Navigating through a narrow, watery, and muddy path, I persevered despite the seemingly impossible challenge ahead.

"I want to see my novel through to the end!" I exclaimed as I sprinted toward a cascading stream from a higher point on the mountain, capturing the moment with a quick snapshot on my smartphone.

"Just for remembrance, it's my first mountaineering experience after all."

Contrasting against the flow of the water, the terrain shifted, rocks sliding down in a formidable display. 

"It was no joke" I murmured as I observed the rocks larger than twice the size of a volleyball and one even measuring half the size of a car sliding down. I pressed on undeterred, each step fueled by determination.

Drawing closer to the mountaintop, I encountered an elderly man seated on a tree trunk. Surprisingly, this particular area seemed untouched by landslides or falling rocks, prompting me to seek temporary refuge with him.

The elderly gentleman bore a resemblance to the local ethnic people, likely a resident at the base of the mountain. Noticing a rabbit impaled by a spear crafted from rock and wood nearby, I guessed he was a hunter.

"Child, what brings you here? It's dangerous. If you don't go back down, you might not return," the old man cautioned.

"I'll go home, I just want to stay here and experience nature a little bit first," I replied.

The old man regarded me with interest. "Are you a nature lover?" he asked.

I can't say too much more detail to the old man after the early talk bringing up a red flag, it means dangerous up there on the mountain's top.

"Ah, not exactly. I need an experience for my novel; I aspire to become a successful author!" I proudly declared, eager to share my ambition with anyone willing to listen.

"Is that so? Can I read a bit of it?"

"Of course!" I showed him the hard copy I had printed, feeling a sense of pride and joy.

"Why? This story seems less focused on action. It feels more like a romance," he remarked, almost like a teacher in school.

His words caught me off guard. I couldn't believe his critique of my novel. "This is an action story! You don't understand the effort it takes to create a novel if you..."

Is he a writer too? I couldn't believe he was speaking so casually about my work.

"Ahem, I could modify your novel. Well, it would be a little different. Like the main character won't be this kind and overpowering."

"That's a villain," I unconsciously rolled my eyes.

"Yeah, someone against the world, haunted by countless mistakes," the old man continued, his words sounding harsh. "But what if you were in his shoes?"

"What would you do?" His question left me uncertain.

I was taken aback. What if the perspective of a villain was merely that of a broken hero or a rogue hero? I've encountered that within myself, yet I couldn't answer what I should do. I'd already failed in that aspect.

The old man then placed his hand on my head, a gesture reminiscent of a grandparent. "There are things you contemplate more than you realize. There are actions you must take, even if they seem against the world, even if they are the right thing to do."

Then he smiled.

"Oh, the rain has stopped," he observed.

As I looked up at the sky, I noticed the old man heading back in the direction I had come from.

"Go home and don't venture further," he warned.

But I couldn't retreat now.

"What a weird old man. A man never retreats!" I mockingly laughed at him and continued climbing up to the top.

The path was slippery and muddy, so I walked very cautiously. Not out of fear or disgust, but due to the ravine on my left and the rolling rocks on my right.

One rock, the size of a volleyball, came hurtling towards me. I jumped over the rolling rock as it passed through me.

"Extreme Climberisk! That's my new title," I declared to myself in excitement.

However, amidst my triumphant moment, as I landed, I slipped on the muddy slope, unable to brace myself, and fell into the ravine. 

As I fell, my eyes darted to locate a potential landing spot.

"A roof? I see a roof!" I exclaimed mid-air.

Swiftly altering my body's direction in a calculated manner—akin to a cat but far less graceful—I attempted to twist my body for a better landing on my feet. The success of my attempt remained uncertain as I found myself merely wiggling, unable to rotate even an inch in the air.

*Boom*

"Did I land perfectly? This is…?"

I found myself within the confines of a shrine, wedged uncomfortably between wooden posts and beams. My butt hurt really bad, and I couldn't breathe, my heart also hurt so much.

"Burrghh!" I cried out in pain, blood spattering as I struggled. My feet had apparently landed first.

"What the hell happened?"

I turned my head, trying to figure out why my butt hurt. I saw a long, hard object—quite thick—stick inside my butt.

"It pierced through my butt? What the hell!"

"Burrghh." Another painful cry escaped me, accompanied by more blood. Each movement increased the pain, making it feel as if my heart and backside were in turmoil.

"I can feel this long, big stick." So this is how it feels like, with American size to Asian people.

As I turned my head inside the shrine, I saw a large old picture of a statue with the name SIDAPA written under it.

"Burrghh." I let out another painful sound. The stick in my butt wasn't just a stick, it seemed to be a staff that had pierced through my lower body. 

I couldn't feel or move. It was as if I were paralyzed.

"I gonna die at this rate," I resigned myself to the harsh reality.

I was so disappointed in myself to die like this, it was such an uncool death. I began to feel cold. Even with my eyes open, darkness enveloped everything.

And that's how I met my end—extremely uncool.

.

.

.

As Aether lay lifeless there, the statue in the picture, previously angry, has now changed its expression to a creepy smile.