The Author's Reset

Sigh.

I let out a heavy breath, my fingers tapping out words on the keyboard. What was I typing, you ask? Well, my novel, of course. My precious novel. The one thing keeping me afloat. At this point, I was a web novel author. Not that I'm complaining about my profession—well, maybe a little—but let's be real. It doesn't exactly pay well. But what else could I do? No "normal" jobs wanted me. I wasn't good-looking enough, not in shape enough. So, I was automatically ruled out from most positions in my area. And if you thought my degree would help, well… it didn't. That's exactly why I turned to writing in the first place.

I've always loved stories. I figured, why not write my own? If it made money, even better. I could do something I actually enjoyed and get paid for it. It seemed like the dream job—except it wasn't. Barely scraping by, I was surviving on cheap convenience store meals.

Money wasn't the only problem, though. It was the readers. They complained. Constantly. Criticism, harsh comments, one-star ratings—a never-ending flood of negativity. If they thought I was so bad at what I do, then why didn't they try it? I'd love to see how easy it was to juggle creating a story under this kind of pressure.

When did everything go wrong in my life? I don't need to think too hard. It all started the moment I was born. I was born in Seoul, South Korea, to what seemed like a happy, outgoing family. But it wasn't. Not really. My father was a drunk—angry, volatile. He'd abuse my mother and me, and my mother… well, she did nothing to stop it. She always said it was temporary, that it would stop eventually. But it never did. It wasn't temporary. It was endless.

As a kid, I couldn't fight back, so I withdrew. I stopped talking to people. My only escape was books—web novels, light novels, anything with a fantasy world. It was comforting to lose myself in a world completely different from my own. Who didn't want to be summoned as a hero or an SSS-rank hunter? What started my obsession with fantasy novels was the thrill—the power that protagonists exuded when they defeated the villain. It was a power I craved but never had. I guess I was too afraid to fight back, but who would, with my situation?

Years passed, and by the time I started middle school, I'd learned how to keep my head down. I became good at hiding. I already suffered enough at home; I didn't need more problems at school. My time at school was pretty normal. I didn't really have any friends, but that was fine. School was an escape from my life, and I spent most of my time reading web novels.

But then that day came. It was like any other day in my crappy life. I was walking home from school when I arrived at my apartment. Sometimes, I think if I hadn't opened that door, my life might've turned out differently. But, of course, fate had other plans.

I opened the door to find my mother standing over my father's body, a knife buried deep in his chest. I froze. I didn't know what to do or think. The shock hit me like a freight train. The trauma didn't just hit me—it shattered everything.

Soon after, my mother was arrested and taken away. The headlines screamed: Mother Stabs Husband to Death in Front of Child. And the bullying at school? That didn't take long to start. The kids teased me relentlessly—calling me a freak, the son of a murderer, and many other horrendous things, mocking me for what my mother had done. You'd think adults would intervene, but they could care less.

The years crawled on. I eventually graduated high school. I had hopes of making it into SNU (Seoul National University), so I studied my ass off, but I failed the CSAT. The dream of attending a prestigious university slipped away, leaving me with nothing but a mediocre college education. Thankfully, I got a scholarship, so I didn't need a job right after high school. But when I finished university, I realized something—no one cared about my degree. I had a degree in political science, which couldn't get me an office job, but I still needed money. That's how I ended up here—writing web novels.

"Fuck this."

I shouted as I slammed my laptop shut. Reminiscing about my past only soured my mood, and it didn't help that I was already pissed off by the community following my novel The Hero is Born. It was your typical power fantasy—some would even call it slop. At least my readers did. The basic gist of the plot was this: years ago, on the continent of Elysia, humans lived prosperously until the Demon King and his army attacked, plunging Elysia into chaos. Many died until the gods blessed one human with an insurmountable amount of power. This human was called The Hero. The Hero saved the world from the Demon King, but on his deathbed, he prophesized that another hero would be born many years later, signaling the rebirth of the Demon King.

The protagonist of my novel was this "other" hero, Alex Clay. A commoner born as the hero, the story follows his adventures as he truly becomes the hero, facing off against your typical villains in a power fantasy—arrogant young masters, corrupt government officials, and eventually, the Demon King. Or at least, that was the plan. The problem? Writer's block. I'd been stuck on the ending for over a month, trying to figure out how to wrap up this damn story. And the constant complaining from the readers who called my novel "slop," yet still paid for it and demanded more chapters. It was exhausting.

Sigh.

"I need to get some fresh air."

I got up from my desk. My stomach let out a loud rumble.

"Maybe some food too."

I grabbed my apartment keys and headed out. I eventually reached the street outside my apartment building and spotted a McDonald's across the way. My mouth watered at the thought of it. I was hungry enough to eat fifty McChickens.

As I crossed the street, I spotted a high school girl—judging by her uniform—walking across the road as well. Her eyes were glued to her phone, a wide smile on her face as she enjoyed whatever she was reading. That wasn't what caught my attention, though. What did was the bus barreling down the road toward her, full speed, and showing no signs of slowing down. If I didn't do something, she would die.

"Hey! Watch out behind you!!"

But she didn't hear me. She had earphones in.

"Dammit."

Something took over my body. It moved on its own, and before I knew it, I rushed forward and shoved her out of the way.

Thud.

The bus collided with me, and my body was sent flying to the side, crashing against the ground. The world faded to black.

Shing. Shing. Shing.

I slowly regained my senses. The last thing I remembered was the girl and the bus. Am I dead?

I opened my eyes. The ceiling above me didn't look like a hospital room. I tried to move and was surprised to find I could. As I surveyed my surroundings, I noticed the lavish furniture and extravagant decorations on the walls. This didn't look like a hospital. It looked more like the room of some aristocrat from a history book.

I got out of bed and started walking around, confused. Where was I?

Then I saw a mirror.

I didn't focus on it at first, just glancing by, but something in the corner of my eye made me stop. I turned back and walked toward the mirror.

My jaw dropped.

"What the fuck…"

I stared at my reflection. But it wasn't me. The young man staring back at me didn't look like the person I knew. He was no older than sixteen, with pure black hair and light blue eyes. He had a strikingly handsome face—much more aesthetic than mine, at least. But then again, anyone probably looked better than I did.

As I stared at the mirror, it finally hit me.

I had been reincarnated. Into another world.

I'd read enough novels to recognize this setup. The protagonist has an accident and then wakes up in a completely unknown place. Sometimes he's reborn as a baby, sometimes he just appears with his old body, or sometimes, like I suspected happened to me, the protagonist possesses the body of someone—usually from a game or novel…

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I punched the wall next to the mirror, leaving a dent in it. I'm in my novel! Why, why, why?! Literally anywhere else would have been better than this world—it's a shit hole. Even the protagonist had to go through it, and he was the hero. I'm in this world as someone unknown, a nobody. But maybe this wasn't so bad. A second chance at life. A good life. A life where I have the power I've always wanted. It was actually something achievable.

A smirk appeared on my face. After all…

"This is a world I created."