas I played in the past.
That’s twelve months to change fate. To stop a war. To save a kid from becoming the actual Devil’s wolf-boy. Sounds doable, right?
. . . Right?
Sure, I’ve got no wolf, no power, and the biggest threats in this world were a testosterone-fueled Alpha who thinks diplomacy was for cowards and a twelve-year-old with more emotional damage than my browser history—but I’ve also got knowledge. And snacks. Probably.
The odds? Not great. The stakes? Lethal.
My current strategy? Wing it and hope for divine intervention.
Welco to the B-rank world, baby. Where the plot was thick, the wolves were dramatic, and who didn’t know what to do first.
Bring it on.
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