Neria (1)
It was one of those stories you could find anywhere.
You clear a game, or leave some unusual review after finishing a novel, receive a mysterious email, die under bizarre circumstances, and tumble into another world. That kind of story.
A formula already worn smooth by overuse. Something everyone assumed was pure fiction—something that should have stayed fiction.
So even if I never saw this coming, that wasn't my fault.
Honestly, could you really call it my fault that a web novel which had started missing its update schedule more and more often finally went on indefinite hiatus, and that I responded by sending the author a 5,700-character essay every single day?
"…He was good when he was writing, though."
Maybe it was hard to understand why I got so worked up over a single series.
But the bastard could write. What was I supposed to do about that?
Even during the hiatus, the author had come back a couple of times and dropped episodes that shattered his own peak. That was the problem.
Hooked on those high points, I had ended up collecting every single chapter across every platform the novel had ever launched on.
"I just can't cash out…."
Sadly, an author who went on hiatus once could always do it again.
The series had been sitting at chapter 121 for four straight years.
Of course, I never gave up.
Praying the author would return someday, I kept sending those 5,700-character messages every day without fail.
And then, on one perfectly ordinary, peaceful day—
This is Elganom….
"What the fuck."
I had been about to send my usual daily message when a new notice appeared on the novel's page.
This is Elganom….
I am truly sorry….
I have been too ashamed to even send word all this time. As an author who cannot properly finish even a single novel of his own, I feel nothing but self-disgust.
I went to the hospital. I took the medication. I kept telling myself I had to write, I had to write—and still, the story simply would not take shape….
I know that after four years of waiting, no amount of abuse from all of you would be undeserved, and I would not dare lift my head. But forcing you into an endless wait with no promise of return no longer feels like something an author should do. So I am writing this message….
From this point on, this work will be permanently discontinued, and I intend to put down the pen for good. Curse me all you like—I will accept it gladly. I am simply sorry….
To everyone who loved the writing of an author like me: thank you, and I am truly sorry….
My hands, resting on the keyboard, began to tremble.
Had 5,700 characters a day not been enough to convey how I really felt?
I had agonized over every letter, worrying the contents were getting repetitive—and this was how he repaid me?
"You fucking piece of shit Elganom…."
Even through the rage, my mind was racing.
How could I make this author write again?
Dig through his ego-search history and doxx him?
Or just dump so much patronage money on him that he would have no choice but to resume updates?
I was turning those options over when a new notification lit up in my message inbox.
The moment I saw it, hope surged up in my chest.
Who else would be messaging me right now besides the bastard who had just posted that hiatus notice?
Maybe the announcement had been a joke. Or maybe, in that short span of time, he had changed his mind and wanted me to wait a little longer while he tried writing again.
Something like that—surely.
With trembling hands, I moved the cursor over the inbox.
To the reader who always sent me messages.
"Oh."
What greeted me when I opened it was a title of surprising elegance.
Considering the volume and content of the messages I had been sending, resentment would not have been strange—yet the title alone radiated courtesy toward me.
Author-nim, are you withdrawing the hiatus notice?
Is this actually something I can get my hopes up for?
Please, please don't let it just be another apology for canceling the series.
Praying that under my breath, I read the message.
To the reader who always sent me messages.
I read every message you sent with a grateful heart.
Knowing there was a reader who treasured my insignificant work with such sincerity was, as an author, a genuine joy.
That is why I hesitated so much while writing the discontinuation notice I posted today.
With a reader who loves me this much still out there, do I have the right to end my work on a whim? If I still have any conscience as an author, shouldn't I at least show you the ending?—thoughts like that.
In that spirit, I have prepared a gift for the reader who must have been so disappointed by the discontinuation notice.
I sincerely hope my gift is to your liking.
"…?"
He was grateful for my messages?
More than that—he had prepared a gift? Was he about to spoil some plot development he had already planned out?
After finishing the message, I waited dozens of minutes for an email, or for something—anything—to happen.
In the end I neatly folded up my expectations and let out a long breath.
If the goal had been to get my hopes up and then betray me, mission accomplished.
"Don't tell me the hiatus notice itself was the gift…. Unbelievable."
I let out a hollow laugh and shut down the computer.
I was taking the rest of the day off.
Author, starting tomorrow you had better be ready for more messages.
The moment I stood up from my chair—
"…Huh?"
A wave of dizziness hit me, and the world went black.
…Even if it made me look pathetic, the second I saw that message I should have groveled. Should have begged him to give me one more chance.
"Mommy, why is that man lying in the street?"
"Shh, don't look. Dirty, dirty."
Calling a perfectly fine person dirty was a little harsh….
Crowds of people walked the roadside.
In one alley, a group stood clustered together smoking; elsewhere, someone sprinted past as if late for something important.
They all shared one common feature, though: most of them had animal ears, horns, or similar features sprouting from their heads.
….
The sense of déjà vu that had been floating around in my skull for a while now refused to leave.
…This was that thing, wasn't it. Novel possession. The protagonist of the novel had been in almost exactly the same situation as me.
The novel's protagonist: Yun Hasol.
A slick, slippery bastard of a man.
He had finished the game Beastfolk Chronicles, cussed out the developers, and gotten dragged into this world for it.
His starting conditions were a lot better than mine, though.
There were quite a few differences between Yun Hasol's situation and mine.
When that guy dropped into this world, he woke up in a luxury hotel, already equipped with an ID, an academy exam ticket, a card loaded with money—everything he needed right away.
And me?
Exam ticket? Card? Forget it.
I didn't even have a wallet, which meant no ID either, and when I opened my eyes I was lying next to a trash bag on the side of the road.
"…What is this, preferential treatment?"
I was basically an illegal immigrant.
No—illegal immigrants at least had a country they could go back to.
By that measure, my situation was worse.
Thrown into this without warning, I had no idea how long I had been lying dazed on the pavement.
An old man with red eyes and long white hair approached me.
"Young man, get to work. Get to work. Don't just lie here like this."
I'd love to work, sir. But to get a job from a labor office you need an ID, don't you….
If you were going to say something like that, you could at least throw in some cash first.
…Of course, that was a conversation I could only have inside my head.
This was a world where mana—something I had only ever seen in fiction—actually existed.
Any beastfolk with a little training could fold an ordinary human like me in half without breaking a sweat.
If someone had survived to old age in a world like this, they were almost certainly an absolute monster….
So I avoided the old man's eyes and pretended to be asleep for a while.
"Hmph…. Tch. Live a little harder, will you."
Clink—
The sound of a coin hitting the ground startled me. I shot upright and snatched it up before anyone else could.
I immediately bent at the waist and offered the old man a deep, respectful bow.
"Aigoo, thank you so much. I'll work hard and live diligently."
If you were handing over money, that counted as sincere advice.
Have a wonderful day, sir.
Including the time before I had dropped into this place, I was twelve hours into an empty stomach. Pride had long since become a luxury I couldn't afford.
Only after confirming that the old man had waved a dismissive hand and disappeared past the far corner did I sink back down where I was.
"…Ah, seriously, what am I supposed to do."
The world in front of me was going dark.
Not a metaphor—judging by the sunset in the distance, night was actually falling.
A kind fellow homeless soul had charitably given me some scrap cardboard, so I was keeping the cold somewhat at bay, but from the talk around me it was currently February.
I had managed to tough it out while it was still daytime, but I was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. Once night hit, I might genuinely freeze to death.
"Status window."
I hugged my body as the chill started to set in and muttered the words. A translucent screen appeared before my eyes.
Lee Seohyun(Pure Human)
Status:[Starving], [Slightly Thirsty], [Mana Pollution Stage 1], [Cold]
Unique Ability:X
Stats:…
"Pretty bare-bones…."
Probably because the original novel was a game-possession story, a status window existed here.
The one Yun Hasol had used did exactly what the name suggested: a simple function that let you check your own condition.
The protagonist, however, had used that same window to receive quests and awaken abilities. Mine showed no reaction of any kind.
The small consolation was a new Status field that had never appeared in the novel's version of the window.
"Nothing but what look like debuffs plastered all over it…."
As I slowly scanned the display, one phrase caught my eye.
Mana Pollution Stage 1.
In this world, pure humans did not exist.
It was a world populated entirely by beastfolk, so pure humans like Yun Hasol could neither use mana nor even sense it.
I had assumed I had nothing to do with mana either….
The word "Pollution" tacked on after "Mana" gave off a thoroughly ominous vibe, but when you were already at rock bottom, how much further could you fall?
Clutching at straws, I wished for an explanation—and additional details on Mana Pollution rose onto the status window.
You are a body that cannot use mana.
Mana absorbed naturally from the environment is polluting your body.
If you fail to release the mana accumulating inside you in time, you will die.
Ah.
"This is straight-up discrimination!!!"
All the injustice that had been piling up finally exploded.
A body that can't use mana—so what the hell was this naturally absorbed mana, then?
The novel's protagonist hadn't even had a debuff like this.
Why did this kind of thing only ever happen to me….
I swung a useless fist at the status window again and again, but my hand simply passed through it and stirred empty air.
All I earned for my trouble were the pitying looks of people walking past, the kind reserved for someone truly pathetic.
Ding—
"Huh?"
Had it finally answered my desperation?
In that instant, new text began to appear on the status window.
"…."
"You fucking piece of shit…."