Help! I'm the Plot Device: Just Here to Save the Heroes

Jerry vs. Gravity: The Sequel

"Defective equipment!" he shouted, kicking at the rope. "I demand a refund from the manufacturer! This is clearly... a conspiracy!"

The system sighed audibly. "Host, your dignity is already irrecoverable."

Jerry sat up, muttering, "No. No, no, no. Round one is... technically... a practice run."

🐱

Round Two: The Courtyard Wall

By late morning, Jerry had scrubbed himself clean of rope bruises and regained his poise. He eyed the courtyard wall, a daring smirk forming. Perhaps a stylish leap from there would finally grant him glory.

He climbed the marble wall, chest puffed, arms spread like a wingspan. "Behold, the fearless aerialist!"

A gardener froze below, trowel in hand, eyes wide as saucers. Jerry's heart skipped a beat. "Witness nothing! You never saw me!" he shrieked, and leapt down like a startled cat, landing in a graceful, if slightly panicked, roll.

Dusting himself off, he muttered, "Round two... incomplete. Witness interference. Statistically invalid."

🧶

Round Three: The Lake

By afternoon, desperation merged with inspiration. The palace lake gleamed, a mirror of fiery sunset clouds. Surely, a brave dive into the water would suffice.

Jerry sprinted across the courtyard, cape flapping, and plunged in with all the elegance of a slightly panicked princeling. Cold water assaulted him. Gasping, he tried to swim, but his lungs rebelled, arms flailing in comedic desperation.

Several laps later, utterly exhausted, he clawed himself onto the shore. Sunlight had faded, leaving the lake a molten silhouette of twilight. Water dripped from his hair, robes clung to him like a second skin, and he shivered violently.

Jerry raised a dramatic fist to the sky. "Round three... almost victorious! But timing... cruelly wrong!"

The system sighed. "Host, your bravery is... inconsistent."

Jerry grinned through chattering teeth. "Inconsistent... but unstoppable."

🐱

Night Watch Tower

The evening air was cool and sharp, carrying the faint scent of the palace gardens below. Jerry trudged across the rooftop in his wet, dripping robes, socks squelching against the polished wood. Behind him, the servants watched with furrowed brows, whispering to one another as though witnessing a ritual far beyond comprehension.

Jerry ignored them. Nothing could stop him now. Determination burned in his eyes. He climbed the stairs to the watchtower, each step squelching and slipping beneath his wet robe, and finally emerged onto the flat platform above.

He stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling with the deep night air. The stars were sharp points of silver against the dark canvas, the moon a pale witness. Jerry lifted his arms, letting the wind tug at his sodden robes. This is it. Victory. Glory. Freedom.

He padded toward the railing, mind alive with the thrill of finality. And then... disaster struck.

The long, wet fabric of his robe betrayed him, sliding across the wooden floor like a slick ribbon of doom. Jerry's foot caught on the hem, his balance vanished, and with a flail worthy of theatrical legend, he toppled over the edge.

Exactly the same way he had fallen from the roof that had first brought him to this world.

"Finally... it's going to end..." he murmured, eyes closed, a tragic hero accepting fate.