Fantasy worlds were nonsense.
That was the conclusion he had reached long ago.
A world filled with heroes who always protected justice… villains who were destined to lose… kingdoms ruled by perfect laws… and people who bravely fought evil.
It was childish.
If someone possessed enough power to destroy the entire world—who would stop them?
If no one existed who could surpass them, what reason would they have to obey laws?
Wouldn't such a person become arrogant?
Selfish?
Cruel?
And if they decided to kill someone they hated… even for no reason at all… who could possibly punish them?
Who would dare to touch them?
No one.
Which meant those perfect fantasy worlds were nothing but comforting lies.
Every story began the same way—
reincarnation… regression… destiny.
It was ridiculous.
He thought these harsh words calmly, without emotion, as if they were simple facts rather than bitter opinions.
The young man sat alone in his small room.
Black hair fell messily over his eyes. His irises were an unusual shade of blue—clear but cold, like winter skies. His skin was pale, almost colorless, and his body was slim from years of eating little.
He looked about twenty-one.
He wore a faded sweater and a pair of old shorts that had clearly been washed too many times.
The room around him was barely large enough to stretch his arms.
A thin sleeping mat rested on the floor.
Beside it sat an old refrigerator whose white paint had yellowed with age. A stack of books rested on top of it, piled unevenly as if they might fall at any moment.
A cheap calendar hung crookedly on the wall.
The kind that came free with advertisements printed at the bottom.
On the small wooden table in the corner stood a lantern. A weak orange flame flickered at its center, casting trembling shadows across the room.
The world outside was modern.
Electric lights. Smartphones. High-speed internet.
But inside this room…
Nothing felt modern.
The boy leaned back against the wall, staring at the dim lantern light.
His life had never contained anything bright.
His mother had been murdered when he was still a child.
No relatives came to help.
Not a single one.
His father had already been known as a criminal—a man who had killed three people in a drunken fight years earlier. After that, society had decided their family no longer existed.
His father drank.
And when he drank, he beat his son.
School was never an option.
There had not been a single truly good day in his childhood.
Yet strangely, his expression was calm.
Too calm.
Anyone who looked at him would never guess the darkness that filled his past.
He rubbed his eyes lazily.
"Ahh… what a boring day."
His voice was quiet, almost indifferent.
"But I guess boring is better than bad."
He glanced toward the window where faint evening light slipped through the curtains.
"What should I do for the rest of the day?"
He sounded less bored and more tired of existing.
For a moment, a random thought drifted through his mind.
Just a small curiosity.
He stood up slowly.
His ragged shoes waited near the door. The soles were nearly worn flat.
After slipping them on, he stepped outside.
His room was on the second floor of an aging apartment building. The hallway smelled faintly of dust and old paint.
As he walked down the narrow staircase, he passed rows of identical doors.
Most of the tenants usually made noise televisions, laughter, arguments.
But today…
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
"Well… it is New Year's Day."
He shrugged slightly.
"Maybe everyone went somewhere to celebrate."
His voice echoed softly in the empty stairwell.
When he reached the ground floor, he passed the small security booth near the entrance. Normally an old guard sat there drinking tea and watching television.
Today the chair was empty.
The television was off.
The boy didn't think much of it and pushed open the building door.
The moment he stepped outside—
His eyes widened slightly.
Not in panic.
Just… surprise.
The street was empty.
No pedestrians.
No parked cars.
No distant voices.
Nothing.
Just rows of buildings standing in unnatural silence.
"…That's strange."
Only a few minutes ago, he had heard traffic through the window.
Engines.
Honking.
People talking.
Now there was nothing.
The silence felt heavy, like the air itself had thickened.
But he didn't panic.
His mind simply searched for a logical explanation.
"Maybe there's some big event nearby."
He scratched the back of his head.
"Everyone might've gathered there."
Taking out his phone, he tried to call someone.
The screen didn't turn on.
He pressed the button again.
Still nothing.
"…I guess it's broken."
He sighed.
"My luck really is amazing."
Then
A faint glow appeared in the air in front of him.
Blue light.
At first it was just a small spark.
But within seconds it expanded, forming floating text in midair.
The letters flickered violently, as if the message itself were unstable.
The world is written
The words glitched and distorted.
The moment the text appeared—
Something impossible happened.
The sky fractured.
Buildings began tearing apart like paper.
Roads crumbled into dust.
Everything around him started to collapse and vanish, piece by piece, as if reality itself was being erased.
The city dissolved.
The ground shattered.
The horizon twisted into fragments of light.
Yet…
The boy remained standing exactly where he was.
Unaffected.
As if he didn't belong to the world that was breaking.
As the entire world was being torn apart—
Everything passed through him like he didn't exist at all.