3/3/2030
The weekend is quiet.
Han Juho sits on the sofa in his quiet apartment, alone, phone in hand. The pale glow of the screen is the only thing illuminating his face in the morning's dim light. His eyes scroll lazily through a familiar list, there's so many completed novels he's been meaning to start, and new updates from ongoing series he follows casually. But his thumb stops when he reaches the bottom of the screen.
Villain Overkill.
His library shows the status clearly:
< VILLAIN OVERKILL >
363 chapters
Last update: 1,499 days ago
Last read: 1,491 days ago
He discovered it back when he was still a second-year middle schooler. Back when he had time to binge entire novels in a single weekend. And he remembered Villain Overkill was one of those.
It's the kind of story that made him ignore his meals, stay up until dawn, and text his one friend who also read it with caps-locked reactions every time a new chapter dropped.
It was also one of the most exciting and promising fantasy stories that he had always been waiting for every week. But out of nowhere, on the fateful day of February 2026, the updates stopped suddenly, leaving him and other readers on a cliffhanger.
"Four years..." he murmured softly, his eyes dropping low as his fingers scrolled past 363 chapters, finally stopping at the last update. "If only the author were still active, maybe the novel would have an ending by now."
Because to him, four years was more than enough to finish a full-length novel, at least, if one were consistent enough. He never opened Villain Overkill again after that last chapter, because he never forgot how it felt.
He still remembers the ache that started to form in his chest when he realized there would be no more next week, the hollow disappointment that lingered longer than it should have for just a story, and the way he kept checking for updates for months afterward, even though he already knew what the answer was gonna be.
But now, he decided to click on the first chapter of Villain Overkill.
Juho isn't actually the type to revisit stories. Once he finishes something (or in this case, doesn't finish it), he moves on. There's always something new to read and another world to explore, and for him, rereading wouldn't feel the same anymore the second time he read it.
But today, for some reason, he wants to see the beginning again. His thumb scrolls past the latest chapter on the top to the bottom of the first chapter, and he went to click it. After doing that, his gaze fell on the note at the very beginning, and his thumb stilled over the screen, his expression grew a little more thoughtful.
There it is.
"Even if no one reads this, I'II still write. Because maybe, someday, someone will need this story. Even if that someone is... me."
- Mu-myeong
When Juho's eyes traced the line once more, his expression contorted with a feeling he didn't want to acknowledge too closely. He stared at it in silence for a moment before closing his eyes, letting out a soft sigh, shaking his head.
Back then, perhaps the author hadn't expected their work to attract anyone at all when they first started, and maybe that's why they wrote this sentence. A quiet hope that someday, someone would need it.
But if only the star had known. Someone, although just one, was still waiting for the continuation of their story, even now.
Because for years, Juho had carried that hope quietly. Once in a while, on weekends like this, he would find himself scrolling through the comment sections, checking for any sign of life. He'd visit the novel's page, stare at the last update date, and wonder what happened to the author and what the continuation would be if one day it updated again.
But he never reread the chapters, even though this story was one of his favorites. That would require going back, immersing himself again in a world that would only remind him of what he couldn't have.
Even so, he remembered every single moment that had made a big impression on him when reading it. The excitement he felt when a twist that had been foreshadowed long before it happened—finally hit, the satisfaction when a plan came together, and the subtle ache when he witnessed a character who had been with the protagonist for a while suffer.
He remembered all of it, just not the details. While the author's last update a few years ago explained that they were struggling with real-life issues, and because of that, they decided to go on hiatus and take a temporary break.
He had stopped checking the title regularly after the first year, but he never stopped hoping entirely. Since they promised to return once things settled in their life, and yet to this day, there have been no more updates from them.
Though, it actually wasn't the first time this had happened. The same author had written a virtual reality themed novel a few years before this one.
How had that one ended again? Oh, right, it didn't. Some time after Villain Overkill was published, the author stated they wanted to remake and continue the virtual reality novel only after Villain Overkill was finished. However, with the way things are unfolding right now... it seems that promise will never come true.
He'd thought about that one every now and then, though never as much as his favorite. Still, looking at it now, he can't help but think that writers had a certain knack for vanishing right when things in the story were starting to heat up.
Han Juho let out a soft sigh and leaned back on the couch, his head lolling on the backrest edge, staring up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. His strands of hair shifted with the faint breeze, brushing against his eyes. He blinked but didn't move them away.
"It's okay," he muttered under his breath. 'Even amazing writers have lives of their own.'
Still, there was no masking the bitter sting of seeing such an incredible work now abandoned. It felt like a betrayal in a way, and not just to the story, but also to the version of himself that had lived and breathed within those pages. The story might have stopped, but the feelings it gave him are permanent.
He wanted to be angry, but at the end of the day, he'd also read it for free. So it didn't make sense for him to throw a fit. Besides, anger required a target, and the author was clearly out of reach. So what was the point of shouting into an empty room? And so, the silent disappointment and despair turned into a helpless yearning and wonder.
Because he kept thinking about Seo Seonwoo's fate if the story had continued. Would he be okay? And what would happen to his enemies? No matter how much he told himself to stop wondering about what might have been and to just move on, he couldn't.
The world the author created was so rich, with characters who possessed a complexity that felt raw and human. Yet, it was that very quality that made everything feel so much more painful when he read it. The story was so well-written that the protagonist's struggles didn't feel like mere words on a screen anymore, they felt like a weight Juho somehow had to carry himself with every decision that was made in the story.
The author's world-building was undeniably rich, but it was the character-driven depth that made everything hurt so much more. The two worked together, each decision the protagonist made, each struggle he faced, didn't feel like words in a novel anymore. They felt like a weight Juho somehow had to carry himself.
It was suffocating to watch a world so "alive" come to a sudden, unresolved halt. The fact that such an incredible work was left abandoned cut much deeper for him than if the story had been mediocre from the start.
Juho also remembered one particular scene, somewhere in the final chapters before the story stopped updating. Seo Seonwoo, the protagonist of Villain Overkill, was betrayed by a woman known only as the "Woman in a Blue Dress".
She had been by Seonwoo's side during several crucial moments in the story. Funnily enough, it only just hit him that he didn't even know her real name, and he had never even given it a real thought until now. The author simply never revealed it, and they hid it so perfectly that he never really got the need to question it back then.
And yet, that was the very question that gnawed at him now. Why? Why would she abandon Seonwoo in the middle of the trial? There was no ulterior motive that can be exposed at the moment either, and considering the novel has not been updated for years, it looks like it will stay that way forever.
"Tsk." Juho clicked his tongue, his forehead furrowing the more he dwelled on the thought. It bothered him, that lack of closure. He pushed himself off the backrest, dragged his body forward until his elbows rested on his knees, and set his phone down on the coffee table.
With a deep sigh, he stared at the TV placed across from him, the silence of the room pressing in. Slowly, his mind drifted toward his own dreams, buried beneath the harsh reality.
"Writing a novel..." Juho whispered bitterly to himself. He had once dreamed of being a writer, inspired by his love of reading.
Unfortunately, life always had a way of pushing his dreams further out of reach, and one of the main factors were his parents. While they never actually demanded anything, their hope for his future was clear: they wished for the stability and respectability of a career in law, specifically, becoming a lawyer.
Of course, being the understanding parents they were, they didn't mind if Juho didn't aim to be a lawyer. As long as he was happy with his choice, they would support his decision and be happy too.
Although it wasn't really what he wanted, in the end he was willing to try to follow that path. If only they had been strict and demanding, maybe he would have rebelled under the pressure. But precisely because they were kind, he suddenly couldn't bring himself to let them down.
Writing? That was always something for later, and with each passing day, that later felt more distant than ever.
'...What if he had pursued writing more seriously back then and just write, without fearing it would be ugly?' he wondered, his eyes that fixed on the table are now glistening with a hint of melancholy. Perhaps, in another timeline, things would have turned out differently.
He kept staring at the table for a moment longer before finally closing his eyes, shaking his head slightly to push the thought aside, and reminded himself not to dwell on it too much.
And so, with a quiet sigh, he glanced around the room before reaching for his phone. Just as his finger brushed against it, a sharp sting suddenly shot through his hand.
"Ah!" He hissed and reflexively threw it far to the ground, instantly regretting it as it hit the floor with a loud thud. "Good grief..." he muttered, shaking his head as he imagined the damage on his phone right now. "What just happened...?"
He was about to pick up the phone again, but his movements came to a halt when he felt a faint tremble beneath his feet. He looked down first, then glanced outside, his expression confused, wary of the strange disturbance.
Was it just his feeling, or was there really something going on outside?
Before Juho could investigate, a loud bzzzz noise came from his television out of nowhere, and before he could even register it, the screen flickered to life on its own, making him freeze.
It wasn't a show or a commercial shown on the screen, it was an emergency government broadcast. The emblem of the Republic of Korea appeared and stayed for several seconds, followed by a serious-looking man in front of the camera.
"Attention, citizens of the Republic of Korea," the man began, his expression firm. "This is a national emergency broadcast. An unknown phenomenon has caused massive data corruption, resulting in extensive data loss. Online systems, including critical infrastructure, have been severely compromised. The event appears to have been caused by an unknown force."
The camera cut to another location, high above, there's a shaky aerial shot of a colossal creature tearing through the city. It moved with horrifying weight, each step cracking asphalt and toppling streetlights like twigs. Its shape was wrong, asymmetrical, something between a reptile and a nightmare.
It only took a second for Juho's eyes to widen in shock as he recognized the skyline. The revelation made his legs nearly give out beneath him. "Seoul?!"
Of course it had to be Seoul.
His voice came out strangled, clearly troubled by the revelation, "Was that the reason I kept hearing those strange noises in the distance?" he muttered to himself in contemplation, clutching his hands into fists until his knuckles ached, but he couldn't look away from the screen.
Panicked screams filled the background of the television. The camera flickered again, now focusing on a figure in a black hood, judging by the angle and how windy it is, it seemed to be recorded from a helicopter.
The figure moved like a shadow through the city, dragging a bloody crowbar. Their face was hidden, yet their presence was unusually calm amidst the chaos. Despite the violence in their movement at attacking passerby, there was a strange, almost graceful motion caught on the camera.
"Reports indicate that many areas have also been invaded by many unidentified creatures," the man continued, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of the podium.
"Additionally, there are reports of a mysterious individual in a black hood, captured on camera earlier. They have been confirmed at multiple locations and are believed to be teleporting rapidly between areas."
"This person was seen carrying a crowbar, and has been observed attacking innocent lives. Citizens are strongly advised to remain cautious when leaving their homes and to avoid any suspicious individuals."
Suddenly, loud sirens began to wail in the distance. Faint at first, but sharp enough to make him hear it despite living on the seventh floor. Juho held his breath. The closer the sound got, the more his anxiety spiked. He could feel the vibrations deep in his ribs, his heart pounding.
Subconsciously, his fingers curled into fists, fingernails pressing into his palms. His expression tightened, forehead creasing with worry.
At a time like this, his gaze drifted toward the framed family photo hanging on the wall. His mother's gentle smile, his father, slightly awkward in front of the camera, and him—standing in the middle as their only child. The wooden frame now also sat slightly crooked, maybe from the tremors of the unknown creature.
He inhaled deeply, slowly, trying to steady himself. But the atmosphere felt heavier now with tension, as if he couldn't help but wonder about their situation right now. Were they safe outside the city? Somewhere quieter than here, supposedly? His thoughts spiraled, traffic jams, chaos, or worse things than these sirens.
Juho took a shaky breath once again, wiping his face. His fingers were trembling ever so slightly. In his entire life, he had never heard sirens with this kind of urgency before, let alone been alone in the middle of it. Meanwhile, the broadcast continued.
"We urge you to stay tuned and wait for further instructions. Please prioritize your safety and cooperate with local authorities. The Republic of Korea is currently in contact with other countries to address this crisis. Until further notice, remain on alert, and most importantly, stay safe."
The broadcast cuts to a motionless screen, displaying only an emergency hotline and a text instructing citizens to remain vigilant.
The sudden silence felt more deafening than the sirens outside. Juho flinched, as if yanked back into reality. With urgency, he bent down to resume his movement to pick up his phone from the floor. He brushed it lightly to make sure the screen hadn't cracked, then quickly unlocked it.
His first thought wasn't about the monster or the hooded figure anymore. It was about the two people he worried about the most. He dialed his mother's number, his heartbeat syncing with the dial tone that never came.
Click. Instead of his mother's gentle voice, a flat, mechanical recording answered. "The call cannot be connected. Please check the number and try again…"
"Come on... pick up. Please," he muttered, switching to his father's number. Nothing. He tried again and again until his thumb felt stiff, but the network had already collapsed, probably from too many people doing the same thing at once.
Juho let his phone hang limply at his side. The feeling of isolation on the seventh floor suddenly felt ten times more suffocating. He stared at the screen as it began to dim, realizing he was truly alone in the middle of this madness.
His arm now fell slack against his body, but his eyes remained fixed on the static-filled TV screen. His thoughts, which had been focused on his parents, now began to branch out, spinning hard, trying to process the flood of overlapping information.
Monsters? Someone in a black hood? Everything he had just heard sounded like a movie script or the chapters of the fiction he often read. But the pulse still racing in his neck and the blaring noises outside were real proof that this wasn't a dream.
He squinted as an absurd thought suddenly slipped in between his fear. He swiped up to close the phone app, returning to the home screen.
'Wait... if this madness is actually happening in the real world... What about that novel?'
Expecting to find the novel right where he had left off before the phone fell, he reopened the light novel site. But somehow, it loaded slower than usual. He had a bad feeling about this.
After a few moments of waiting... It was empty. There were no recommendations for plenty of novels like he had always seen before, just a blank page, but the search bar was still there.
Hesitant, he typed in the title that had been on his mind: Villain Overkill. As he hit enter, the website loaded, and what appeared next made his heart race, his worst fear had just materialized before his eyes.
"The novel you are looking for is... unavailable?"