DEEP SLEEP INTO THE SCRIPT

I left ONE comment. ONE. I said the seme was a garbage person and the novel was a waste of my Thursday night. That's it. That's all I did.
Now I'm Cannon Fodder #374 inside the book. The system says I have a 0.03% survival rate. There are two creepy child dolls calling me Mama. And the cold, terrifying, five-foot ML - the white moonlight I was defending - keeps looking at me like I'm the only thing he sees.
I just need to fix the plot. Push him toward the protagonist. Stop deviating. Simple.
(The protagonist is currently locked in a haunted nursery. The ML is holding my hand. I think I made this worse.)