Chapter 1
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: The Final Alarm
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Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.
'Cut it out, you bastard. It hurts.'
Was this what dying felt like? I reacted so intensely even to the alarm I'd heard every day for the past ten years. Unable to sit up, I just turned my head and opened my eyes.
Beneath the wall clock blaring the alarm...
One. Collect 100 points to earn your freedom.
One. No work, no privileges.
One. Mock the Team Leader or the office, and face punishment.
The code of conduct filled one entire wall, and by now I could recite it with my eyes closed.
'Weekly 1st place gets 1 point + meal ticket. 2nd place gets 1 point + laundry ticket. 3rd place...'
This was how I motivated myself every morning to start the day. And it'd been ten years already.
"Ugh... damn it. Ugh, damn it."
A metallic rattle echoed deep from my chest with every breath. This was seriously dangerous.
'Gotta get up...'
I barely dragged myself out of bed.
The room was about 200 square feet. The only furniture was a bed, desk, and chair. The computer on the desk was my entire life—the only window to the outside world.
'Just once. Just get 1st place once...'
I couldn't die like a dog. I knew we were all in the same boat, but I had to claim 1st this week somehow and secure that one point just to survive.
'This body won't last another week.'
Food had no taste anymore. Hemoptysis had become routine, and even in my sleep—I'd stained the bed with blood again.
Thud.
I slumped into the chair and stared at the monitor. Others were already online. We could share screens and chat. Without that, I'd have lost my mind long ago.
【Good morning. -1】
1—that was me. No one told me, but I figured I was the first one brought here. There hadn't even been a chat system back then.
【How's your body? -7】
【Still holding up. Thanks for worrying. -1】
On screen, Number 7 gazed at me with concern.
Number 7. Asking her name wasn't allowed. We chatted, but revealing personal info meant something horrific.
The Team Leader saw everything.
【Let's do our best today! Everyone, hang in there! -7】
Number 7 was always so bright. Cheerful, maybe? The type who'd grown up loved and without a care in the world.
I often thought about hearing her voice. But this place made even that impossible.
【No. 1, you should rest more^^ Forcing it will make the story go off the rails! -13】
I glanced at the chat but didn't reply, just nodded slightly.
'Who asked you.'
She wasn't wrong about my heavy body, but I needed that extra point this week no matter what.
Besides, Number 13 was a guy with a massive inferiority complex toward me. He didn't hide his blatant jealousy, and lately, he was one of my biggest rivals threatening my top spot.
If I rested?
He'd automatically take 1st this week.
"Hoo..."
I stared at the desktop. Folders crammed with every work I'd written over the past ten years.
I opened one.
I Hide My Power Alone
I'd planned and written up to chapter 300 originally, but I wasn't sure if my body could hold out. Today's quota was chapter 233.
'I'll push to 250 this week. Time to aim for the finale.'
When I first arrived, like any normal writer, I'd done one episode a day. 5,000 characters including spaces—it left me wiped out.
'Body's not great today... let's aim for four episodes.'
This place had taught me brutally how far you could push a human body.
If I set my mind to it, I could finish a full volume in three days, but sickness made it impossible now.
'First, check reactions to the last batch...'
No internet, but the Team Leader sent files constantly.
Click.
I opened the file.
-Isn't it dragging a bit?
-Writer's eyeing the end.
-Hasn't recovered all the plot threads yet?
-It's about to get good—why end now? Do 10 more volumes!
-Loved it again today! Author best!
'I wanted to do 10 more volumes too!'
But I knew this body couldn't.
'No fatal backlash on the content anyway. Can keep going.'
Staring at the monitor like this made time fly. When bored, peeking at other writers eased the loneliness.
'No 32 since yesterday. Something wrong?'
The chat log went up to the newest, Number 36.
Number 36.
Very pretty. Pale, clear skin, but she hadn't fully grasped her situation yet—just staring anxiously at the monitor.
'Everyone's like that at first.'
You really learn how adaptable humans are once you're here.
'Crying...?'
Woken by the alarm, sitting at her desk watching us—it must've hit her. Number 36 covered her face with both hands, shoulders shaking.
Only three weeks in, so it made sense. But in another two weeks, she'd be like us.
'Tsk.'
The only way out was collecting points, and no work meant not even toilet paper.
'No way 32's dead...'
Not certain, but over ten years, eight had vanished.
4, 11, 13, 19...
When 4 first disappeared for days, I thought flu maybe. But he never came back. That planted massive fear in the rest of us.
'Webtoon team's joint liability...'
Office writers focused on two things. Me and 21 others did webnovels; the rest did webtoons.
Webnovels were solo, so poor performance or sick breaks were on you alone. Webtoons had divided roles—one slip, and the whole team lost rewards.
Swipe.
Maybe that's why webtoon writers chatted more actively than us novelists.
-43rd panel coloring needs more blending.
-Checked. Will fix.
-Final panel goes to the illustrator, right?
-Deadline first today.
-Looking forward!
First three years were just novelists. Then webtoon artists got dragged in.
We got limited feedback on our work's reception via the Team Leader, and weekly "sales" determined rankings.
【One episode done! Gotta take a shit! BRB! -13】
'Already?'
Monitor clock showed just one hour passed.
'Bastard's hands getting faster.'
People might wonder how webnovelists beat webtoonists in sales. I did at first.
But try it—methods differ.
Webtoons weekly; webnovels daily, seven days. Prodigies like 13 or vets like me hit 50 episodes a week.
Meaning seven daily while holding rank.
Of course, we didn't actually. Team Leader was meticulous—wouldn't do anything suspicious.
Usually two episodes, then mass uploads for paid arcs or events.
Readers loved it.
Cough—!
"......"
Blood sprayed the keyboard. Splattered the monitor too.
Body failing was bad enough, but a broken keyboard? I clamped my mouth with my hand and bolted to the toilet.
Grabbed TP to wipe blood when a personal chat from the Team Leader popped up.
-Keyboard's waterproof. No rush—take it slow.
You fucker—that's something you tell upfront!
First time in ten years knowing it was waterproof. Last year he swapped for a new one after it broke—had water resistance? World sure advanced.
'Calm down...'
Personal chats with the Team Leader were rare outside data requests, so I shoved the bloody TP aside and typed on the keyboard.
-1st this week means I get out, right?
-I keep my promises.
I needed a hospital. I'd dreamed of "freedom" for ten years, but right now, "survival" came first.
'Bastard has no choice but to maintain security.'
He gave meds if sick. Nothing beyond that.
How thorough and insane this psychopath was? Proven by not seeing his face in ten years.
After cleaning up, I checked chat. Number 7 had messaged.
【You really okay? -7】
【Yes.】
We couldn't talk—just faces on screen, typing. But I liked her.
Funny feeling emotions here where human rights were erased. But what could you do? Even extremes bloom flowers.
'Hah, flowers my ass. Occupational hazard.'
Spitting blood dying, and metaphors auto-popped in my head—pure cynicism as I rose from the chair.
"Cough, cough—!"
TP in hand, I sat on the toilet. Bed, toilet, adjacent shower—only private corners.
Of course, just from us writers. Four ceiling corner CCTVs beamed everything to the Team Leader.
Ugh.
Bowel movements got hard since sickness started. Discomfort from gut to butt, but trying yielded nothing smooth even after ages.
'Damn, no time for this.'
'What to do outside?' I'd thought often.
Deliver justice to the Team Leader fucker first, but ten years gaslit—doubted I could catch him.
'I know all the works; police tracing wouldn't be hard.'
One suspicion: Would the Team Leader not know that?
'Make me sign a waiver on exit?'
Dunno. Body off, brain sluggish. If energy for that, focus on work. Mess up, no 1st.
Back to desk, concentrated.
Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.
Only keyboard echoed. Sporadic chats, but focus time—intense faces everywhere.
How long?
Rumble.
Noise at the door.
'Food.'
Two meals daily. Meal ticket: anything you want all week.
Absolute power, pleasure here—but no appetite pissed me off.
Bean rice, pickled radish, shit soup—first 1st in four years got meal ticket; would've died happy. Taste matters hugely to humans.
Speaker above door chimed. Robotic voice, but I knew whose.
-Meal time. Trays served. Eat up.
Skillfully pulled shelf under desk, walked to door. Opened flap—tray inside.
"......"
My favorite: burger. Fries and cola too—full set.
First meal ticket: this. Stuffed it down crying buckets—not ashamed. Anyone would.
Took tray to chair. Meal time—we checked each other's eats.
【Whoa! No. 1! Burger king! Huge! Taste review pls! -4】
【Patty what? Beef? Chicken? Ugh, looks delish! -33】
Low number didn't mean vet. New writer replaced vanished 4.
"Haa..."
I eyed the tray. This plump burger? Priceless treasure here.
Suddenly...
Chatted the Team Leader. If I had 99 points or wasn't sick, wouldn't dare.
-Got a question.
Normally no reply. About ten seconds?
'Oh?'
Reply came.
-No poison. Eat without worry.
What?