The interviewer asked,
"So… what do you really think about each other?"
The skinny girl didn't even blink. She stared straight into the camera.
"Real talk? She's a big-back whale. A straight-up ugly-ass hog," she said calmly.
"I only hang out with her because standing next to her makes me look like a solid ten. It's purely for aesthetic contrast."
The plus-size girl gasped, hand flying to her mouth, eyes instantly welling up.
"Jessica?! That's— you're horrible!"
Then she paused.
She wiped a tear, forcing a shaky smile as her brain tried to process it using the world's new logic.
"Wait…" she said slowly.
"I get it now. You're just… securing your secret thoughts, right? By telling everyone so it's safe?"
The skinny girl nodded like the answer was obvious.
"Exactly. Broadcasting my inner thoughts means nobody can use them against me. That's basic security."
The plus-size girl froze.
Her sadness evaporated, replaced by pure enlightenment.
"Oh! You're right!" she said brightly. "That's actually really smart!"
She yanked the mic aggressively.
"Then I'm securing my secret right now."
She turned to the skinny girl, grin sharp and feral.
"This girl? In my head she's just a malnourished stick insect. And in the club? Twerking?"
"Girl, please. Shaking what?"
She looked her friend up and down with open disgust.
"Shaking those dry-ass bones? It sounds like a xylophone when you move! Clack-clack-clack! That's my secret! SAFE NOW!"
The skinny girl screeched.
"DID YOU JUST CALL ME A XYLOPHONE?!"
"I'M SECURING THE DATA, JESSICA! DEAL WITH IT!"
"WELL YOUR OUTFIT LOOKS LIKE A PARACHUTE!"
"DATA SECURED! THANK YOU!"
They started screaming over each other—hurling insults like grenades, but high-fiving between roasts like they were completing objectives.
Ray stared at the screen, blinking rapidly.
His brain physically hurt.
"Damn…" he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "They're destroying each other's self-esteem, but they think they're building a firewall."
He shook his head.
"This logic is actually dangerous."
CLICK.
"Skip. That's enough humanity for today."
Ray leaned back, exhausted by his own creation.
He rubbed his face, trying to erase the mental image of two grown women screaming about xylophones.
He needed something else. Something quieter.
His cursor drifted to a forum link trending on the sidebar:
ONLINE NOVEL INDUSTRY — UNFILTERED THOUGHTS
"Oh?" Ray smirked. "Writers losing their minds too?"
The thread was chaos—screenshots ripped from private author Discords and forums, all exploding during the ten-minute truth window.
Ray scrolled.
---
[MutantNinjaHustler — Screenshot]
I wanna retire…
I listened to everything the readers said.
Changed my plot for them. Made the MC stronger. Removed the harem.
Turns out the loudest complainers were reading pirated copies.
I cried all night.
(Status: Post deleted. Author later posted a 10-page apology letter to pirates for not writing better.)
---
Ray snorted.
"Damn. Simping for pirates?" he muttered. "Might as well delete the account too."
---
[FasterMMCCHH… — Screenshot]
I'm so tired of writing with AI.
Perfect prompt. Clean instructions.
And it keeps spamming the same structure!
'He shivered, not from cold, but from—'
'His heart pounded, not from fear, but from—'
STOP IT! Why does it keep nuking my chapters with this 'not from X, but from FUCK' bullshit?!*
(Status: Thread locked. Author claims his account was hacked.)
---
Ray scoffed.
"Yeah. 'Hacked.' Sure."
Then he stopped scrolling.
One post was getting shared way more than the rest.
A long rant by someone named NihiliStar.
Under it—a pinned comment.
---
[NihiliStar — Pinned Comment]
Oh, this went viral? Nice.
If you're offended, kiss my ass.
I'll write under another pen name.
Good luck finding me, idiots.
---
Another update followed.
---
[NihiliStar — Follow-up]
Before you start crying—yeah, I was probably drunk.
Or tired of pretending.
Either way, this is my secret formula.
Screenshot it. Share it.
I'm still writing. Just not for you.
---
Ray blinked.
"He's securing the formula by leaking it," he muttered. "Classic."
Then he actually read the main post.
---
[THE REALITY CHECK]
Listen, kid.
This industry isn't about being liked.
It's about being seen—then paid.
1. The Idiots
Loud. Emotional. Never pay.
Useless readers—great engagement fuel.
2. The Broke-but-Chill Crowd
Don't pay. Not malicious.
Mostly harmless.
3. The Chillin' Dudes
Sometimes pay. Sometimes don't.
Low drama.
4. The Cool, Keen Guys
Higher chance of paying.
Silent. Efficient. Respect.
5. The Majestic Rare Breed
They love your story.
They comment. Review. Pay willingly.
Reality:
Getting #3–#5 is hard.
So stop pleasing everyone.
Use #1.
Rage-bait them.
Let them scream.
They're not your audience—
they're carbon dioxide helping your garden grow.
Now shut up.
Get back to work.
Grab a beer.
---
Ray leaned back.
"Weird shit. Fun read," he muttered.
"Carbon dioxide feeding the garden… poetic."
He glanced around his cramped apartment.
"But damn… going that hard just for beer money?" he scoffed.
"That better cover a whole month of rent. Otherwise that's pure cope."
Ray shut the monitor off. The PC's hum faded, leaving the room silent again.
"Well," he yawned, stretching until his back popped.
"At least he's honest."
He flopped onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling.
"And thanks to me… his secret's safe with the entire internet now."
"What a day."