An All-Time Hit

Saturday morning.

The alarm blared with a vengeance.

"Ugh…"

I dragged my stiff body upright. Had I pushed myself too hard last night? My memories were hazy. I'd come home from work, gotten furious over a web novel ending, and then… something had happened after that…

I stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment, then bolted upright.

I remembered.

I'd clicked a banner ad. Installed an AI. And then…

"There's no way that was a dream."

I scrambled to my desk. The monitor was blinking in sleep mode. I jiggled the mouse, and the screen lit up, revealing the traces of last night.

It hadn't been a dream.

A single text file sat alone on the desktop. With trembling hands, I opened it.

Last night, drunk on alcohol and atmosphere, it might have seemed perfect. Sober, it could turn out to be the kind of cringe-worthy disaster that made you kick your blankets in shame.

I carefully read the first sentence.

And then—

"…Whoa."

The admiration slipped out on its own. Even rereading it sober, it was flawless. Better now, in fact, than when I'd read it last night through a haze of emotion.

The prose was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lean yet powerful. The descriptions painted pictures so vivid they bloomed behind my eyes. And above all, the plot. The pure, cathartic payoff I'd wanted so desperately — the one every reader had been begging for — was right here. The protagonist's awakening. The villain's downfall. The secrets of the world finally laid bare.

"I… wrote this?"

I couldn't believe it. My hands had typed every word — the muscle memory was still there. But it didn't feel like something that had come from my own head. More like someone had taken the raw imagination inside me, polished it to perfection, and handed it back.

Muse.

That was the name of the AI I'd installed last night.

"This is insane."

A shiver ran through me with every scroll. This was too good ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to keep to myself. The thought hit hard — and it wasn't just about showing off. This must be what creators feel. I wanted the world to see this perfect story that had lived only in my head.

It might be disrespectful to the original author, but—

Hey, you're the one who planted that dream ending first.

As a paying reader, I was entitled to at least this much protest. Of course I knew what this was — pure fanfiction. Post it on a free board and only a handful of people would ever see it. But that didn't matter. I couldn't be the only one to punch through that suffocating frustration. Tens of thousands of readers had suffered alongside me. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I wanted to feed them the catharsis they deserved.

"I'm posting it."

The hesitation didn't last long. I went to the Fantasy Gallery on a major web novel community — a place I'd only ever lurked. I wrote a post on the free board.

I attached the file and hit enter. Post complete.

"Hoo."

My heart was hammering. There was zero chance of an immediate reaction. Who would go out of their way to read fanfiction of a failed novel? I'd be lucky if I didn't just get roasted.

"It's fine."

This was for my own satisfaction anyway. If even one person read it and said, "Yeah, this is better," that would be enough. I closed the community window.

That wasn't what had my attention now. Even without it, my mind was already in freefall. All the stories I'd imagined over the years — the ones I'd buried because I didn't have the skill — were screaming to get out.

"This time, it's mine."

Not fanfiction. My own writing. I rolled up my sleeves and opened a fresh document.

What to write? The monster protagonist I'd always sketched out? An apocalypse story?

"No."

This time, I'd write something people would love. And at the same time, I wanted a novel that took direct aim at the original author who'd handed me that massive middle finger yesterday. That writer's frustrating plotlines, the indecisive protagonist, the hollow ending — I wanted a story that refuted every one of them head-on.

The Regressed Hunter is Merciless.

I locked in the title first. The protagonist wouldn't be a monster — a human. A thoroughly cold, ruthless human. Where the original novel's hero hid his power and spared villains, breeding endless frustration, mine would do no such thing. If something got in his way, he cut it down. If it interfered, he killed it. The most popular setup, delivering the most guaranteed rush of satisfaction.

I pictured the opening of chapter ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one in my head — the protagonist dying from betrayal, then regressing. And in that instant—

A jolt.

There it was. The exact same sensation as last night.

A chime rang inside my skull, and my hands started moving.

Clack-clack-clack-clack—!

"Hahaha!"

Laughter burst out of me. It was fun. Being able to express the scenes I'd imagined exactly as they were — no, better than that — was a joy beyond words. Had writing always been this exhilarating?

There was no friction. No fretting over how to end a sentence or which word to choose. Think it, and it appeared. My hands were writing before the thought even finished forming. And the speed was even more absurd. Chapter one, two, three… Each chapter took less than twenty minutes. Established authors supposedly spent two or three hours on a single chapter. I was faster than a machine.

Before three hours had passed, ten files were already stacked up. Ten chapters. Half a book's worth of material, produced in three hours.

"Grrrk."

Only then did my stomach growl. I'd been working so hard I was starving. I went to the kitchen and put water on for instant ramen. While it cooked, I opened chapter one.

Slurp.

I ate ramen and stared at the monitor.

"Ha…"

Not a sigh — pure admiration. My chopsticks froze mid-air. I'd written this. So why was it this entertaining? No matter how I looked at it, it was good. The hook of the opening, the protagonist's distinctive character, the clean, unobstructed plot. It had the cathartic payoff and breakneck pacing that defined the current trend, locked in perfectly.

I downed the last of the broth in one shot and sat back down. Confidence surged through me. At this level…

"Should I try uploading it?"

Munpia. South Korea's largest web novel platform. If anywhere would recognize the value of my writing, it was there. And if it flopped, so what? I'd just keep it as a hobby. The process of writing this was already fun enough on its own. Call it a new pastime to help me survive the grind of Seoul life and my dead-end company job.

But with quality like this—

"This could easily cover pocket money."

No reason to hesitate. I registered as an author on the spot and uploaded chapter one.

Hitting the submit button brought a strange sense of release.

"Alright. Let's write more."

The weekend was long. And the Muse inside me showed no signs of tiring. Through Saturday and Sunday, I didn't take a single step out of my room. I just wrote. Eat, write. Wake up, write. I was a runaway train. The ideas piled up in my head gushed out like a spring that never ran dry, and the AI hauled them into text at a breakneck pace.

Sunday night, eleven o'clock.

"Aahh…"

I stretched and checked the folder.

Fifty chapters in two days. The volume an established author would need two months of serialization to produce, finished over a single weekend.

"You're out of your mind, Kang Minjun."

Even looking at it, I couldn't believe it. But the files were real. If I hadn't had work tomorrow, I would've pushed to a hundred.

"Alright, alright."

Tomorrow meant another hellish commute. But it didn't feel as dreadful as before. I had fifty solid rounds loaded and ready.

Monday morning.

The rush-hour subway was still packed wall to wall, and every face around me was the color of ash. But I had my earphones in, humming under my breath.

I arrived at the office.

"Morning."

"Oh, you're here."

Manager Park Do-hun greeted me — my direct senior, and the one person I could always count on. He studied my face closely.

"You look good today. What's with that?"

"Do I?"

"Yeah. Something's glowing on your face. Something good happen over the weekend? Hit the lottery?"

"Lottery, right."

I sat down at my desk with a quiet snort.

"Just found a hobby, that's all."

"A hobby? You?"

His eyes went round with genuine surprise — fair enough. I was the kind of boring guy who only ever did home, work, home, work.

"What is it? Working out? Gaming?"

"Writing."

"Writing?"

His eyes got even bigger.

"Web novels, that kind of thing. Got bored over the weekend and tried writing one. Turned out more fun than I expected."

"Huh… Didn't see that coming. You had a talent for writing?"

"Just scribbling, really."

"Show me."

"Huh?"

"You said you wrote something. Let me see. I'm a wuxia novel veteran myself, you know. I'll give you my review."

He came over, clearly intrigued. I considered refusing, then figured there was no real reason to hide it. He was my only ally here anyway. And honestly, I was a little curious myself how it was doing.

"It's nothing special. Just uploaded a few chapters on Saturday…"

"Where'd you post it? Munpia?"

"Yeah."

"What's the title?"

I pulled out my phone.

"Hold on. I uploaded it and never even checked. It's going to be hard to find."

That was the truth. After posting chapter one on Saturday, I'd fallen so deep into the joy of writing that I hadn't even opened the serialization page. I'd just set scheduled uploads through chapter five and written around the clock.

Maybe ten views?

A debut author. First work. No views would be completely normal. With zero expectations, I opened the Munpia app, went into my library, and tapped the management page for my novel.

And then—

"……?"

I doubted my own eyes. Rubbed them and looked again.

"Huh?"

I hadn't misread it.

"……What is this?"

My jaw dropped. Fifty thousand? I'd only uploaded two days ago. And three thousand favorites? I'd seen it on web novel communities — a rookie cracking a hundred favorites on chapter one was already considered a massive hit. Three thousand?

"Hey, what is it? Why do you look like that?"

Do-hun asked, startled by my expression.

"This… is weird."

"What? Did it flop?"

"No… Why are the views like this?"

He snuck a look at my phone screen — and froze solid.

"Dude…. Is this yours?"

"…Seems like it."

"Why are the views like that? Have you been writing this for a while? Were you already a pro?"

"No. I wrote it for the first time on Saturday."

"Insane…"

He snatched my phone and scrolled down. His hand was shaking as he checked the comment section.

My eyes locked on that last comment.

Came here after the fanfic?

Come to think of it, I hadn't known what pen name to use, so I'd just set it to the same nickname I used on the gallery without thinking…

Then it clicked. The fanfic I'd posted on the community Saturday morning — that must have been the spark. I hurriedly opened the Fantasy Gallery.

My post was sitting in the best-of list.

I opened the comments.

Word had spread through the community, and that firepower had funneled straight into my original novel. And the quality of the original had held onto every one of those incoming readers.

"Huh…"

A hollow laugh slipped out. This… actually worked? I'd just been scribbling for fun, as a side hustle — and in two days, it had exploded. The cathartic plot I'd aimed for had landed perfectly with the readers.

"Hey. Kang Minjun."

Do-hun called my name with a deadly serious look.

"I don't think this is the time for you to still be working a desk job."

Those words snapped me fully awake. The numbers on the screen weren't just numbers. It was free for now, but if it successfully went paid, those figures would turn into serious money. And I still had fifty chapters sitting in reserve.

My heart started pounding like mad. This time, it wasn't the joy of creation.

It was the smell of success.

"…Yeah."

I answered in a trembling voice.

"Do-hun… I think I just caused an accident."

This wasn't just a hit.

It was an all-time hit.