"Stupid virgin!"
"He hasn't even slept with her, and this is how it ends?!"
"The author has no brain. This is absolute garbage!"
"I feel so fucking betrayed! After everything, this is what we get?!"
"The Author killed the female lead! Are you kidding me?!"
"What a fucking waste! Tell me where you live, Author! I swear I'll hunt you down and kill you!"
A man in his early thirties slumped into his chair, letting out a frustrated sigh as he shut his eyes. Fuck.
For the past two years, his sleep had been absolute garbage. Hell, he probably hadn't even seen sunlight in the last two weeks.
He had poured every ounce of his life into this masterpiece.
Hah!
He let out a faint smirk, his half-lidded eyes staring at nothing in particular. The room was brightly lit yet eerily silent. The clock read 3 AM. It was getting close to when he should be sleeping... but at this point, the concept of work hours and sleep schedules had completely lost their meaning to him.
The dark circles under his eyes were prominent, his black hair now long enough to brush against his chin, and it was a complete mess. What kind of life had he even been living all this time?
But yeah... he had the money. He had the attention. He had the readers.
Yes, the readers, the same ones who wouldn't stop complaining because they weren't satisfied with the decisions he had made.
Another smirk.
At that moment, a buzzing sound echoed from his desk. He cracked open his eyes and glanced at his phone… a name flashed on the screen. "Editor bastard."
That guy had been haunting him for days. He tapped the accept button but didn't bother lifting the phone to his ear, letting the call sit open.
"Tavian! Have you decided what wishes the MC is going to make? You have to tell me first! There's no way I'm letting you end the novel like this. You're just going to piss off even more readers!"
Tavian was his pen name, though at this point, he heard it far more often than his real name.
Did anyone even remember his real name anymore?
Even he referred to himself by his pen name more often than not.
He remained silent, allowing the voice of that clueless old man to ramble on.
"Tavian! Are you listening?! This is crucial! Your book is a best-selling novel, and it's getting an adaptation soon! You can't ruin…"
He rose from his chair.
And suddenly, his body tilted.
He caught himself against the desk, knocking over his keyboard, and landed on his elbow. His head felt light. Weird. Maybe he needed more coffee.
Dragging himself to the small table near his workspace, his eyes skimmed over the mess… Empty food containers, cans, and random junk he hadn't gotten around to cleaning.
He grabbed an instant coffee sachet, pulled open a drawer, and searched for a mug.
Nothing.
He turned toward the sink.
Not a single clean cup.
Hadn't he bought enough of them?
With a tired sigh, he grabbed the last used mug sitting in the sink that was still stained with remnants of his previous coffee. He poured the instant mix in, added hot water from the dispenser, and stirred.
"How many cups has it been?" he muttered under his breath. But whatever. He needed this. Just a little more, and he could finally wrap up the novel. Maybe after that, he'd take a break? A year off sounded nice.
Yeah. He'd disappear, ignore his loudmouth editor, and enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Maybe he'd even find a woman.
With how he worked himself to the bone, there had been zero chance to meet anyone, let alone date. The person he talked to the most was probably that damn editor.
He took a sip of the coffee, and… His vision blurred.
Sleepy?
No… he could hold on. Just a little longer. At least until 5 AM.
But then… he felt it.
His heart.
It was pounding. No! It had been pounding for a while now, but this was worse. Faster. Harder.
His grip loosened.
The mug slipped from his fingers.
Crash!
Scalding coffee splashed onto his foot.
Damn! Hot!
But… he barely registered it. His body was going weak. So weak. His vision spun.
He gave in.
Slowly, he let himself collapse onto the floor.
His cheek pressed against the cold surface, smeared with spilled coffee.
Maybe I just need sleep…
Yeah.
Just a little nap…
***
Blinding light!
Fuck!
Tave squeezed his eyes shut the moment the sudden burst of sunlight hit his face. Instinctively, he threw up an arm to shield himself from the brightness. Slowly, cautiously, he peeked through barely opened eyelids, adjusting to the light little by little, and…
Damn!
The fuck?!
Eurgh…
His stomach churned. Something felt off. He turned his head to the side, only to be met with a horrifying sight.
The fuck?!
What the hell was this?!
Corpses.
Bodies everywhere.
And not just human ones. There were also strange, grotesque creatures lying in twisted, bloodied heaps.
What the hell?!
Was he dreaming?!
The entire landscape around him looked like the aftermath of a brutal war. He could see armored soldiers, monstrous beings that resembled fucking demons, all piled on top of each other, lifeless, drenched in blood.
Hell!
Was this a dream?!
No way. If he was dreaming, he wouldn't be aware that he was dreaming, right?!
Tave looked down at himself.
His body… was glowing.
His hands, his clothes…
Wait.
Damn, he wasn't wearing anything.
His gaze shot downward. A strange, glowing light covered his lower half.
What the hell was this?!
He took a step forward… And, something felt weird.
He wasn't walking.
He was floating. His body moved effortlessly, as if it simply obeyed his will rather than his legs.
What kind of dream was this?! Like, seriously. What the hell?!
Had he gotten so absorbed in writing his novel that he ended up trapped inside some bizarre dream?
Because this was exactly like the final scene he had written.
The grand battle between the MC and the Demon King.
Yeah.
Everything was identical.
The MC was supposed to be the only survivor on the battlefield at this point, and this was the moment, the crucial turning point where he would be granted three wishes that would determine the story's ending.
The MC…
Right.
He should be here.
He should be kneeling on the ground, exhausted, barely clinging to life, gripping his sword that was plunged into the dirt. His golden armor should be soaked in blood, his blond hair disheveled and stained red.
Just like the figure now lying before him.
The fuck?!
Tave's breath hitched. His pulse raced.
That figure… It was right in front of him.
Damn!
His gaze dropped, scanning the knight's armor.
Hell yes, this was exactly the same armor he had envisioned when he created it.
And that sword…
That massive, golden sword embedded in the ground…
Damn!
This was too similar.
Too real.
He was sure he hadn't signed off on any live action adaptation of his book. But this… this wasn't some high-budget production.
This felt real.
The man on the ground slowly lifted his head, his piercing gaze locking onto Tave. His eyes burned with unwavering determination, filled with seething hatred and deep, unyielding fury.
Tave flinched.
Shit.
He knew that look all too well.
Because he was the one who created it.
This was his character.
A man who was fierce, heartless, willing to do anything to achieve his goals. The type who wouldn't compromise, wouldn't make peace, wouldn't tolerate anyone standing in his way.
Honestly, not the kind of guy he would ever want to be friends with.
But could Tave blame him? The guy's life had been nothing but hardship, nothing but suffering.
And yeah, because Tave was the one who made it that way.
Well, what did you expect?
This guy was the MC.
Tave suddenly felt a presence behind him.
His body instinctively floated backward, distancing himself, and… he saw it.
A figure stood there. Glowing, just like him.
But unlike him, this figure was draped in a full-length white robe, hooded, face completely obscured. Even so, from the shape of the body, the curves of the hips, the fullness of the chest, he could tell. This one was a woman.
Then, in a voice smooth as silk, she spoke.
"As promised, I will grant you the opportunity to make three wishes."
Tave froze.
Wait…
Why was she here?
This wasn't how the story was supposed to go.
This wasn't the one who was supposed to grant the MC's wishes!
"I have a question!" the MC said.
"You only have wishes… not questions."
"I did everything for this world. Is a single question really too much for you?!"
The robed figure fell silent for a moment.
"As long as it is not a question beyond my knowledge."
Wait… what the hell?
This wasn't supposed to happen.
This dialogue, these interactions… None of this was in the story!
Tave felt a wave of betrayal crash over him. Who the hell had taken control of his narrative?! Why was everything straying so far from his intended plot?
The MC spoke again. "Tell me… is there someone who has written my tale in this world?"
Tave froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
What the hell?!
What the fuck?!
No! No way! He wasn't supposed to be asking questions like that!
Even if this was just a dream, this was going way too far! Tave felt like he had lost all control over what was happening.
"That is too great of a question. Answering it will cost you one of your wish slots."
"You were the one who said it. Unless it's beyond your knowledge, you can answer. The fact that you're trying to counter my question only proves that you know something."
The robed figure went silent again.
Tave felt a twisted sense of curiosity rising inside him.
What kind of answer was she going to give?
The answer came, "Yes… your tale was written by someone."
No!
Tave's stomach dropped.
No. No. No.
He suddenly realized. He wasn't just some passive observer in this scene.
They were talking about him.
And if that was the case. Why the hell was he here?!
Why was he being forced to witness this?
"My first wish… I want to regress to the beginning of my arrival in this world."
Regress?
Tave had considered that possibility before. It only made sense for him to make that wish.
But why did something about this feel off?
"Regression, keeping your memories intact, and resetting the world… That is practically three wishes." the robed figure said.
"You've got to be kidding me. I only asked for regression. That should count as one wish."
Yeah… you're pretty smart, my guy. I'm proud of you.
"Next wish." the robed figure prompted.
The MC gave a faint smile. "Bring the author into this world."
What?!
Tave's brain short-circuited.
What kind of wish was that?!
No!
Wait… why?!
Why the hell should he be dragged into this world too?!
No way!
This world was full of demons! War! Chaos! Death!
It was dangerous, unpredictable, and definitely not a place Tave wanted to live in!
"Next wish." the robed figure continued, ignoring Tave's silent panic.
Tave tried to speak, tried to scream… anything.
But no sound came out.
His voice was gone. He was mute.
And to make things even worse… The MC was speaking. Tave could see his lips moving, forming words, but he couldn't hear anything!
The entire scene had gone mute for him.
Panic surged through his veins.
Why…?
Why did this feel so real?
Wait… No.
No, this was a dream!
It had to be!
Yes! A dream!
Any moment now, he'd wake up. He'd return to his mundane, never-ending routine. He'd sit in front of his computer, drowning in caffeine, fighting off sleep deprivation. And that honestly sounded so much better than living in this world.
And at that exact moment, the robed figure turned to him.
For the first time, she lifted her head just slightly, revealing the lower half of her face.
And there… Lush, red lips. Soft, sensual, almost too perfect.
And then, she whispered. "I have a gift for you…"
Suddenly, something yanked him back.
No, more than that!
Something sucked him in.
A force, unseen but overwhelming, pulled him from behind, dragging him through an abyss of swirling chaos.
His consciousness spun. His mind shattered into fragments. A flood of images slammed into his brain.
Screams. Memories. Voices. A whirlwind of broken scenes crashing into one another.
And… Silence.
Darkness.
Nothingness.
Then, in the void, words echoed in his mind.
[Welcome to the world of Yunatea.]