Hate Comments, and an Extra

"Goddammit, another flop!"

Click.

I hit the novel buried at the very tail of the rankings, and there it was: a miserable view count, and a handful of comments to go with it.

"Haaah—"

It was a post-apocalyptic fusion-punk piece I'd put on hiatus a few days ago. Trying to survive in a niche genre, I'd front-loaded every chapter with a cheap dopamine hit, and the result was exactly what you'd expect: the deeper the story went, the harder the read-through rate collapsed, until around chapter one hundred I had burned through every idea I had.

I still tried to keep it going somehow. But every time I sat down to write, the comments grabbed me by the hair and shook me — what even is this, what even is that — until I couldn't stand it anymore. So I just dropped a meteor on the whole thing. What did they want from me? I had nothing left.

The chair creaked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as I leaned back and shut my eyes for a moment.

Three years of this already. The trouble had started when a novel I'd written on the side, while still holding down a job, did better than I'd ever expected. "Better," of course, only by my standards. To anyone who'd actually made it, the numbers weren't impressive at all. And now here I was: a spectacularly failed, unemployed nobody.

Right. Living expenses...

A year? No. If I pinched a little harder, I could stretch it to a year and a half.

"Guess I should pick up a part-time job."

I muttered it to myself and looked back at the monitor. Sitting at the very top of the site rankings was a title I knew far too well.

An author who, oddly enough, published under his real name. My friend's name.

What the hell is wrong with this bastard.

A few months back, after novel after novel of mine had failed, he'd looked down his nose at me, announced that he'd show me how it was done, and brought over a story he'd written all the way to the ending. I'd laughed at him, obviously. Called him insane. And the writing was just painfully dull. The protagonist, some grand mastermind, didn't have a single proper fight past chapter twenty; the whole book stalled out explaining the world.

Demons this, mana that, divine power the other, the imperial calendar... Well, well. There was a wiki, too.

Still, it was the first novel my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠friend had ever written, so I read it through to the end. The moment I finished, I called Lee Suhyun.

"Hey."

"Oh, you finished it? So?"

"Drop it, dumbass. A mastermind hero and demonology, this garbage, lol."

"Fuck you."

"No, I'm serious. If trash like this hits number one, I'm not even human."

"I said it straight. You heard me."

After that he kept bringing revisions, and I looked them over whenever I had a spare moment and we patched the thing along.

Click.

"......"

I, who was therefore not human, opened the novel, pulled up the comments, and let my fingers hit the keys.

Pure, uncut contempt delivered, I slowly shut the laptop.

"Hah... I really am pathetic."

For a long time I just stared at the closed lid in the quiet.

......What am I even doing.

Sleep. Then hurry up and write the other series still running. I let out a small sigh, walked to the bed, and lay down.

Chirp. Chirp—

Birdsong outside the window made me roll over.

"Nnngh..."

However long I'd slept, my head was splitting. I forced my eyes open, and an unfamiliar sky filled them.

An unfamiliar sky? Don't tell me—

"Just a bullshit dream."

That guy's success must have been eating at me worse than I thought. I staggered to my feet.

A forest packed with deep green, towering trees; rotten trunks among them, and a gorge visible far off. I was coated in dust, and the wet undergrowth had left my clothes damp in patches.

"A shirt made of hemp...? Pretty realistic."

Whatever this was, I was just about to take a step.

BOOM—!

"Wh... what?"

An explosion. Things with wings — birds, or something I couldn't name — burst out of the trees, and someone came crashing through the brush.

Skin white as paper. Long silver hair. An ivory silk dress that fell to the knees was torn open all the way to the thigh, and the green cloak she'd worn over it, cut like a coat, had slipped down to her shoulders.

"...Hhk!"

I flinched. Fog in a dense forest, and then this. There was no way not to be startled. At the sound I made, the woman lifted her head and spoke between ragged breaths.

"Run... it's a Toraniska."

"What?"

And behind her.

A monster shoved out of the undergrowth and threw the whole of my vision into shade. My shoulders jumped as I looked past her.

Tens of meters long, the entire body plated in scales, every leg bristling with protrusions sharp as blades. No eyes on the head. In their place, dozens of antennae writhed like sensory organs.

"Kiririri—"

Before I could even be afraid, the centipede-thing screamed first, and my knees nearly gave. An alien sound. A shriek that felt like it would actually split my ears. The woman got up again, but she was limping. The thing crawled toward her, unhurried.

"...H-hey! Run!"

I shouted. She only shook her head, shaking all over.

"I can't... that thing doesn't stop. Out here on the frontier, there's no record of anyone taking one down alone..."

"...The hell are you—"

Dozens of legs kicked off the wet earth and the centipede-thing launched itself. I emptied my head and charged.

I wanted to charge, anyway.

Like it's that easy.

All I managed was to shoot a hand out, catch the back of the neck of her tattered aristocratic traveling clothes, and hurl her hard behind me.

"Kyaaah!"

The thing slammed its head into the spot where she'd been and skidded, then reared up and turned, this time, toward me.

"......I'm dead."

Toraniska or whatever it was, it didn't give me so much as a second. It was already crawling in to ram that head straight through me. I shut my eyes and spread my arms.

"All right. Time to wake up."

I did not have time to be dreaming garbage like this. If I didn't get up and finish the chapter I was writing, I'd be late, and a series already in freefall would never see daylight again.

The instant I tried to break the dream—

CRUNCH—

"!?"

The Toraniska brushed past me in a blur, and in that same instant my right arm was torn clean off. The recoil spun me, and I tumbled several meters across the ground.

"Ah... aaaah—! My arm... my arm."

My arm... wait.

The arm was there...?

Curled on the ground, I groped at the right arm that should have been gone, and it was attached. The ripping agony of a moment ago had vanished without a trace.

"......?"

Where I'd rolled, the blood I'd spilled was evaporating off the ground at speed.

...What.

"Kiriri—"

The Toraniska that had sheared my arm off in passing coiled its body once, centipede-like, and started crawling toward me again. At the same time a mechanical voice rang directly inside my head.

With that sound the Toraniska's body locked in place, and before I could think, it burst from the inside out, spraying green fluid in every direction.

Thud.

The enormous centipede — the Toraniska — collapsed to the ground.

"......Did you do that?"

I turned. The woman looked even more shocked than she had facing the thing a moment ago.

"?"

She seemed to take my attempt to process the situation as a yes. Slowly, she got to her feet.

"That's impossible."

Those pale green eyes were still fixed on me.

"That's a monster you can barely kill even after you raise a subjugation party. What are you?"

One hundred percent on guard.

"?"

More importantly, why wasn't I waking up? The pain was one thing, but an arm had been torn off and stuck back on, so this was definitely a dream. And I knew it was a dream. Which meant I wasn't sunk that deep...

"You can't say? Still — dropping a Toraniska in a single blow — don't tell me you're a high-ranking mage!?"

She understood it all by herself, startled herself, and whatever she was hoping for, the wariness pointed at me was already coming loose.

"More importantly, who are you...?"

The woman in front of me hesitated, then dipped her head lightly.

"Ah, sorry. I didn't even introduce myself. I'm Ivelia, princess of Rivelin."

...A princess? Rivelin?

"Lady Ivelia!"

From behind the fallen Toraniska, dozens of armored knights came pouring in. Among them, a handsome one with short blond hair and armor — the one who looked highest in rank — ran straight to her.

"Lady Ivelia, are you hurt?"

Ivelia drew the torn cloak back up over her shoulders as she answered.

"Mm. I'm all right."

The man straightened and stared at the collapsed Toraniska.

"What in the world is this...?"

Then his eyes found me, and he stopped.

"Could it be... that this was your doing?"

I nodded before I quite meant to, and his eyes went wide.

This man... the way he spoke, the way he looked. An NPC I'd seen somewhere...

And then, out of nowhere, he seized my shoulder.

"A senior knight? Or a mid-rank mage? What rank are you, exactly? B-rank? No... rank aside, where are you attached? The Sanctus Cathedral? A magic tower?"

"...Rank? Affiliation? Sorry, but what's a rank?"

"What do you mean, what's a rank..."

He stared at me with a face twisted in pure disbelief.

"A moment, Clid."

Ivelia slipped in between us.

"If we take him at his word... a civilian. Not an adventurer, no rank, attached to no one... and he ended a Toraniska in one blow."

"...That cannot be, Lady Ivelia."

"I saw it myself. For now... let's just take him with us."

Take me where.

And had that woman not seen my arm get ripped off? Or had the ripping itself been my imagination? Then what was that split second of pain?

"......"

The man — the one sitting in the knight-commander slot — stared a hole through me, then nodded.

"Well? Will you come?"

"...Huh?"

"A royal invitation. Not the sort of offer one may simply ignore."

...Right. That way of talking.

Inviting me, a man he'd met five minutes ago. A development with not a scrap of causality anywhere in it. I'd seen this before.

While I stood there blank, Ivelia spoke, a faint smile on her face.

"Come with us."

The man turned and gave his orders to the soldiers.

"Recover the Toraniska's corpse! Report the state of the rupture and the position of the mana organ, and collect the carapace for the Rivelin Central Guild!"

"Yes, sir!"

They answered like machines. Ivelia, walking ahead, glanced back at me where I still stood dazed, and only then did my feet move.

"A little farther and there's a carriage."

"A carriage?"

"Yeah. We were on our way back to the homeland from Inserium."

...Inserium.

I was sure I'd heard it. The memory only drifted through my head in pieces, and I couldn't pin down where I'd seen or heard the name.

Hah... where? Where did I hear that.

Stirring at a memory that wouldn't quite catch, I followed them maybe ten minutes deeper into the forest, until a broad track opened up, cleared wide enough for carriages. Several fine carriages waited on it, each stamped with a silver lotus crest, and dozens of soldiers stood by.

A crest that ornate — she really might be a princess. Whether it was actually a royal crest, I had no idea.

"Which one would be best..."

Ivelia tapped a finger against her lips and looked over the waiting carriages.

"I've got a mountain of questions, so... ah! That one. Clid."

"Yes, Lady Ivelia."

"Have this person ride over there, please."

"Him as well?"

"Mm. There are a few things I want to ask on the way."

"......"

Clid glanced once around at the soldiers, then nodded.

"...Understood. If anything happens, tell me at once."

I stared blankly at the carriage I'd been steered toward, then climbed in without a thought.

Creak.

A moment later Ivelia climbed up as well and sat directly across from me.

"......"

The carriage smelled of sweet incense. Watching me, Ivelia tipped her head. And I was certain.

This was not a dream.

...I'm inside that bastard's novel.

That was everything I remembered, up to now. I was still hazy.

I'd at least hoped to be the hero of this joyless ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠novel. Unfortunately, I wasn't. I was an NPC. The sort of villager who, when the hero passed by, might get a sentence or two of description if the word count needed padding, and might not.

But I remembered him. The villager I'd ended up inside.

Hey, Suhyun. Side characters ought to have stories too, not just the hero.

Wouldn't that get too messy?

Weren't you the one who said you write it rough anyway?

Fine. I'll keep it in mind.

An NPC Lee Suhyun had made because a failed writer — me — had told him the people around the protagonist needed stories of their own. An F-Rank genius demonologist.

In this world, every person and every monster carried a rank from A down to D. F-Rank was the lowest of them, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠given only to humans with no mana in the body at all. Ask why a fantasy setting needed a rule like that, and... I don't know. It was his novel.

What I did know was that rank had begun, long ago, as a system for marking how dangerous a monster was. The guilds of each nation borrowed it, started grading people as well, and somewhere in the course of filing the continent's population into documents, it had soaked into human life until it felt obvious.

Anyway. That genius demonologist learned he had less than three years left to live. After a year of research, he found that the absence of mana in the body was a direct cause of death. Right after that, searching for a cure, he set out for the Boundary Forest, a region classed as dangerous.

"......"

And did he find a way?

...That, I also didn't know. Regrettably, from that point on, Ellen was never mentioned in the novel again. On purpose, or simply forgotten. In short, I was a character that bastard had grudgingly added because he was sick of my feedback, and the moment the villager was granted a life—

Exactly that one sentence. Aside from the fact that Ellen was a man with Zero Gap right in front of him — who he was, where he lived, why he was a genius, what he witnessed in this forest, what he discovered as a genius demonologist — none of the foreshadowing was ever paid off. Just penalties plastered on, and then he exited. A baffling character, gone.

"Hah..."

I rubbed my arm, briefly remembering the moment it had been torn away.

Undying...

Maybe this demonologist had found his answer after all. Some unknown magic that cured his incurable illness and, past one hundred percent, could reach Zero Gap. Why it had to be me, I couldn't say. Because I was a human who knew every setting tied to demons? Because he and I had synced?

...Bullshit.

Fuck. If that was the logic, they should have dragged the author here. I was unsettled enough as it was.

"Sigh."

I turned my head, feelings a knot. Looking out the carriage window, it was impossible to believe this was inside a novel. A forest as thick as the Amazon, and I couldn't even tell how the carriage was moving through it; a sky full of fog.

And a system window. The moment I thought of it, it rose into my vision in gold.

He was supposed to be a demonologist. How was the class villager?

While I rolled my eyes around in sheer disbelief, the elf narrowed hers and asked,

"So what are you, exactly?"

I answered the way I'd just read it off the window.

"Name's Ellen. A villager... I think?"

"That's absurd. An ordinary person subjugated a monster like that?"

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

I knew plenty of other things. This part, I didn't. Irregular wasn't in that novel I'd so presumptuously critiqued, and it wasn't on the system window either. Whether it was my meager career as a writer or the loose end of Ellen-the-genius, a rough guess came up on its own: an outsider, inside the novel. That was enough to understand it by, so I didn't particularly question it. Assigning meaning to every little thing in that guy's novel was a fool's errand.

And right now there was something more important. The elf in front of me. The elf who, in the story, should have died. Saved by me — the one person who had vanished on an open ending. Then this world had definitely changed.

But dozens of critiques had taught me that guy's stubbornness. The ending of The Summoned Hero Rules the World was a bad ending. At the tail of the novel, the hero handled the emperor of the Empire like a puppet and killed every royal and every citizen who resisted, and that was how the continent was unified. Why did a hero who had saved the world have to do that? Because even after he caught every demon and saved the world, he still couldn't return to his own. Realizing it too late, the hero chose to spend his power somewhere else.

No matter how much feedback I gave him, Lee Suhyun never changed that ending. And only after the novel hit number one did I understand. I'd been wrong. Take it to a bad ending, and the novel succeeds.

Then what about Ellen, whose ending had been left open? Now that I knew the hero was the final boss, what happened to me? I might die. Or I might have to live inside this novel forever. If that was the choice, I'd rather force a happy ending — one I didn't know. Put this princess, who was supposed to die, on the imperial throne, and at least the ending I knew would be shoved onto another road.

The moment I thought it—

A chime.

The words had risen at the top of the system window. The elf across from me kept talking.

"If you're a villager, where? You said village, so it wouldn't be the heart of the capital... and there shouldn't be anywhere to the south you'd call a village."

I'd been thrown away with nothing but a name. As if I'd have an answer like that.

"Arcadia."

I tossed out the name of the city nearest the Boundary Forest where I'd been discarded, and immediately wished I hadn't. Arcadia was the capital of the Kingdom of Rivelin. And this elf was Rivelin's princess.

"Arcadia? And you don't know me? Are you really a citizen of Rivelin? Where in Arcadia do you live?"

No sign of it ending. I rolled my eyes and glanced at Skip inside the system window. A skill I'd given him feedback on.

This... was this how you used it?

I thought, roughly, of the result I wanted to skip, and dragged up a clumsy line.

A jolt—

And in that instant, my vision flipped.