Yanluo wasn’t a dreamer. Luck, fate, gods, and justice? All of those had let him down long ago. His life, if it could even be called such, had shrunk into a dull, crumbling routine—wake up in pain, watch the world go by, scribble it all down, sleep, and then do it all over again. No friends. No family. Just faces that drifted in and out, used him up, and vanished. His room was a dimly lit basement tucked away in the city’s shadowy corners. Mold crept along the edges of the ceiling, and a rusted water tank blocked his only window. The walls were bare, save for a corkboard cluttered with notes—names, photos, connections. The one thing that truly mattered to him was the **black notebook** on his desk, frayed and full of his scrawls. For years, he had poured his thoughts into it. People’s habits. Secrets. Lies. Patterns. Like a stalker or a budding detective, he cataloged every person who crossed his path.
“Nam Gung Jae – Always scratches his right wrist when lying.”
“Kim Hana – Avoids eye contact when praised. Self-esteem issues?”
“Professor Lee – Sneaks glances at female students’ legs during lectures. Watch behavior.”
This wasn’t about revenge. He simply craved the truth.
---
His body had always been delicate. Born with a weak immune system, his childhood was a blur of hospitals and hushed conversations. Running left him breathless, sports turned into bloodbaths, and when fists flew, he couldn’t defend himself. High school made him a target. College didn’t offer refuge; it only sharpened the cruelty—more cunning, more insidious. Fake friends. Smiling traitors. And then there was her. The only one he had ever trusted. She pretended to care, acted as if she understood him, leading him to believe she was his last tether to something real. Then she betrayed him, selling his secrets to those who took pleasure in beating him until his spine cracked. He spent graduation week in a hospital bed, barely able to move. That was the day the last flicker of hope inside him snuffed out.
---
One evening, as was his routine, he sat alone in the park—not for enjoyment, but to watch. To *observe*. The world felt rotten, and he was its quiet witness. He saw a teenage boy feigning a limp to dodge chores. A mother yelling at her daughter for crying too loudly. A man spitting on the ground after getting rejected by a girl he had tried to flirt with. People were like masks. Beneath, they were always ugly. He pulled out his notebook to jot down more notes. But then—
Stolen story; please report.
**Buzz.**
His phone vibrated weakly in his pocket.
**[1 New Message – Unknown Sender]**
**Subject: If you had power, what would you do with it?**
“What the…” He frowned and tapped it. This wasn’t an app notification or a pop-up. Just… a message. Plain, simple, and unsettlingly timed. He scrolled down.
“Would you save the world… or rule it?”
A bitter laugh escaped him. “Great. Scam emails are getting poetic now.” But still… something felt *off*. For reasons he couldn’t articulate, his fingers moved to open a reply window. For a moment, he just stared. Then he typed:
**“You want to know what I’d do with power?”**
**“I’d rule. No mercy, no heroes. Just me at the top.”**
He hit **Send**.
---
The screen glitched. His reflection distorted in the glass. The world around him blurred for half a second—too fast to be real, too slow to be a dream. He blinked.
**HONK!** **SCREECH—** A traffic light turned red. A truck didn’t stop. And Yanluo never saw the second half of the road.
---
He didn’t wake up. Because there was no body left to wake in. He was floating—or perhaps falling—into a black, boundless void. He could feel nothing, neither breath nor heartbeat. Just silence. Just… himself. Suddenly, a glowing icon appeared before him. No shape, no face—just a shifting white **“?”** that pulsed like a heartbeat. It didn’t speak, but it didn’t need to.
“Now, Yanluo… what do you want?”
He blinked, thoughts flooding in like poison. *Did I die? Was that… truck real? A joke? A dream? Why does this feel so vivid?* His voice trembled, unsure if he was thinking or speaking.
“What the hell is happening…?”
The “?” shimmered. The void pulsed with its presence—dark, thick, and strangely **evil**. Then it spoke again—not with words, but with understanding.
**“I understand your situation.”**
**“So I’ll give you another chance.”**
**“A new world awaits. Full of mysteries, power… and rules.”**
**“Do whatever you want.”**
Yanluo’s expression remained unchanged. But something flickered within him—something long buried. Then came the final condition:
**“But after death, your soul is mine.”**
**“Eternal suffering. A trade for power.”**
Yanluo didn’t hesitate. He simply said:
“Anything’s better than that hellhole.”
The void twisted. The symbol blazed brighter, then shattered like glass. And Yanluo fell—again.
Hey, thanks for reading! This is my very first work, so I’m learning as I go. If you liked the chapter or have suggestions, feel free to share them. I promise the story will only get better from here!
