Tap! Tap! Tap!

The quiet sound of my fingers tapping the keyboard echoed in the darkness. I sat in front of my laptop, my entire focus on the screen.

The room's light was off, as usual. It wasn't that I liked the darkness per se—it was just easier to concentrate. The glare from the overhead light was too harsh on my eyes when I typed, so I always kept it off.

But what really mattered was the story I was working on. After all, I'm a writer—a webnovelist, to be exact.

Now, there are many people in this world who call themselves writers, but what does it really mean to be one?

What was a writer?

What was an author?

Was it simply someone who writes down a script, or perhaps someone who crafts the plot of a play? Or is it someone who creates entire worlds and characters from their imagination?

The truth is, all those definitions were correct. But for me, writing is more than just a title. It's who I am.

These days, anyone can pick up a pen, or rather, their phone, and write something. With so many platforms available online, publishing stories and sharing them with an audience has never been easier. But with this convenience comes with a risk. Once creativity is posted, it can be stolen by others. It's one thing to be inspired by another story, but to copy it entirely and pass it off as your own? That's a whole other level of theft.

After all, that's human nature. Anyone would do anything for some easy money. The world has always been like that—and then, there was "me."

Enough about that.

Shaking that thought away from my mind, I reminded myself to focus on what was right in front of me.

Click!

The sound of the last key pressed felt satisfying. I had just finished the final word of the chapter

The Epilogue.

The end of a story created by this lonely hands.

I quickly scanned through for any «Errors», making sure everything was polished before posting it on the platform.

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[Dream of Nothing]

By Jakga Kim

Ratings: 4.5 (2,907 Reviews)

Views: 44M+

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A satisfied expression formed on my lips.

Dream of Nothing. A feature-length fantasy novel, over 1,500 chapters in total. It was a novel written by me, of course.

How long had I been working on this story? Years, definitely. In fact, I'd been steadily writing it for a decade. I'd started it when I was just a teenager, during some of the darkest moments of my life.

I still remember those years—the gradual loss of my parents, the relentless bullying from classmates who said I'd never amount to anything. But through it all, I kept writing.

And now, after ten long years, I'd finally written the conclusion to that story.

A strange mix of emotions welled up inside me. Happiness, that I'd finally completed this world I had created. Sadness, that the journey had come to an end. Without this novel, what would my life have become?

It was hard to say. Maybe I would have become a doctor, like my parents had always wanted. Or a teacher, perhaps. Not a bad life, sure, but I'm glad I chose this path.

"Hmmm."

I leaned back in my chair, contemplating. Why did I even decide to become a writer in the first place?

It started as a hobby, but at some point, I realized I could make a living from it. So I pursued it. If I succeeded, great. If I failed, well, I'd have moved on. Luckily, things didn't go that way.

Still, I couldn't quite pinpoint what exactly made me start writing seriously. There was something from my childhood that pushed me in this direction, but the details had faded. Trying to remember it was like trying to recall the face of someone who changed your diapers—you know it happened, but the memory is blurry at best.

It must have not been important if I was able to forget it so easily.

"Haaawwwn..."

I yawned and my eyes became heavy. I probably stop thinking about unnecessary things and get some sleep.

"Huh? What's this?"

Just as I was about to shut down the laptop, a notification pinged. A message?

Opening it, I saw it was from the webnovel platform. Ah, the readers must be commenting on the epilogue.

I clicked over to the comments section, and sure enough, there were already several new messages:

ㄴFaker999– Damnit, author!! Is this really the end?! I can't accept such an ending!!

ㄴRoyalKing– What a tasteless conclusion.

ㄴFalseReader– Why must you traumatize your readers in this manner? You know what, what I was expecting from a dark story. Of course, it would have a dark ending. In any case, it was a good story.

ㄴOneEyedDokkaebi– Not a fan of such a ending it was somewhat lacking but it was a good story.

These were just a few of the comments, but they stood out. They were from readers who had supported me from the very beginning.

A satisfied smile spread across my face. Despite the mixed reactions, they had stayed with me through all the ups and downs. I owed them my gratitude.

ㄴJakga Kim– Thank you everyone for supporting me till the end.

I typed out the response and hit send. Within seconds, the replies rolled in:

ㄴOneEyedDokkaebi: Why are you thanking us? If it wasn't for you, this great story wouldn't exist.

ㄴRoyalKing: Seriously, Jakga, thank you for writing this.

ㄴFalseReader: I'm glad I could read this masterpiece till the end.

ㄴ Faker999: By the way, is Jakga Kim your real name or just a pen name? It sounds weird for a real name.

I chuckled at the comment. It wasn't the first time someone had asked me that question.

"My name is Kim Jakga (金作家)." (Jakga means writer or author, while Kim means gold.)

Countless misunderstandings emerged from that name alone. I was always asked, "Is that really your name?" And my response would always be, "Yes, yes, it is."

I am a writer. Thus, I am Jakga. But my real name is Kim Jakga. So, I am Kim Jakga.

It was a name given to me by my father. Perhaps he wanted me to become a great person like Kim Si-seup, the author of Geumo Sinhwa (金鰲新話).

But how could a small-time writer like me ever measure up to someone like Kim Si-seup?

Sure, I was successful enough to earn a monthly income of around ₩200,000,000 after taxes. But that kind of success came with its own set of misfortunes. Even with that, I wasn't "big enough"—not enough for everyone to idolize me, not enough to feel accomplished.

Nobody knew who Kim Jakga was. And nobody truly understood Kim Jakga.

I was a "nobody".

"Ugh…"

I sighed powerlessly. Just thinking about it was enough to drag me into a pit of depression. You could say I had everything, yet nothing to show for it.

I was 25 years old and still single. I imagined my enemies laughing at me from somewhere, enjoying my pitiful state.

And in this scenario, the unknown enemy was none other than the universe itself.

Ting! Ting!

My smartphone buzzed with a familiar sound. A new notification had popped up.

"Another one?"

My tired eyes glanced at the screen. Was it more comments?

I tapped on the notification, expecting the usual. But instead, I noticed a new username.

It wasn't a name I recognized.

Honestly, I didn't know what to think.

ㄴDragonslayer99– Do you really think you're getting away with this? Stealing someone else's hard work and claiming it as your own? You're nothing but a disgrace, a shameless parasite feeding off others' efforts. I hope karma finds you in the worst way possible. If your mother's alive, I hope someone desecrates her, and if she's dead, I'll piss on her grave and set her tombstone ablaze. But don't think that's the end of it. I could pour all my rage onto every page of every book ever written, and it still wouldn't be enough. I hope you get obliterated by a bus, you WORTHLESS, THIEVING PLAGIARIST!! YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT, I'LL MAKE SURE TO RUIN YOUR OTHER STUPID NOVELS EVEN IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO!!!

I was dumbfounded.

As a writer, receiving criticism was not a strange occurrance. The readers would have different opinions about your world of creation.

Some would say it's good, some would say it's bad and there is even those that would hate for no particular reason. But this person was different. How do I even describe such a person?

The sheer venom in the words was enough to make my skin crawl. What did I ever do to deserve such hate?

Wait… plagiarism?

It clicked. This must have been that same guy from before, the one who accused me of copying Song of Nightmares which is also a novel I knew. But his words didn't make any sense though.

How could he say I plagiarized that novel even when mine is obviously different? Even the readers has said this as well. In fact, wasn't this guy banned?

Before I could even react, my loyal readers jumped to my defense.

ㄴOneEyedDokkaebi: Hey, what the hell is wrong with you? Hate the novel all you want, but leave the author's family out of your mouth.

ㄴRoyalKing: Who the hell is this guy? Wait, don't tell me you're the same bastard who keeps writing hate messages to the author.

ㄴFalseReader: This is the 1,000th time he's pulling this shit. The bastard never gives up.

ㄴRoyalKing: You're keeping count?

ㄴFalseReader: Don't you know how hard it is to scroll through all those hate messages? How does he have so much free time? If I had that much free time, I'd have become a millionaire by now.

A sense of satisfaction filled me as I read the messages. It felt good knowing there were people who had my back.

My mind wandered, and I recalled a distant memory. This wasn't the first time I'd received a hate message like this. In fact, it came from the same person.

I couldn't recall his username back then, but his account was eventually banned after being reported. Even so, that didn't stop him. He made new accounts, sent hateful messages, wrote bad reviews, and insulted me on every chapter I posted.

He even went so far as to leave negative reviews on my other works, like [Broken System], [Advent of the Monkey King], [World Devouring Magician], and [SSS Black Summoner].

I lost count of how many messages and bad reviews I had to delete because of that one person. He was a hater who could only hate.

Despite all that, my smile widened. His hate messages weren't necessarily a bad thing.

The bastard doesn't know that his hate messages were the greatest source of traffic for my story.

Was it 60 percent? Maybe more. In any case, I suppose I should thank him.

It was thanks to him that my stories became so popular. But what was the appropriate response to a hater?

Of course, the answer was simple: keep writing. Funny thing is, you can't really hate something without reading it first. Maybe I should even respond to his message—let him read it, get angry like the predictable bastard he was, and hate some more. That would just bring even more readers to my story.

Laugher emerged.

Amidst the absurdity of the situation, I suddenly remembered something else.

Come to think of it, there was another story I hadn't finished yet.

I scrolled through the files on my laptop, and after a few moments, the title of my last series appeared on the screen.

« Unknown (TXT) »

Funny enough, I remembered this one. It was a story about a writer transmigrating into the work of another author and becoming the "golden writer."

It was a strange, amusing concept.

Just another one of my whimsical ideas. A fantasy. A fleeting daydream that most readers and writers have had at least once. Who wouldn't want to step into the world of their favorite story, to shape it, live it, or even rewrite it?

But that's all it was: a dream.

Fiction will always remain fiction. Nothing can change that. And if, by some miracle, such a thing were to happen, it would only mean one thing—that the world was on the brink of catastrophe.

Who would want to live in a ruined world like that?

Still, there was something that bugged me. I hadn't decided on a title yet. I'd gone through countless options, but none of them felt right. Titles matter. A story without a good title is doomed to obscurity. The title is the face of the story, its identity.

Maybe inspiration would strike later.

Tomorrow, I had other things to focus on. The former members of the Literature Club were reuniting at a family restaurant, and of course, as one of them, I was expected to attend.

It had been two years since I last saw most of them. There were people I genuinely wanted to catch up with, so I couldn't just skip out on it. The title could wait.

I yawned, stretching my aching arms.

The all-nighter I pulled to finish the epilogue had taken its toll. My muscles were stiff, my eyelids heavy, and my back was screaming at me for sitting in one spot for so long.

I pushed myself off the chair and staggered to my bed. The moment I lay down, I felt my body sink into the comforting embrace of the mattress.

Within seconds, I drifted into unconsciousness and entered the dream world.

If only I'd known what awaited me tomorrow, I would have locked myself away, thrown my laptop out the window, and drowned in my own despair.