"Do you believe in magic?"
The sounds of a bustling street reverberated in Jin-sung's mind as figures in their early and late twenties staggered past him.
'They reek of alcohol,' he thought as he reached his destination.
Pushing open the door of the convenience store, the small bell rang in his ears. The store was not large, but it had everything a single person like him would need.
Once he stepped inside, his gaze swept through the space before he made his way to the third aisle, where he grabbed some vegetables, eggs, and other groceries.
"I'll take this," he said, addressing the young woman behind the counter, who appeared to be around his age.
"Oh, Jin?"
Hearing someone call him by his nickname, he pulled out one of his earbuds and glanced up. "Oh, hey, Jinah. It's been a while, hasn't it?" he replied, his tone casual.
The young woman, wearing a soft, familiar smile, nodded and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Yeah, we haven't seen each other since last year."
Blushing slightly, she looked up at him. "Umm..." she began shyly. "Are you perhaps free this weekend? Since we haven't seen each other in a while, why don't we catch up? Oh, but..." She raised both hands defensively. "If you're busy, just ignore what I said. Though I'll be glad if you agree."
'Just my luck.'
It was not like Ji-sung particularly hated Jinah. In fact, he could say he liked her quite a bit. But today was the wrong day for this. He was not in the mood to talk to anyone, nor did he have the strength to flirt back with his ex.
But he knew it would be rude to refuse her. After all, he never officially broke up with her and just disappeared immediately after high school.
He nodded reluctantly with a soft smile. "I think I'll be free during the weekend. You can choose where you want to go."
Jinah's face lit up with joy. "Okay, everything you bought will be 12,000 won."
He nodded, placing his phone over the payment monitor.
With a beep, the transaction was completed.
He grabbed the grocery bag Jinah had packed, ready to leave, only for her to hold him back.
"Hmmm… oppa, can we meet at your place this Saturday? I miss other parts of you too."
His eyebrows twitched ever so slightly. "Any way you like, Jinah."
She finally let him go, placing her palms together. "Okay~ then I'll see you on Saturday… oppa~"
He nodded once and left the store. As he walked down the street, he found her final words replaying in his ears again and again. He sighed and glanced down at his phone, which was ringing with the contact name "My First Love" displayed on the screen.
"Good morning, ma..." he said as soon as he answered the call, making sure to drag out the last "ma."
[Jin-sung! Why didn't you pick up any of my calls?]
"Sorry, I've been a little busy," he responded apologetically to his mother, who sounded mildly irritated.
Why wouldn't she be? He was her nineteen-year-old son who had decided to abandon college to pursue writing. Now that it was not going well, he had fallen into a depressive state.
[Are you still angry about the way I shouted at you?]
"Why would you think that? I'm totally fine. Besides, you were right."
Still on the phone with his mother, he reached his apartment complex, entered the elevator, and opened his front door. The moment he did, the fresh scent of cooked meat mixed with lavender wafted into his nose. From where he stood, he could even hear the faint hum of the monitor he had forgotten to turn off.
[Is that meat I smell?]
'How can she smell it over the phone?' he thought, but he couldn't help smiling. His mom had always been a bit oversensitive when it came to him.
Ever since he received the email about his book's serialization being canceled, his mom, dad, older sister, and cousin had been flooding him with calls.
"I didn't know you could smell through the phone, Mom, but I'd love to learn that power if I could."
[Hahaha... you should know that your mom is a superhuman,] she responded smugly.
"Now that you can see I'm okay, can you stop worrying so much?"
[...All right, I won't call you constantly.]
"Thanks, Mom. Love you." He ended the call and sank into his chair, tossing the grocery bag into the small kitchen.
"God~ I'm too lazy to cook."
As he sat in the soft chair, staring at the double-curved display his dad had spent a fortune on, a sudden thought crept into his mind. It was a thought he did not want to follow, but without realizing it, his fingers moved the mouse and opened the email app.
Right there, in bold letters, it read:
"THE MAGIC ACADEMY'S GENIUS SWORDSMASTER" HAS BEEN CANCELED.
He leaned back against the headrest, staring at the message for what felt like the hundredth time.
The Magic Academy's Genius Swordsmaster was a web novel that had taken the world by storm, climbing to second place on the all-time web novel rankings.
During its prime, he felt somewhat fulfilled. He had a faithful readership and a loyal fanbase. Best of all, he loved his story.
Born into a family of four, with a father obsessed with anime, webtoons, and web novels, he immersed himself in the community faster than most, just as he did with chess, which his mother played.
Bedtime stories were replaced with watching popular shows or learning Japanese instead of Korean.
His father would always tell him about the shows from his time, even those only true enthusiasts of the culture would know.
He cherished those days and dreamed of living that life. Maybe a massive gate would open in Korea, sending monsters swarming in, and he would be one of the few who awakened as an SSS-rank, beginning his heroic journey.
Or perhaps he would wake up in a different reality where his father was an SS-rank in a world of hunters, and he would start as an E-rank, leveling up as he went.
But Ji-sung knew better than to expect reality to match fiction. Even if it did happen, he would have less than a ten percent chance of being the protagonist.
Why? Because he did not fit any of the protagonist's traits.
Trauma? None. Maybe a scary horror movie he watched as a kid, the imagined pain of his nails breaking when closing a door, or getting trapped in an elevator without a beautiful girl by his side.
Orphan? Not even close. He had a pretty loving family, even if they were very annoying at times.
Poor? No. He did not grow up wealthy, but his parents provided everything he needed, sometimes even extravagant things.
Fatherless or motherless? No.
An abusive family? No.
Bullied? Maybe a little.
Sickly with a badass, sexy maid? That one... he doubted anyone in their right mind would have that, unless they were a pervert.
An undying passion for a book or a sport? No. He did not care much about most things. For him, there was always a replacement for any material thing.
The heart of a hero or the heart of a demon? Hah. Like he would wake up one morning thinking about saving someone or ruining someone's life.
All this meant one thing. He was just another person you could find in any corner of the world. Not an extra, but a random person without any distinctive features.
He closed the message from XOR, the number one web novel platform, and another message came in. Not from Insta or VidTok, but from an unknown reader named 'TTT.'
"Now that isn't just ominous. Does he mean to reference the Truck, Transmigration, Tensei meme? I thought it was already outdated."
Ji-sung sighed. 'It's not like I'm obligated to answer my readers anymore.'
His book was already canceled, so was his exploitative contract.
Upload four chapters of 2k words per day. Always listen to your editors. Readers' opinions are final.
Even then, people still found something to complain about.
"The chapters aren't enough."
"Why is Matthew acting like that?"
Yeah, screw all of them. The story he wrote with so much effort, the novel he poured his heart into, something he wanted his dad to read and brag about. A story he just wanted to complete. Ruined. And for what? A shitty fanbase?
"Tch! Now they complain about the story being bad. Who do they think made it like that?" Ji-sung muttered, irritation lacing his voice.
"Some bastard even said it's because I'm still a teenager, as if that's the fucking problem."
He clicked his tongue again, slamming the delete button before opening the new message.
[Good day, Author-nim.]
That was the first line he read.
He scrolled down, reading the rest of the message.
[Are you tired of life?]
"No," he answered aloud, even though he knew he could not be heard through the screen. Still, he felt compelled to reply.
Except for his dwindling writing career, everything else in his life was fine. So why would he be tired of it? Hell, he even had a manhwa and an anime, so that meant extra income even after the cancellation.
[Do you want to change it? Your story, I mean. You have regrets, don't you?]
He inhaled deeply, staring at the screen illuminating his neat apartment.
He reached toward the keyboard. It had now become second nature to answer every reader.
"Yes, I do."
As though waiting for his reply, a new message arrived.
"😁👍"
His eyes widened at the absurdity of the response. "Emojis?" he asked himself.
He reached for the keyboard again but froze midway as another message popped up.
"🛸📖🌍💫"
"What?" he murmured, confused.
Before he could respond, the legs of his chair creaked, and suddenly he was falling to the ground.
His head slammed into the tiled floor, sending shockwaves of pain through his skull.
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling blood rush to his head and making him dizzy.
Realizing his life was slipping away, he forced his eyes open.
To his surprise, he was no longer in his apartment.
Two boys stood before him, and his body trembled, though he could not feel anything.
His body felt completely alien, and the clothes he wore clung to his sweaty skin as though they belonged to someone else. The fresh scent of spring felt foreign. Even the surroundings were...
"The hell," he muttered, struggling to speak. His voice came out cracked and sore, and the boys in front of him looked down at him like he was some kind of plaything.
Beside him floated a sky-blue, game-like interface.
[Welcome, Author Cha Jin-sung, to the world of Aether... Assimilating with current body.]
'No way...' He quickly looked to his left and right, confusion flooding his senses. 'I've been transmigrated?'