Sunlight peeked through the gaps in the curtains and fell on a boy engrossed in his phone. His mind didn't register that the sun was already up—his world was confined to his screen, and the story on it had his full attention.
The screen displayed Chapter 470 – The End of Everything. His face, however, showed disappointment and a quiet rage that hadn't quite surfaced yet.
He had been a devoted fan of this story for the past year and a half, yet he couldn't bring himself to accept the author's choice for the ending. His mouth tasted bitter as he read through it—the story, with such great pacing, characters, arcs, and fan support, had ended with a whimper. That didn't sit right with him.
With a quiet look of resignation, he set his phone down. He wanted to type out a thank-you comment for his favorite author, but he couldn't. In the end, he decided to remain apathetic. He put the phone aside and tried to catch some sleep before his Monday morning lecture.
When the alarm blared and sunlight shone on his face, the boy woke up and reached for his phone again, hoping to find something—anything—new added to the ending he had loved so much. But there was nothing. That absence mocked him. The comment section was full of complaints, and he didn't want to add his voice to theirs. If he had nothing good to say, he preferred to say nothing at all.
He cleared his head as he walked to class, hair still damp from his shower, the scent of body wash lingering faintly. Sitting beside his friend, he chatted about mundane things until their professor arrived.
The professor commanded attention—young for her role, with looks that made even her students both envy and admire her. She went through her notes, posed a question, and students answered one by one. But one student didn't. She noticed him—the boy staring at his phone rather than at her. She walked over, took the phone from his hands, and told him to see her after class.
The boy felt a strange jitter once his phone was gone. He had been waiting desperately for the release of the novel's epilogue, clinging to the hope of something—anything—different from the disappointing last chapter. The anticipation gnawed at him.
When the lecture finally ended and the professor closed her laptop, he hurried over and demanded his phone back. Instead, she ordered him to follow her.
They reached her office. To his shock, she smirked, jumped into his arms, and kissed him. It was a scene that could have broken countless hearts across campus—she was, after all, the prettiest professor there. But the boy didn't care. He kissed her back, lifting her in his arms and setting her down gently on the table. His kisses grew more desperate, almost otherworldly.
But then the professor realized something—his hands weren't on her. They were behind her, rummaging through her purse for his phone. She pushed him away, glaring with disappointment and warning. He tried to step back, but his foot slipped on something. The last thing he felt was the sharp crack of his head hitting the edge of a table before his vision went dark.
He opened his eyes slightly, finding himself in a hospital bed with his professor at his side. She told him he had struck his head and been unconscious for hours. She had called an ambulance and brought him here.
Despite the throbbing pain, he asked her to leave him alone. Pulling out his phone, he saw it was intact but nearly out of battery. He asked her for a charger, and she handed it over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving. He plugged the phone in. Even after a near brush with death, his mind was consumed with anticipation for the novel's epilogue.
As the device powered up, he opened the web novel app. A sudden spark flared from the phone—and his vision went black again.
When his eyes opened this time, he didn't see a hospital ceiling. Instead, a regal, unfamiliar one stretched above him. At his bedside sat a man dressed like a medieval pastor and a woman in a maid's outfit. At first, their words made no sense, but slowly he began to understand—they were calling him "young master" and staring at him with a mixture of worry and fear.
He asked what had happened. They told him he had fought a King Moropi and been defeated, that he had lost consciousness, and his guards had carried him back.
He stayed silent, his mind filled with questions he didn't dare voice.
When they left, he got up and faced the mirror. The reflection staring back wasn't his own, yet he knew exactly where he was. The mention of "Moropi" confirmed it—a tier-two monster from his favorite novel. He was no longer just a reader. He was inside the story itself, among the monsters, heroes, villains, and the disappointing ending that awaited them all.