The finality of the toast, the warmth of Byul's hand, and the fading faces of his children had all dissolved into a singular, crushing darkness.
For a long time—though time had no meaning in this place—Kim Hajin drifted.
He was a wisp of light in an ocean of darkness.
He waited for the transition.
He expected to find himself anchored to the core of his novel, a silent sentinel supporting the world he had come to love.
Or perhaps, the "Co-Author" would force him slip back into the mundane reality of Earth, an author who had finally finished his masterpiece.
But the silence wasn't peaceful; too loud.
It was stagnant.
It felt like a story that had been put on hiatus by a writer who had lost his way.
'Is this it?' Hajin thought, his consciousness rippling. 'Is this the 'end' after all that?'
Suddenly, the darkness shattered.
[FATAL ERROR!]
[System settings are colliding with an external narrative!]
[New Update incoming!]
[Time: (7(@($Q*#@())(@()#(*)**($@ min. HOuR$S]
[Re-configuring... Re-con... Err...]
Hajin felt like he had seen that message before...
'But when..?'
Then, white.
Once again, silence.
A deep, profound, and unnatural silence that didn't just ring in his ears but resonated in his very marrow.
Kim Hajin's first coherent thought was: I'm not dead.
His second was: Where the hell is this?
He pushed himself up, his palms pressing against a surface that felt as smooth and cold as glass, yet glowed with a soft, internal radiance.
He was no longer in the black void.
He was in a room—or rather, a space that mimicked the concept of a room.
It was an endless, pristine white.
He looked down at his hands.
He froze.
These weren't the hands of Kim Chundong. The palms were not of old man, but of young Kim Hajin.
They weren't the hands of the "Extra" who had trained at Cube and fought against Djinns, monsters, Baal and Djinns.
After decades of living in another man's skin, the difference was visceral.
These fingers were slightly longer, the calluses from the rifle were gone, and the skin held the faint paleness of someone who spent too much time behind a computer screen.
This was Kim Hajin.
His original body.
His original self.
A strange, overwhelming urge to hug himself—to verify that he was whole—surged through him, but he suppressed it as three distinct windows manifested in the air, flickering with the colors of gold, gray, and black.
[The 'Forgotten Archive' of the Sixth Pillar has been unsealed!]
[The 'Fragment of a Censored World' is resonating with your Story.]
[You have acquired a new Giant Story!]
Hajin stared at the messages, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Viewpoint of Mysterious Extra?
It was the name he had heard in his dreams.
'Story? Fable? Conclusion? What is it even supposed to mean?'
"Co-Author?" Hajin called out, his voice sounding hauntingly clear in the white void. "Is this your idea of a final decision? I already chose to stay!"
He expected the ordinary-faced man to appear, to offer another cryptic explanation about dimensions and authorial permission.
Instead, he saw two people standing a few meters away.
One was a man in a white coat, his eyes dark and impossibly deep, looking like a reader who had reached the final page.
The other was a gentleman in a black suit, a silver-headed cane in his hand and a gentelman top hat made him look like he's came to Comic con.
Hajin's breath hitched.
"You guys..." Hajin rasped, his eyes widening. "Who are you?"
***
The shrill, rhythmic chirp of an alarm clock echoed through the room, the "First Scenario" of a mundane morning.
Kim Dokja groaned, his hand fumbling for the phone on the nightstand before silence finally reclaimed the air.
He didn't get up immediately.
Instead, he turned his head. Beside him, buried under a mountain of blankets, was Han Sooyoung. Her short black hair was a messy nest, and her face looked far softer in sleep than it ever did when she was awake and threatening to kill someone with a lemon candy in her mouth.
Dokja leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.
"Wake up, Sooyoung-ah."
She didn't wake up, but she did let out a disgruntled mumble.
Taking that as his cue, Dokja slipped out of bed and headed for the kitchen. By the time the smell of charred toast and coffee began to drift into the bedroom, Sooyoung had managed to drag herself into a sitting position, looking like a grumpy ghost.
"Good morning," Dokja said, sliding a plate of toast onto her lap. "Do you know where Yoo Joonghyuk is? He wasn't in the other room."
Han Sooyoung's eyes snapped open, a flash of annoyance cutting through her drowsiness.
"Yah! Why do you always ask about him the second you breathe? I'm not his lawyer or his secretary, bruh. Probably at the company practicing, or with Seolhwa-ssi."
Dokja shook his head.
"Seolhwa-ssi is still sleeping, so let's be quiet."
Sooyoung pouted, looking genuinely annoyed, but she still took a massive, aggressive bite of the toast Dokja had prepared.
Suddenly, Dokja's phone buzzed.
He looked down to see a notification from [Sunfish Bastard].
Sunfish Bastard: I'm preparing for the prelims.
Dokja stared at the screen for a minute, expecting that to be the end of it. He was about to put the phone down when another bubble popped up.
Sunfish Bastard: I'll be early today.
Sunfish Bastard: I'll make Murim Dumplings with Chicken Broth.
A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corners of Dokja's mouth.
"Is it him again?" Sooyoung interrupted, pointing her fork at him. "At this point, you two should just become lovers. Honestly, the tension is exhausting."
Dokja looked up, a look of faux-innocence on his face. "Lovers? Our relationship is much deeper than you think, Sooyoung-ah."
Sooyoung chuckled darkly, though she looked puzzled for a moment.
"Why am I not even jealous? It's just... pathetic."
Dokja's phone buzzed again. He looked back down.
Sunfish Bastard: Not for you.
Dokja froze.
'Not for me? This bastard is unserious.'
Sunfish Bastard: For Seolhwa.
Dokja felt a vein pulse in his temple.
'Then, why did you even text me?!'
An ominous, petty smile began to form on his lips as he deliberately closed the app, leaving the message on 'Read.' He wasn't going to answer.
He was going to let that "Sunfish" marinate in silence for the rest of the morning.
"Yah!" Sooyoung yelled, her voice reaching a pitch that meant trouble. "Shibal! In fact, you should be more in love with me than with that stupid main character that I created, you stupid reader! I'm the Author! You must love me more!"
She looked genuinely offended, her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and something else she'd never admit to. Dokja simply leaned in, ignoring her frantic gesturing, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
"Of course I love you, tls123-nim."
The anger in her eyes faltered for a second, replaced by a sudden, stunned silence. But before she could retort, Dokja's phone vibrated again.
A different sound.
Han Sooyoung exploded. "Either you put that damn phone down right now or I will kill you! I'll rewrite your life into a tragedy!"
Dokja looked down, his brow furrowed. "I'm sorry, Sooyoung... but it's not funny, how you are doing it."
"Doing what?" she snapped.
"Is this one of your pranks? That the novel became reality again?"
Han Sooyoung tilted her head, her anger shifting into confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Dokja turned the phone toward her.
The screen was no longer showing his chat with the 'Sunfish.'
It was a pristine, blinding white—the exact same terrifying blankness she used to see on Dokja's smartphone when Three Ways to Survive in a Ruined World became reality.
But on the white screen, three lines of text were being written in real-time.
Alov: You are one of the reasons I could complete this story. Thank You.
Kim Dokja: Who are you? Where did you get my number?
Alov: Don't worry. I'm just a big fan of your story. You'll recall it soon.
[■■ 'The Last Witness of the Unwritten End' has sent you an item!]
Before Sooyoung could even process the words, a massive blue window manifested in the center of the bedroom, shimmering with the weight of a Great Story.
[The 'Forgotten Archive' of the Sixth Pillar has been unsealed!]
[The 'Fragment of a Censored World' is resonating with your Story.]
A sudden, violent sense of deja vu hit Dokja.
He almost expected Bihyung to burst through the ceiling, but instead, he felt a massive, invisible suction force.
The laws of the room—the gravity, the scent of toast, the reality of his home—began to warp.
"Dokja-ya!" Sooyoung stood up, the blanket falling away as she reached for him.
The last thing Dokja saw before the world dissolved into light was her panicked, shifting expression, her hand outstretched to grab a man who was already slipping into a different narrative.
***
The Spirit World shifted in kaleidoscopic fractals as the trio tore through the vacuum of the cosmos.
Behind them, the stars of the Milky Way were mere pinpricks; ahead, the very fabric of space-time seemed to groan under the weight of an approaching singularity.
"So," Lumian Lee broke the silence, his blood-red hair whipping in the conceptual wind of their traversal. "The great Lord of Mysteries is following a 'dream' to the center of the universe? Honestly, Mr. Fool, maybe you should have asked Miss Justice for a psychiatric evaluation before we left. I hear she's very good at treating... delusions."
Klein turned a deadpan gaze toward Lumian. The years of madness and the burden of the Circle of Inevitability had clearly stripped the young man of his last shred of caution.
The Lumian of a decade ago wouldn't have dared to joke about Audreyl's treatment, let alone to a Pillar of the Universe.
"My intuition isn't a delusion, Lumian," Klein replied, his voice echoing with the authority of the gray fog. "Something within the Lord of Mysteries' position is vibrating in resonance with that point. It's not a request; it's a gravity."
"We needed him as a backup plan, remember?" Amon added, adjusting his monocle with a smirk.
'Backup plan?' Klein lampooned internally. 'If I had known you'd convince this lunatic to join us, I'd have turned you into the Sequence 1 characteristics the moment I found out you were still alive.'
"Because 'She' is there," Amon continued, his playful tone dropping into something sharper.
"She?" Lumian asked, his thumb tracing the hilt of a hidden blade.
"The Mother Goddess of Depravity," Klein muttered. "For some reason, she has entrenched herself deep within the center of the universe. Her Sefirot, her essence... they are all anchored there, guarding it."
They reached the epicenter.
Before them lay a deep, swirling vortex—a hole in reality that seemed to be drinking the light of the entire galaxy. Guarding it was a figure that defied the sanity of any observer.
She was composed of countless birthing organs, a haphazard pile of life-giving horror that pulsed with a rhythmic, sickening thrum.
Swirling smoke and crimson moonlight intertwined around her to form an accretion-disk-like extension that served as clothing. Yet, atop this mountain of biological chaos sat the head of a human woman.
Her features—the flawless facial structure, the long brown hair, and the piercing crimson eyes—were the very definition of "Beauty."
She radiated a maternal brilliance that was as intoxicating as it was corruptive.
The Mother Goddess of Depravity opened her eyes. Her gaze swept over them, lingering with predatory intensity on Lumian.
"Why are the intruders here?" she asked, her voice a harmonious melody that made the gray fog in Klein's mind ripple.
"What are you looking at?" Lumian barked, his eyes narrowing.
Klein sighed. "I really should have left him on that planet."
Amon stepped forward, pointing at the deep vortex. "We need to go there."
The Goddess's eyes scanned the trio, her maternal warmth turning into a frigid, cosmic barrier.
"Why should I allow you? That vortex contains the remnants of my Father. Neither I nor any of my children could absorb that legacy, much less enter it. You would be erased before you could even perceive the threshold."
"Father?" Klein couldn't help but lampoon out loud. "A father who you also had children with? Truly 'high-level' relationships."
The Goddess's face remained flawless, but the pile of organs beneath her shifted aggressively.
"I cannot let you desecrate the Origin."
Lumian stepped forward.
"Lumian what are you doing?"
Behind them appeared another existence.
Circle of Inevitability.
"It's time for me to restart a cycle..." Circle whispered.
Lumian smiled—a sharp, manic expression.
He pointed his thumb back at the swirling symbol of Inevitability behind them and interrupted 'Him' half-way.
"Obey, oh 'Mother,' or I'll invoke the birth of the Fourth Pillar. I'm sure you'd love to see the universe terminate prematurely just because you wouldn't let us have a look inside."
Klein's heart—or the conceptual equivalent—panicked.
'He's truly crazy. I'm going to kill Amon later for this. The whole universe might die just because Lumian wanted to win an argument with an Outer Deity.'
Amon simply smiled.
"So, what do you choose? The termination of everything, or letting us check the mail?"
The Mother Goddess went silent, the crimson moonlight around her flickering.
"Mysteries."
Finally, she raised a finger—or a fleshy protrusion that Klein refused to categorize—and pointed directly at Klein.
"Just him."
Lumian chuckled.
Amon nodded, stepping back.
Klein flew toward the vortex, but as he neared the edge, he slammed into an invisible, iron-clad barrier.
A corruptive, distant voice echoed from the Goddess: "That is what I meant."
Suddenly, something tore itself out of Klein's inner existence.
A black box, etched with symbols that looked like both occult runes and computer code, materialized in the air.
It dissolved into the vortex.
Before Klein's eyes, a glitching message appeared, flickering like a high-dimensional painting that was being forcibly overwritten.
[Item 'Key of the Forgotten Archive (???)' was used!][1]
Noticing the change, the Mother Goddess shrieked and lunged toward Klein, but Lumian was already there, the light of War clashing with her crimson moonlight to buy a single second.
The vortex expanded.
The suction was absolute.
As Klein was pulled into the singularity, the gray fog of Sefirah Castle was replaced by a series of unusual, yet hauntingly familiar system messages.
[Congratulations!]
[You have unlocked 'The Forgotten Archive'!]
[The 'Fragment of a Censored World' is resonating with your Story.]
The cosmos vanished. The Goddess's scream faded.
Klein Moretti opened his eyes to a world of perfect, infinite white.
He stood frozen, his hand still gripped around the silver head of his cane.
For the first time in centuries, the connection to Sefirah Castle was barely perceptible. The grand symbolisms of the Fool, the Door, and the Error felt like heavy, rusted anchors dragging in a sea of nothingness.
His authorities were distant echoes, muffled by a weight that felt older than the stars.
He narrowed his eyes and activated his Spirit Vision.
The world didn't turn into the usual kaleidoscope of colors.
Instead, he saw two souls standing before him.
One was blinding, radiating a brilliance that rivaled the sun itself—warm, golden, and terrifyingly dense.
The other soul was... perplexingly ordinary. It was the soul of a man who lived and breathed through stories, yet in his hands, he held an item that made Klein's spiritual intuition scream.
It was a bulbous, shifting thing—a hybrid of Holy Garlic and Onion that looked like a nightmare birthed from Frank Lee's most prohibited experiments.
"Who are you?" Kim Hajin asked, his voice cracking slightly.
He was staring at his own hands, seemingly more preoccupied with the fact that he was back in his original body than the cosmic anomaly standing before him.
"You..." Kim Dokja interrupted, his eyes wide with a shock that bordered on reverence. "You're from the dreams!"
Ten minutes passed in a blur of frantic explanations and shared confusion.
They sat—or stood, the concept of a floor being purely optional—and dissected the "Forgotten Archive."
Klein explained his role in opening it; Hajin spoke of the update that had pulled him from the void; Dokja spoke of the morning that had dissolved into white.
Normally, these three would have been reaching for their weapons or calculating a hundred ways to plot the next move against each other. Klein was a god of secrets; Hajin was a master of rationalized survival; Dokja was a man who trusted no one but the script.
Yet, here, a strange, unnatural familiarity bound them.
It felt as if they had been childhood friends who had simply forgotten each other's names.
"So, what do we do next?" Hajin asked, his social awkwardness fading into a weirdly comfortable silence whenever he looked at Klein.
"I received an item," Dokja said, pulling the shifting vegetable into the light. A blue menu manifested in the air, accessible only to him.
===
[The Holy Garlic and Onion]
[Hidden Piece – you may choose one of the following three blessings.]
—Change the Trait. [Note: The changes may be unexpected and irreversible. The System highly recommends NOT choosing this option.]
̶ ̶̷̶—̶̷̶R̶̷̶e̶̷̶s̶̷̶t̶̷̶o̶̷̶r̶̷̶e̶̷̶ ̶̷̶3̶̷̶0̶̷̶%̶̷̶ ̶̷̶o̶̷̶f̶̷̶ ̶̷̶l̶̷̶o̶̷̶s̶̷̶t̶̷̶ ̶̷̶s̶̷̶t̶̷̶a̶̷̶t̶̷̶s̶̷̶.̶̷̶
̶̷̶ ̶̷̶—̶̷̶A̶̷̶b̶̷̶s̶̷̶t̶̷̶r̶̷̶a̶̷̶c̶̷̶t̶̷̶ ̶̷̶V̶̷̶e̶̷̶r̶̷̶s̶̷̶a̶̷̶t̶̷̶i̶̷̶l̶̷̶i̶̷̶t̶̷̶y̶̷̶.̶̷̶ ̶̷̶
===
"The second and third options are crossed out," Dokja muttered, his thumb hovering over the first. "It's like the script is forcing my hand. I'm choosing the first one."
Hajin and Klein looked at each other, then back at Dokja.
They nodded.
Dokja clicked.
A violent vibration erupted from his chest, a frequency that threatened to shatter the very concept of the room.
"What's happening?!" Klein shouted, his hand instinctively reaching out to stabilize the space, but his powers only flickered like a dying candle. "Do something to that thing!"
"I don't know!" Dokja screamed, his body arching as the Holy Garlic and Onion dissolved into a sludge of pure information and absorbed into his skin.
Inside Dokja's mind, a cold, familiar voice echoed with a hint of malice.
[The 'Fourth Wall' says that Kim Dokja is stupid.]
Dokja's eyes went wide. The Wall was back, but it was different—it was heavier, more physical.
His body felt as if it were being torn apart by a thousand different narrative threads. He let out a final, agonizing shriek.
In the chaos, Klein and Hajin instinctively lunged toward each other, huddling together for protection like two terrified kittens caught in a storm.
Klein's arms were wrapped around Hajin's shoulders; Hajin was clutching the lapels of Klein's suit.
As the vibrations died down, they realized their position. They let go instantly, leaping backward with a speed that defied physics.
"Should we kiss?" Klein lampooned out loud, the words slipping out before his brain could filter the absurdity of the moment. He immediately slammed his hand over his mouth, his face going pale.
'Why did I say that?! Why would a God say that?!'
Hajin blinked, a sense of profound déjà vu hitting him.
"Why do I feel like I've already heard that before?"
The awkwardness that usually defined Hajin's life was missing.
Looking at Klein felt like looking into a mirror of a different life. But their reflection was interrupted as Dokja collapsed, unconscious, his body releasing a final burst of probability.
From the crown of Dokja's head, a small furball wearing a miniature fedora popped out.
It floated in the air, its eyes glowing with a cosmic, terrifying intelligence.
When it spoke, it used a True Voice that sent a primal shiver down their spines.
[Congratulations, Incarnations. You are the last 'Error' of this new reality.]
[Try to remember.]
The furball exploded.
It didn't turn into gore, but into a deluge of ink and letters—millions of them—surging outward in every direction.
Klein roared, attempting to manifest the power of the 'Door' to shield them, but the letters possessed a power that matched his own.
They countered his defense, slipping through his fingers and diving into their eyes, their skin, and their very souls.
The letters that had surged into their skin and eyes began to settle, not as scars, but as a long-lost language finally being translated.
[Giant Story, 'Viewpoint of Mysterious Extra' has begun its storytelling!]
⸢At that moment, they thought.⸥
The ink subsided.
⸢I remember.⸥
The three of them looked at each other, and without a word, the distance between them vanished. They collided in a three-way hug—a desperate, crushing embrace that bridged three different universes.
"Klein... Dokja..." Hajin rasped, his voice thick with a decade of suppressed grief.
"I thought I'd never see you again," Dokja whispered, his face buried against Hajin's shoulder.
Klein didn't say anything at first. He just leaned into them, the cold, rigid divinity of the Lord of Mysteries cracking like thin ice.
A single tear escaped his eye, tracking through the gray fog on his cheek.
For a fleeting second, he wasn't a Pillar or a God; he was Zhou Mingrui, a man who had almost forgotten the warmth of a family he hadn't seen in centuries.
"Are you... crying?" Hajin asked, pulling back just enough to look at him.
"Did the Mysterious Ruler above the gray fog just shed a tear?" Dokja added, a playful glint returning to his eyes.
Klein immediately wiped his face with a silk handkerchief, his expression returning to a practiced deadpan.
"No. It's just... very humid in this Archive. I'm simply sweaty."
Hajin let out a short, genuine chuckle.
"It's okay. Even the gods cry. Except for the things we fought. Those things didn't have tear ducts."
They sat down together in the infinite white, the awkwardness replaced by a flood of nostalgia.
They talked about the Tower, the Third Epoch, the Apocalypse and the absolute insanity of the Final Arc.
"I still can't believe you two actually went through with it," Hajin said, shaking his head. "Converging Amon and Klein? You realize how dangerous that was? I was busy negotiating with Chief Administrator while you guys were playing 4D chess with a monocle-wearing parasite."
"It was Klein's plan!" Dokja immediately pointed a finger. "I was just the consultant!"
"You?" Hajin turned to Dokja. "You're the one who agreed to it! You were supposed to be the rational one."
Dokja lowered his head like a scolded puppy. "I'm sorry... I wasn't in my right mind. My identity as the Last Witness was messing with my head."
"I thought... the more havoc, the better?" Klein with a flat voice.
"As I recall, that same logic once led to you destroying an entire hill for no reason."
Klein awkwardly scratched his head, unable to lampoon himself in front of them.
Hajin sighed, but the smile remained.
"Anyways... it was fun, wasn't it?"
Hajin spoke of his fifty years. He told them about Boss, the marriage, and his sons(the names of whose made Klein and Dokja laugh).
Klein listened with a quiet intensity, sharing his own struggle—fending off the Apocalypse, the long war with Adam, and the eventual stabilizing of the world.
Hajin praised. "You really are a workaholic, Klein."
"Must be my habits from working at the office," Klein looked awkwardly at Dokja, who was also an office worker.
Dokja told them about the subway, the split into 49% and 51%, and the eventual gathering of his pieces by Lee Hakhyun.
"So, Hakhyun is technically your 'Companion' now?" Klein asked, pointing at the single golden thread in Dokja's hair. "Does he want to come out? I'd like to thank him for saving our Reader."
Dokja's eyes suddenly lost their clarity, turning into a hollow, observant gray.
"I am not Kim Dokja," a foreign, tired voice spoke through his lips.
A second later, Dokja blinked, the light returning to his eyes. "Yeah... he's a bit mad at me. He usually comes out just to say that, but he's a good person. I owe him everything."
"If he's your companion," Hajin said, "then he's ours, too."
Hajin wished for soju, but the Archive only offered silence. Dokja, however, pulled out his smartphone.
"I don't have alcohol, but I have something else. Look at these."
Hajin and Klein leaned in as Dokja scrolled through photos of Kim Dokja's Company. They saw the kids, the group having fun, and the banquets.
Suddenly, Klein and Hajin stopped him, turning the phone at different angles.
"Dokja... is that Yoo Joonghyuk?" Klein asked, his voice full of suspicion.
"Why are you both naked?" Hajin added, his brow furrowing. "And what exactly is happening in the background of that photo?"
Dokja's face turned scarlet.
He instantly snatched the phone away and shoved it into his pocket.
"NOTHING!"
The laughter of the Fool and the Author echoed through the white void.
"I missed this so much," Klein said, rubbing his chin. "I might be able to sustain a connection here using the gray fog. I'll split an avatar to stay, but I need an anchor. Do you still have those coins I gave you?"
"Yes," Dokja said, pulling it out.
Hajin rubbed his head.
"I... think I lost mine. It's been twenty years, Klein."
Klein stared at him with a poker face.
"Hajin. Look in your pocket. I wouldn't be surprised if your luck has just been holding onto it for you this entire time."
Hajin reached into his pocket—the one he hadn't checked in a decade—and his fingers closed around cold, familiar metal.
He pulled out the coin, stunned.
Klein face-palmed.
He couldn't even lampoon.
Dokja's expression was a flat line of disbelief. (-_-)
Suddenly, Dokja's phone rang.
"Hello," my voice rang out, crackling with the strain of a multi-universal connection.
"Alov?" they all shouted in unison.
"I'll be short. My powers are sustaining this Archive for now. Klein, you are the Key. You can enter wherever you like, but since the fragments are gone, the coins are your only anchors. I am beginning the convergence of your past souls to make this loop permanent."
"Wait!" Dokja shouted. "How often can we do this?"
I chuckled.
"The Archive has its rules. One hour spent here is one month in your worlds. It's cumulative. If you wait two months, you get two hours. Use them wisely. I'm hanging up—the convergence is beginning."
"Alov, wait!"
The line went dead. The white room began to hum, the light turning blinding.
They looked at each other.
They didn't have time for long goodbyes.
They simply lunged into one final hug, their forms dissolving into golden, gray, and white light.
⸢It was a story of three protagonists.⸥
[Giant Story 'Viewpoint of Mysterious Extra' has reached its conclusion.]
***
The first thing Kim Hajin felt was the smell of antiseptic and the persistent, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.
It was a sterile, sharp scent.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling was white, but it wasn't the infinite void of the Archive.
It was a hospital ceiling, textured and real.
"Hajin? Oh my god... Hajin!"
His throat and lips were too dry to force out a sound.
A chorus of gasps and sobbed names filled the room.
His parents—faces he had only seen in fading memories for fifty years—were there, their eyes red and hands trembling as they reached for him.
His old friends from Earth, looking younger and more mundane than he remembered, crowded the bedside.
It's been just a month for them.
His body felt heavy, weak, and utterly human.
The "Medicinal Memory Physique" was a ghost; the "Master Sharpshooter" was a dream. But as he turned his head, he saw a single object resting on the bedside table.
A physical book.
Its cover was simple, but the title was embossed in bold letters: 'The Novel's Extra.'
Hajin looked at the book, then at the tearful faces of his family.
A small, knowing smile touched his lips.
⸢The Author...⸥
***
The rumble of the subway was a constant, soothing vibration beneath Kim Dokja's feet.
He sat alone in the dim light of the carriage, staring at the shifting darkness outside the window.
The doors hissed open at a nameless station.
One by one, they stepped in.
Yoo Sangah, her expression a mix of exhaustion and relief.
Gong Pildu, grumbling under his breath but refusing to look away.
Jang Hayoung, Lee Gilyoung, and Shin Yoosung—the kids practically lunged at him, their faces etched with a month's worth of worry and "reader trauma."
The whole of Kim Dokja's Company was there.
They didn't ask questions.
They didn't scream.
They just stood there, circling him like a constellation of stars that had finally found their center.
To his right, Yoo Joonghyuk crossed his arms, his scowl deeper than usual. To his left, Han Sooyoung looked like she was vibrating with the urge to commit a crime.
"A month!" Sooyoung finally screamed, her voice echoing through the empty train. "You go missing for an entire month, and the only thing we get is a location ping?! Do you have any idea how many chapters I could have written in that time instead of looking for you?!"
Dokja chuckled.
He reached out, grabbing Yoo Joonghyuk's stiff hand and catching Han Sooyoung's wrist before she could punch him.
He stood up, the weight of his worries settling into a comfortable story.
"Let's go," Dokja said, smiling at his found family. "I have a new story to tell you. It's a bit puzzled, extremely emotional, and honestly? Quite stupid. But... I think you'll definitely like it."
⸢The Reader...⸥
***
In the North Borough of Backlund, the air was cool and the fog was thin.
Melissa Moretti stood in the hallway of the new house, her hands clasped in prayer.
She sent prayers to the "Fool" every night—not for a god, but for a brother.
A knock sounded at the door. Simple. Rhythmic. Human.
Melissa paused.
She opened the door, and the breath left her lungs.
Standing on the doorstep was a man in a black suit, carrying a silver-headed cane.
He wasn't the shrouded deity of Sefirah Castle, nor the cold adventurer Gehrman Sparrow.
He looked exactly as he had in Tingen—brown eyes full of warmth and a slightly mischievous, scholarly air.
"I'm back, Melissa," Klein Moretti said.
The divinity was gone.
For this moment, there were no mysteries—only a brother who had finally found his way home.
⸢The Fool.⸥
***
We often find ourselves lost in the vastness of the cosmos, wondering if our lives hold any narrative weight. We are, as the someone said, "guardians, but also a bunch of miserable wretches that are constantly fighting against threats and madness." We struggle with the shadows in our minds and the catastrophes at our doors, feeling like small, insignificant extras in a world that doesn't care about our endings.
But the Author taught us that "everyone in this world is the main character." Every wretch fighting the madness is the protagonist of their own epic. We are the ones who write the sentences of our survival.
Yoo Joonghyuk, a man who had seen the end thousands of times, once believed that salvation was an impossible myth. He was a regressor who had lost the ability to hope, yet he chose to believe in the Reader.
"Joonghyuk, we can save the world. Don't you know?"
They didn't save the world because they were gods or legends. They saved it because they believed in each other's stories.
They saved it because the Reader believed in the Author, and the Author believed in the Fool, and the Fool remembered the humanity of a simple man named Zhou Mingrui.
Believe in the story. Believe in the people beside you. But most importantly... believe in yourself.
We are all wretches.
We are all main characters.
And we can all save the world—if we only choose to keep reading, together.
We have the power, one chapter at a time.
[Giant Story, 'Viewpoint of Mysterious Extra', has completed its meaning!]
[The 'Conclusion(結)' for your final Great Fable has been completed!]
[Hidden Scenario – 'Epilogue' final condition has been met!]
"The stories were separate once more, but the possibility of their connection remained—a single, unbreakable line of text written in the margins of the universe."
--- 🆃🅷🅴 🅴🅽🅳 ---
[1] Look up Chapter 14: The Tower of Wish[6] if you forgot where Klein got this item.