The warmth left him almost immediately.
What remained was cold—bone-deep, merciless—seeping into Seojun as he collapsed against the unseen ground. His chest rose and fell in ragged pulls, each breath scraping his throat raw. The migraine returned with a vengeance, pounding like a rejection letter nailed straight into his skull.
*First Nightmare Trial Imminent.*
The words hovered faintly behind his eyes, burned in like an afterimage.
"Yeah… yeah," he rasped, lips cracked. "Queue it up. I'm not going anywhere."
The void didn't answer.
It didn't hurry, either.
It simply waited.
Time stretched, shapeless and cruel. His body betrayed him first—thirst clawed at his throat, a dry, papery rasp no amount of swallowing could soothe. Hunger followed, sharp and vicious, twisting his gut into tight knots. He'd starved himself before, lost in writing binges that blurred days into nights—but this was different.
This was real.
Debilitating.
Seojun pushed himself upright, legs trembling. "Dehydration debuff activated," he muttered to the darkness. "No starter potion? What kind of budget system is this—zero stars."
He focused, summoning the interface.
It shimmered reluctantly into view.
Translucent panels flickered: a log noting the *anomaly resolution*, a thin health bar sliding dangerously into yellow. No mana. No stamina. Just bare, merciless facts.
And one glaring void.
**Aspect: Dormant.**
An empty slot. A mockery.
"Oh, come on." He swiped mentally, irritation flaring. "Inventory? Skills? Anything?"
Nothing.
He tried again, louder in his mind. "Status." Silence.
"Open menu." Nothing.
"Cheat code: infinite water."
The panel didn't even blink.
Seojun exhaled, equal parts annoyed and curious. That moment with the wisp—the *delete*—it had felt like editing a sentence. Focus. Intent. Narrative pressure.
He tried again.
He imagined a water bottle in his hand. Cold plastic. Condensation beading along the surface. The promise of relief—
Pain spiked behind his eyes.
No bottle.
"…Figures," he sighed. "No easy mode. Gotta earn the broken abilities."
He tested smaller changes. The ground beneath him—soft, mattress-like. Nothing. Too much? Or locked?
A low rumble rolled through the void.
Seojun froze.
"…Tutorial boss?"
The hunger sharpened. His vision blurred at the edges. He needed to move—*had* to—but there was nowhere to go.
He prodded the interface again, forming the question in his thoughts.
*How do I awaken?*
A single line surfaced, vague and infuriating.
**Through conflict.
Through narrative resolution.**
"Fantastic," he muttered. "About as helpful as a beta reader saying *'It's good, but it needs work.'*"
The rumble returned—closer now. The air thickened, heavy, like ink spilling through water.
Then something *rose*.
From the darkness ahead, shadow pooled and bubbled, swelling into shape. A mass of black sludge writhed upward, roughly the size of a large dog. Tendrils unfurled, jagged and uneven, their edges resembling torn paper.
Text flickered within its body.
*Incomplete.*
*Abandoned.*
*Needs revision.*
Seojun's breath hitched. "You've gotta be kidding me," he whispered, scrambling backward. "My first monster is my unfinished manuscript? Symbolism much? At least make it a dragon."
The thing gurgled, wet and papery.
Then it spoke.
His voice—warped, distorted—whispered from every direction.
*Worthless… no one reads… just give up…*
Self-doubt, given teeth.
It lunged.
Seojun rolled—more desperation than skill—the tendril slicing through the air where his head had been. He staggered up, legs screaming.
"Not today, therapy blob!"
It chased him, slow but relentless. Tendrils lashed, forcing him into erratic steps. His foot caught uneven ground. He hit hard, pain flaring through scraped palms and bruised knees.
*Think,* he told himself. *You're the author.*
Another strike—too close.
A tendril raked his arm.
White-hot agony exploded across his forearm, like a thousand paper cuts screaming at once. Blood spilled freely, soaking his sleeve.
"Shit—!"
He staggered back, blindly reaching behind him.
His fingers closed around a stone.
Dull. Heavy. Ordinary.
The beast advanced, its core pulsing with corrupted text. Panic surged—and with it, instinct.
Focus.
Intent.
Seojun stared at the stone, mind locking onto it through the haze of pain.
*This isn't a rock.*
*It's a blade.*
*Sharp. Deadly.*
The headache detonated. Pressure built until his vision swam, a thin trickle of blood slipping from his nose.
The stone *changed*.
It elongated, surface smoothing, edges drawing together into a cruel, gleaming point. A dagger formed in his grip.
"Holy—"
The creature charged.
Seojun roared—raw, feral—and drove the blade forward.
It plunged into the creature's core, where the text burned brightest.
A shriek tore through the void, the sound of words being erased. Tendrils flailed, one slamming him aside as black ichor sprayed, sizzling on the ground.
He crashed down hard.
The blade remained buried.
The monster convulsed. The flickering text dissolved—*Incomplete* fading into nothing—
Then it collapsed inward, imploding into wisps of shadow that vanished without a trace.
Silence.
Seojun lay there, gasping, arm bleeding, body screaming.
Alive.
Light exploded behind his eyes.
*First Kill Achieved.*
*Dream Beast (Unfinished Manuscript) Slain.*
*Soul Shards Absorbed.*
*Awakening Initiated.*
Pain followed—searing, overwhelming—as something flooded through him. Energy burned through his veins like liquid fire. Visions surged: pages flipping, narratives colliding, words rewriting themselves.
He screamed as his body arched against the void.
Then—
Stillness.
Warmth settled deep within him. Strength returned. His wound slowed, blood clotting unnaturally fast. The migraine dulled to a distant ache.
The interface reformed, radiant.
**Awakening Complete.**
**Aspect Defined: Flawed Author (Sequence 9)**
**Core Ability Unlocked: Minor Edits**
*Rewrite the narrative properties of small, nearby objects or simple phenomena.*
*Limited scope. High mental cost. Risk of inconsistencies.*
**Flaw Detected: Forgotten Protagonist**
*The world may overlook your existence without active reminder.*
Seojun pushed himself upright, breath unsteady. He glanced at his torn sleeve and focused.
Edit.
The fabric shifted, reshaping into a clean bandage that wrapped snugly around his arm. Exhaustion washed over him—but it worked.
A breathless laugh escaped his lips. "Great. I'm a walking typo fixer. Watch out, apocalypse—nerfed Microsoft Word has entered the chat."
Sarcasm barely masked the thrill.
Power. Real power.
The void felt… quieter now. Less hostile. Dim light revealed faint contours of the ground, like pages under a reading lamp.
Then the rumble returned—deeper this time.
The Trial was coming.
Seojun rose, gripping the dagger, bloodied but standing.
"One down," he said calmly. "If that was the tutorial, I'm ready for the main story."
The interface pulsed.
*First Nightmare Trial Commencing Shortly.*
Seojun smirked, wiping blood from his lip.
"Let's edit this nightmare."