The computer screen flickered in the darkness, casting a pale blue glow across the cramped apartment.
Empty coke cans and snack wrappers littered the desk, creating a landscape of artistic dedication that spoke of countless all-nighters spent hunched over digital canvases.
Click.
Tiny, delicate fingers with bandages moved across the mouse with practiced precision, scrolling through comment after comment of glowing praise.
"Holy shit, this is gold! Finally someone drawing realistic dudes instead of fake male model bullshit!"
"This fat guy looks exactly like my brother lmao. How the hell does he get three chicks?"
"Your art is so much better than those AI garbage flooding the market these days. Keep it up!"
A soft chuckle escaped from behind thick-rimmed glasses as dark circles under tired eyes reflected the screen's light. The voice was distinctly feminine—melodic yet tinged with exhaustion.
"Fufu... so easy to control these idiots. How pathetically predictable they all are."
Min-jung Park adjusted her oversized hoodie, the fabric hanging loose around her nonchalant frame like a tent.
At twenty-five, she'd perfected the art of invisibility—another faceless artist in this digital underground.
Her appearance screamed stereotypical nerd: messy hair in a perpetual bun, glasses that constantly slipped down her nose, and clothes that prioritized comfort over style.
She shook her head as more notifications flooded in, each one representing money in her bank account.
She slowly closed her eyes, as if her mind going into half sleep while recalling her life as if trying to feel how hard the journey was till this point.
The irony wasn't lost on her—she'd started this journey as a romantic idealist.
Three years ago, she'd been writing romance novels with ability to draw making her far more capable talent.
Stories filled with emotional depth, complex world-building, intricate character development.
She'd poured her heart into creating female protagonists who were more than just pretty faces, love interests with actual personalities and goals.
The market had crushed those dreams brutally.
"Nobody wanted depth," she muttered, taking a swig from her latest coke like a drunkard hiccuping at their life failures. "Nobody cared about world-building or character arcs. They just wanted quick dopamine and cliffhangers at every single chapter."
The frustration of seeing how readers preferred to see a book in which at every chapter there was snot written content with a cliffhanger ending, while even platforms wanted authors to generate fast money, with someone like her not able to invest more time into drawing beautiful and in-depth comics—things didn't end well for her.
The transition to webtoon art had been born from frustration.
She had natural talent for drawing, and by investing all the money she had gotten from writing the female lead stories, she upgraded her equipment to switch completely towards visual drawings.
But again, issue was how could she write quick dopamine stories and embed them in format of the visual webtoons?
Finding good storytellers who could match her artistic vision proved impossible—everyone either wanted to write the same generic power fantasy bullshit or charged prices she couldn't afford.
So she'd made the switch to pornhwa.
Male-oriented porn comics.
The revelation had been both liberating and disgusting.
Unlike female readers who craved emotional connection, complex relationships, and believable romantic development, male audiences wanted one thing: visual stimulation with the barest minimum of plot to justify the sex scenes.
"Pathetic," she whispered, clicking through her latest earnings report before sighing as still she knew males paid more than females ever could.
But she still can't help but curse, "Absolutely pathetic creatures."
Honestly, the money was undeniable. What had taken her months to earn writing romance stories, she now made in weeks drawing unrealistic women throwing themselves at average guys.
But as the market became saturated with similar content, especially with unrestricted AI-generated art flooding every platform. Suddenly, every amateur with a decent graphics card could generate professional-looking artwork.
The competition became brutal overnight.
That's when she'd had her breakthrough moment watching an advertisement for some dating app.
Every male character looked like a six-pack abs model with a massive dick—complete fantasy bullshit that had no connection to reality.
"Fufu~." She couldn't help but chuckle at her life's choice, at that moment how smartly she was able to see a pattern, a pattern most of the artists ignored because they thought it was a risky area.
She saw how the guys consuming this content were mostly fat, desk-jobbing dudes drinking energy drinks and eating takeout while jerking off to unrealistic fantasies.
They were the kind of people who read these things just to enjoy themselves in fake scenarios inside of those male leads.
So she'd made a calculated decision.
Instead of drawing fantasy men for men to project onto, she'd draw real men—the actual consumers of her content.
And to get reference material...
She'd planted cameras in men's dressing rooms within a popular mall—cameras so small they looked like screw heads or electrical components.
It had been risky, technically illegal, and morally questionable.
But it worked.
For a whole year now, she'd been the top adult manhwa artist in her niche.
Her secret? She drew real men.
Flabby bellies, receding hairlines, love handles, awkward proportions—everything her competition refused to acknowledge.
Her latest hit series featured a chubby office worker whose fat belly prevented him from seeing his own dick.
Somehow, he'd managed to seduce three gorgeous women through pure "personality." The absurdity was intentional, but her audience ate it up like candy.
"They see themselves," she mused, stretching her back until it popped. "Finally, a protagonist who looks like they do instead of some impossible Adonis."
Her bank account reflected the success.
This month's earnings were enough to cover rent for the next six months, plus upgrade her equipment.
"Yawn~ huh?" As she stretched her back feeling like sleepy, suddenly her eyes went to the clock. It was morning around 7 am, clearly showing how it seems she had been lost track of time as usual.
With renewed motivation, she cracked her knuckles. "Alright, let's work on the next project."
She opened her computer, fingers flying across the keyboard as she accessed her hidden camera network. Time to gather reference material for the next batch of characters.
Standing up to grab popcorn and another energy drink, she rubbed her eyes behind her glasses. "Let's see what new samples we have today."
Settling back into her chair with her snacks, she double-clicked on the latest footage folder.
"Let's see my new sample... Huh?"
The energy drink can froze halfway to her lips as her eyes went wide behind her glasses.
On the computer screen was a man who looked like he'd stepped directly out of one of her old romance novels. Six feet tall with a face that made her breath catch in her throat—sharp jawline, piercing purple eyes, perfectly tousled black hair that looked like silk.
But it wasn't just his face. As she watched, transfixed, he began removing his clothes. No—he literally tore them apart with inhuman strength, fabric ripping like paper in his hands.
What was revealed beneath made her gulp audibly.
Her eyes blinking sillily, drunk on that body reflecting from her screen with her eyes not even closing for a second, as unconsciously she felt it could be a dream, with words coming out. "Gulp... am I hallucinating?"