When was the last time a story truly captivated you?
I'm not referring to a history book assigned by a teacher or a recommendation from a friend. I mean that one story that kept you awake until 3 AM on a school night, eyes burning, just wanting to read one more chapter. The story that made you feel a shift inside your chest when you wondered what might happen next.
That story where you finally understood what people mean when they say they love reading.
And then it ended.
You tried to find that feeling again, story after story, novel after novel. But nothing matched. So you kept searching, and somewhere along the way, you lost yourself.
That was me.
My name doesn't matter. What matters is that five years ago, the online novel community gave me a title I probably deserved: The Wannabe Hater.
I was fifteen when I discovered my first web novel. Coming home from school after an incident I don't feel like explaining, my mom kept nagging me to study. Instead, I clicked on a random story link to spite her.
[King Slayer of the East]
[Chapter 1/1420.]
One chapter became ten. Ten became a hundred. Four months flew by. I knew every character's name, every cultivation technique, every minor clan mentioned in passing. The story wasn't just something I read—it was the only thing that felt real.
Then I reached the end.
My finger kept tapping the screen, searching for the next chapter button. But there was nothing left. The journey was over, and I hadn't even realised I was approaching the finish line.
I signed up for an account that same day.
At first, I just wanted more stories like that one. I read everything—cultivation novels, fantasy epics, system apocalypses. Some were good. Some were genuinely great. But none of them was that story. None made me feel like I was fifteen again, discovering something that mattered.
So I left my first comment: "Why is the MC courting death again? Can't he see Mount Tai? Dumb MC, I'm dropping this."
Someone replied. "Hahaha lol yeah the MC is dumb af."
That tiny validation felt good. Not as good as my first novel, but it was something. A temporary high.
I kept going. One star here, two stars there. Long reviews dissecting every plot hole, every character inconsistency, every decision that didn't match what I wanted. People began following my account just to see what I'd trash next. Some agreed with me, most called me a toxic asshole.
They weren't wrong.
Around my thousandth comment, I had a realisation that turned my stomach: these were real people writing these stories—people staying up late after work, sacrificing time with their families, pouring their efforts into updates while managing real lives. And I was tearing them down because they couldn't recreate a feeling I might never get back.
What kind of person does that?
I kept reading anyway. I couldn't stop—call it addiction, hope, stupidity—pick the least pathetic option.
Now, five years out of high school, I work a dead-end office job with a two-hour subway commute each way. I still read webnovels on my phone during the ride. I still leave reviews, though I'd like to think I've become less toxic. Slightly.
It was just another Monday evening. The subway smelled like wet coats and someone's fried chicken. I was scrolling through my feed when I saw a comment that made me groan:
"This is peak! This is a must-read! Check this out:" followed by a link.
I clicked it anyway. Glutton for punishment, I suppose.
[SSS-Class, I Summoned a Harem.]
[Genre: Fantasy, Harem, System].
[Rating: 4.8 stars. 2.3 million reads.]
My eye twitched. Of course, it was popular. Of course.
I pocketed my phone. Two stops from home—just another boring evening riding the same subway, heading home to stories I'd probably hate.
If I'd known that clicking that link would change everything, I might have paid better attention to my surroundings. I might have noticed the flickering subway lights.
But I didn't.