[As you read this story, remember: The ROUTES you take… will define the very decisions you make. Decisions that will consequence how you live in this broken world. Let no interruptions shape your destiny, your way, your fate. And if they do—then fight them through the bottom of your heart.]
That was the very first paragraph Trizha read. It sat neatly in the middle of a plain, old-looking novel she had randomly picked up from the shelves of the National Bookstore she was wandering in. Intrigued, she shifted her gaze to the beginning of the story.
[Before there was everything, there was nothing. And within that nothing… was everything.]
[That "nothing" was the void, and that "everything" was Ground Realistica—the First World, the original world, the Franchise, the All Story, where it all began.]
[But it didn't take long before that "everything" turned into void. Everything was destroyed—completely—though because of a justified reason.]
[To rebuild everything is to be passionate for its creation. That was the reason someone was born—and that someone had to be born for that very reason.]
[The Symbol of Creation.]
[The man who was unable to do anything—so he created everything.]
[And when he died, everything he had made remained. A world built and reborn through the absurd, endless storage of imagination he held within that broken world.]
The story was captivating—its worldbuilding deep, its mythology striking. Yet something didn't add up. Trizha noticed the label printed on the back cover: Romance. Not Fantasy, not Mythology, not even Drama. Just Romance.
It was confusing. The storytelling felt far too epic for that.
Then she read the next line.
[This is what the story is about. This is not your ordinary romance story—though it was supposed to be.]
[I warn you—things have taken a different turn.]
[Some changes happen naturally, some for the better. But others… were never meant to happen.]
[Unprecedented occurrences.]
[Interruptions that should have never existed.]
[And if anything—they're rather disturbing.]
Trizha blinked.
"This is… genre-swapping?" she murmured to herself.
She realized the book wasn't confined to just one category—it was built to shift between them. That uniqueness alone drew her in. Still, she reminded herself not to read too far. She didn't have the money to buy it—and lingering too long in the store would make her look suspicious.
But curiosity always wins.
[The more you read this story, and the stories after it, the more you'll understand the consequences of interrupting someone's route—and why you should never do it. We're all too fragile.]
At the bottom of the first page, the author's name was written simply: TOMP.
Trizha frowned.
"What a weird username…"
It reminded her of something—like a short, cinematic alias. Maybe even inspired by Tomb Raider. Could be a reference. Or maybe not at all.
Still curious, she flipped straight to the final page, skipping the entire middle portion. To her surprise, there was one last message waiting there.
[If you ever wish to survive in this broken world, you are given two routes to choose from…]
[Either you give it a reason why it should continue to live]
[Or…]
[Become the reason why it should be destroyed.]
[Whatever you choose, whatever the route you decide to walk into, it doesn't matter. Everything you do in this story…]
[...it's all just for that one man.]
Trizha stared at the page in silence.
"So it's about… interruption?" she whispered.
"Interruption doesn't sound like a big deal… or is it? No wonder it's barely considered a fantasy more than romance..."
She closed the book gently and placed it back on the shelf. Then she turned away and started walking out—pretending it had meant nothing. But inside, those words kept echoing in her mind. They reminded her of today… of her own "route", and what she did with it to… Nomoro.
"…Realizing that the route I chose," she muttered to herself, "was the wrong one. A route that gave me so many chances to change—but I blew them all. And where did that lead me? A broken world? No…"
She stepped out of the bookstore, greeted by the mall's cold, recycled air. Lifting her head, she exhaled deeply. Shame weighed heavily on her chest.
Then—two familiar voices.
"Hey," said a calm but concerned tone. "You done taking a 'short' relapse in there? It took you forever."
That was Wyne, her best friend and self-proclaimed "slow learner," who complained about nearly everything Trizha did.
"Maybe she was just standing there doing nothing," the second voice teased dryly. "Stay there longer and your leg muscles might implode from inactivity."
That was Margaret—the dark humorist of their trio.
Trizha forced a laugh, putting on the cheerful front she always did.
"Hahaha! Relapse? I'm too young for that. I don't even have wrinkles yet!"
"That's not the point, idiot!" Wyne barked, sighing right after. She saw through the façade, but said nothing.
"Anyway," Wyne continued, "let's get out of here."
"I agree," Margaret said flatly. "The air here's so cold, it might freeze us to death if we're not careful."
"Who even thinks like that?!" Wyne exclaimed.
"Me," Margaret replied without hesitation.
The three of them walked away together, laughter echoing faintly through the corridor. But neither Wyne nor Margaret dared mention the camera in Trizha's hand—the one she'd been gripping all this time. It was cracked, its lens shattered.
Her old camera.
The one she used to film every video that made her an "Influencer."
Now, it was nothing more than a reminder.
"Again," she thought, "where did my reckless decisions lead me? A broken world? No.
They led me to realize just how broken I was all along. And yet… I keep smiling, no matter what."
"Because that's what it means to be an Influencer… right?"