I used to be a writer.
At the age of sixteen, I dropped out of school. My first novel had become a huge hit, transforming me from an unknown kid into a television star and signing autographs seemingly overnight. Back then, I thought life was simple.
Four years later, I decided that I wanted to write something different. Not a sequel or a similar story. Something entirely new.
Deadlines piled up, and the calls from my editor never ceased. To be honest, it was incredibly exhausting. Still, I kept writing desperately, hoping I might create another miracle.
But— that story never got finished.
Even the parts I shared hadn't been accepted by anyone.
"Isn't there any tragedy?" "What about betrayal?" "A twist that grips the heart?"
Those were the voices I heard.
That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to write a story where someone could become strong without suffering. A tale where even an ordinary person with a happy daily life could become a hero. That was the kind of story I wanted to create.
However, no one was looking for something like that.
Gradually, readers drifted away. My contract was terminated.
I wasn't surprised. I knew it would come to this.
Even so— I made up my mind. No matter for whom, I would finish that story for myself.
—But before that.
"…Huh?"
I blinked. One moment, I had been sitting on the couch in my apartment; the next, I found myself standing in a space that was pure white, stretching on endlessly.
There was no floor, no sky. Just an expanse of whiteness.
I tried to speak, but no words came. A sense of discomfort clutched at my chest.
…Where had I gone to school? …Who were my old friends? …What did my mother's voice sound like again?
Memories were slipping through my fingers at an astonishing speed.
And when I looked at my hands— they were beginning to fade.
I wasn't particularly religious, but I always thought there would be something after death. Heaven, reincarnation, that sort of thing.
But this—
This wasn't something so gentle.
It felt as if my very existence was about to be erased from this world.
My very being seemed like it was fading away.
I fought desperately.
I didn't want to disappear. I absolutely did not want to vanish.
That thought grew larger and larger, echoing in my mind like a scream.
There were still things I wanted to do. There were still stories I wanted to tell.
As I felt my limits closing in, thinking I was done for—
—suddenly.
A soft sensation brushed against my cheek.
Startled, I turned around.
…No one was there.
But on my chest, a book had fallen.
A cover pure white with golden embroidery. It was an old book, worn with age.
As I tried to turn its pages, they seemed to extend endlessly, with no end in sight.
At that moment, a name unexpectedly floated into my mind.
"Sarasvati".
…Sara, huh.
With that name, something within my chest awakened.
A miracle.
In an instant, the contours of my body sharpened, and I felt that I was "existing."
I was going to be okay. All I had to do was escape from here!
As if reading my thoughts, the book began to glow softly.
Its form twisted and morphed into a small ship.
…To be honest, I didn't understand what it meant. But there was no time to hesitate, so I jumped aboard.
The boat set off on its own...
"—Soldier! Is this really the time to be dawdling?"
The shouted voice pulled me back into reality.
" No sir!"
Now I find myself—on some massive battlefield. Broken tanks, smoke rising from exploded bombs. Countless corpses scattered everywhere.
I calmly reloaded my gun.
…Seriously, how did it come to this?
The squad leader was shouting something, but honestly, I was hardly paying attention. Then our team got called. We were told to charge into enemy lines and hold our ground as best as we could until other units could flank. Don't die in the meantime, that was the gist of it.
──I see.
So we're just the precious sacrifice for victory, huh?
I exhaled quietly and stood up. My comrades followed suit.
We dashed across the battlefield. There was no fear… at least, that's how it seemed.
Bullets rained around us, and one by one, people fell to the left and right. Yet, I kept running. Even when something pierced my leg, I didn't stop. But then the next shot hit me square in the chest—my body froze in place.
There was hardly any pain. Just the surrounding shouts echoing in my ears.
As my vision darkened, strange letters floated before my eyes.
[FAILED]
(Tch… damn it…)
The next time I opened my eyes, I was on my ship. …Well, calling it a ship is just my personal choice.
I propped myself up and looked around. ─Nothing had changed, same as always.
I let out a deep sigh and muttered to myself.
"...Why does every protagonist have such a tragic past?"
Leaning against the wall, I stared at the ceiling.
Just because you've overcome great misfortune doesn't mean the world is going to let you off easy. It won't let you die. You'll become ridiculously strong at lightning speed, mowing down enemies left and right… but what's lost will never return. Only the scars will remain.
As a former writer, I understood. If you write a character like that, readers would think, 'Ah, they've grown.'
But honestly—I thought that was crap.
You can build a story without forcibly shoving misfortune onto someone.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly, another thought crossed my mind.
"...Speaking of which, what's the difference between fiction and reality?"
I voiced my thoughts.
Is there a clear line drawn like a sharp knife? Or is it more like a gentle slope, slipping away unnoticed?
──I believed it was the latter.
Watching someone's life unfold like a story. But on the other side, someone else might be watching me the same way.
Another sigh escaped my lips.
"...Well, whatever. I'll just continue writing stories without tragedy from now on."
I declared this without an audience to hear.