Most people say I'm normal.
A quiet student, a bit of a loner, always scribbling in the corner of some classroom.
But inside my head?
Worlds.
Worlds with crumbling skies, immortal tyrants, and cursed bloodlines.
I build kingdoms out of pain and myth. I carve gods from grief.
My name is Aki, and I have one dream:
To tell stories that feel more real than this reality ever did.
Since my mother died, writing has been the only thing I could turn to. It filled the silence. It dulled the ache. When I wrote, I felt seen by the characters I created if no one else.
And sometimes, I wonder…
If I poured too much of myself into those characters.
If I fed them too much of my soul.
Day 1
Where Ink Meets Flesh
BEEP—BEEP—BEEP—
"Crap!"
I snapped awake to the shriek of my alarm and the weight of déjà vu. I was late, again.
My room was chaos: shelves sagging under paperbacks, books stacked like teetering ruins, and drawings scattered like autumn leaves across the floor. The air smelled faintly of pencil graphite and dust. I scrambled to pack up the rough drafts I'd stayed up all night sketching panels of the next chapter of my webcomic and stuffed them into my bag.
I skipped breakfast, chewing on a piece of stale bread while checking my phone.
Reya: "I'm already at campus. Where the hell are you? Not waiting again."
I almost smiled.
That was Reya, impatient, sharp, honest to a fault. She never sugarcoated anything. But underneath the sarcasm, there was someone who genuinely cared, in ways I never expected.
We'd met in middle school.
Back then, I was just the quiet kid who spent lunch in the library, sketching monsters in the margins of my notebooks. Reya was loud, bold, and popular. She found me during a group project, saw my notebook full of hand-drawn creatures and characters.
Instead of mocking me like the others, she leaned over and asked,
"Is this for a manga or a game or something?"
I didn't know what to say.
The next day, she brought snacks and sat beside me. She didn't ask if I wanted company. She just gave it. That was how she was. Full of energy and life, with long ash-brown hair that always shimmered in the sun, eyes the color of old amber—bright, curious, and sharp. She dressed in layers that always looked unintentional but effortlessly stylish, like she walked out of some coming-of-age movie.
We were opposites in every sense she, social and outspoken; me, quiet and anxious.
But somehow, we clicked.
She became the first person I ever shared my stories with.
The train ride was suffocating.
I stood pressed between two salarymen, their suits smelling of sweat and stale cologne. The floor vibrated under my shoes, and the ceiling lights flickered with each turn. I stared at the reflections in the train window. Everyone looked half-asleep, dulled by routine. Just moving bodies in motion.
Needing a distraction, I opened my bag to glance at the sketches I'd packed earlier.
But they were gone.
My folder usually stuffed with half-finished panels, character sheets, notes was filled with blank paper. Clean. Untouched.
The exact same paper I had drawn on just last night.
A sinking feeling bloomed in my chest. I fumbled through my bag again, faster this time. Nothing. Not a single sketch survived.
What the hell…?
When I arrived at school, Reya was waiting at the gates with her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. She looked at me like she was about to throw her phone at my head.
But then she saw my face and her expression shifted.
"Aki," she said slowly, "I just checked your webcomic."
I blinked. "Yeah?"
"It's gone."
"What do you mean 'gone'?"
"I mean gone. All of it. The chapters, the panels, even your account. There's nothing there."
My mouth went dry. "Let me see."
She handed me her phone, and I scrolled.
Blank. No user. No content. Just a 404 error.
"That doesn't make sense. Even if it was banned, I would've gotten a notification," I murmured.
"You didn't?"
"No… nothing."
I stared at the screen, numb. I could barely feel my fingers.
And as if that wasn't enough, I whispered, "My sketches are gone too."
Reya turned sharply. "What?"
"In my bag. All my rough drafts. Just… gone. Like they were never there."
We both stood frozen for a long moment.
Then I said, more to myself than her, "I'll contact the site. Maybe it's a glitch…"
Reya nodded slowly, but I could tell she didn't believe it either.
Classes felt like background noise.
The whiteboard was full of equations, but my mind was elsewhere. My pencil hovered uselessly over my notes. Reya occasionally glanced at me from her seat, brows furrowed in concern.
No one else noticed. No one else cared.
To everyone else, it was just another normal day.
When lunch arrived, Reya nudged me silently, and we headed behind the campus to our usual spot.
It wasn't much. Just a forgotten courtyard near the old gym building. Half of it was overgrown with wild ivy, and a gnarled tree stood at the edge like a silent sentinel. The rusted bench creaked whenever we sat on it. Cracked pavement gave way to patches of moss and brittle weeds. You could hear the distant echo of PE classes from the other field, but it always felt… separate. Quieter. Like the world paused here.
Reya handed me a drink without saying anything. Some canned coffee.
"Thought you could use it," she said.
I gave her a small smile. "Thanks."
We sat there, sipping in silence. The sky was a dull gray, the wind dry and restless.
And then my phone buzzed.
A notification.
I stared at it. Reya leaned in.
"SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE. WE MADE A MISTAKE.
FILTERING BOT COMICS—COMPUTER GENERATED CONTENT.
CLICK HERE TO REGAIN ACCESS TO YOUR STORY."
"Oh," Reya said. "Maybe it really was a glitch."
"Guess so…"
She nudged me. "Click it. It might expire."
I hesitated, but then tapped the link.
Another screen opened.
"YOU WILL GAIN FULL ACCESS TO YOUR COMIC AND TAKE COMPLETE RESPONSIBILITY FOR YOUR CREATION.
DO YOU ACCEPT?"
I frowned.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Reya leaned closer. "Weird phrasing…"
I shrugged, nervous but too tired to think.
"Whatever. Of course I accept."
I clicked.
"THANK YOU FOR ACCEPTING.
YOU ARE NOW A CREATOR.
YOU ARE NOW A GOD."
"…Huh?"
I blinked at the screen.
Reya was quiet.
"…Um. Aki?" she whispered. "I think… something just moved."
"What?"
"I'm serious. Over there. Near the tree."
I followed her gaze.
A ripple of movement—no, not wind. Not light.
A shape. A distortion.
I squinted.
And then—
something moved again.
Not walked.
Shifted.
Like a shadow detaching from reality. Wrong. Crooked. Hungry.
The air turned cold.
The hairs on my arms stood up.
"…Maybe it's just a trick of the light," I muttered, trying to laugh it off. "Or maybe you're just stressed—"
"AKI!"
Reya's scream shattered the moment.
I turned—
And the world fractured.
A black, warped figure was towering behind her.
It had no face. No eyes. Just a mass of shifting shadow, leaking into the air like smoke.
Its arm, clawed, skeletal, like it had been drawn in with blood rose.
And in a blink—
SLASH.
A spray of red.
Reya's head—
Gone.
Her body collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
The can she gave me rolled across the cracked pavement, hissing open, coffee pooling at my feet.
I froze.
My brain refused to understand what I just saw.
What I just lost.
My breath caught in my throat.
No scream.
No tears.
Just silence.
The thing turned toward me.
And I understood one thing—
This wasn't a story anymore.
This was real.
CHAPTER ONE — END