Lin woke up to find the two men from yesterday standing in front of him. Again, they were there to wake him.
One of them spoke in a cold, clipped voice.
"Did you finish the writing?"
Lin silently handed over the stack of papers.
The man began reading through the third, fourth, and fifth volumes. For every one he finished, Lin had written a summary. It was like swallowing bitter medicine—disgusting, but necessary for survival.
Then, two black-clad men entered. They set down a cup of ramen and a bottle of water. They switched on the fan, cracked open a hidden window. A single ray of sunlight spilled in. Jin felt it touch his skin like a forgotten warmth.
He ate slowly. Then lay back on his bed. But something gnawed at him.
Something was missing.
And then, it hit him—he hadn't dreamed of the man with black hair that night.
Jin stared at the ceiling, piecing things together.
> The novel... "Shoujo Multiverse." It brainwashes everyone who reads it.
But… why didn't it work on me?
That dream always echoed with a single word:
"Jin… Jin… Jin…"
> I don't know how he knew my name. But I cried.
Tears fell on their own, like my soul was mourning him.
But the last dream… it was different.
> He said: "Destroy the final chapter. Survive."
Should I trust him?
I don't know.
But… if he wanted me dead, why would he tell me to live?
For now, Jin chose to obey.
Just maybe… he could break the curse of this damned novel.
What followed was pure hell.
Each day, the number of volumes he had to summarize increased. And with every delay, came punishment—vile, escalating punishment.
Fall behind? They fed him worms.
Slow down? They made the room a blazing furnace.
Weaken? They filled the cell with crawling insects—ants, beetles, centipedes—biting, stinging, whispering madness into his ears.
No mercy.
No sleep.
No way out.
But Jin endured.
After five days, his sleep shrank to just three hours.
He kept going.
He summarized the Magic World.
Then the Hunter World.
Then the Celestial World.
Then Murim.
Only the Immortal World remained. The most complex. He was given ten days.
He finished it in nine.
He handed in the pages to the bodyguards—dead-eyed, hands shaking.
By then, Jin wasn't human anymore.
He was a hollow shell. A ghost in flesh.
> This place… it could break a soul in ten days.
But he never rebelled.
He knew rebellion meant death.
So he buried his emotions.
> As long as they don't touch my body,
I'll survive anything.
As long as my dignity stays intact…
That night, he slept.
Really slept.
And those three hours felt like heaven.
The next morning, they brought him out to meet the principal.
The man was smiling. A calm, pleasant smile—masking something monstrous underneath.
"Change into this," the principal said, handing over an outfit.
Jin unfolded it.
"…A clown costume."
"Jester the Cursed Clown's," the principal replied, voice cheerful.
"You want me to wear this?"
The smile didn't fade. "Do you… look down on Jester the Clown?"
Jin didn't answer.
"Fine," the principal added. "If this humiliates you too much, you can always wear Rosillea's outfit—the dancing magician."
It was mockery.
Jin's fists clenched. His humiliation boiled. He was on the verge of snapping—until the bodyguards took one step forward.
He took the costume and entered the dressing room.
Inside, a girl his age was waiting, holding makeup.
No words were exchanged. She painted the cursed clown's face on him, layer by layer.
Green, white, red.
She left.
He stood in front of the mirror.
A pathetic clown stared back. Purple suit. Painted smile. Lifeless eyes.
Jin punched the mirror.
Glass shattered. Blood spilled.
The principal entered, unbothered.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," Jin muttered.
The man gestured toward the bus.
Jin boarded silently.
The other students were laughing, chatting about the Webtoon event. About Frosita. About Luna. About fantasy and romance and power systems.
He ignored them all.
The bus stopped.
They arrived at the venue.
As Jin stepped down, the principal stopped him.
"You have a role," he said. "You'll lead them. As Jester.
Dance down the stairs in honor of the great, unknown author of this masterpiece."
He leaned closer.
"Don't disappoint us. The world is watching.
Make us proud."
Jin said nothing.
> The chapter... it's near. Jin felt it—not with his eyes, but as if an invisible thread was pulling him toward it, tightening with every step.
He smiled.
It wasn't human.
It was a devil's grin—painted on skin and carved into soul.
"I'll do it."
The piano began. The violins followed.
Jin took the lead.
He danced.
He leapt, clapped his legs mid-air, twirled in mocking grace. The crowd roared. Cameras flashed.
He climbed the stairs. Five steps ahead of the others.
At the top, he paused. Turned.
Then—he yanked the carpet.
The entire clown parade behind him tumbled like dominos, crashing and crying.
Jin spun around.
There it was.
The final chapter.
Encased in glass.
Four guards appeared, charging.
Two had swords, dressed like knights.
Jin ducked, weaved, and slammed one into the other—sending them rolling down the stairs.
Two more rushed him.
He struck—fists like iron.
One dropped. Then the other.
> I fought two monsters in that cell every day.
You? You're nothing.
He turned.
Shattered the glass.
Grabbed the chapter.
He raised it above his head for the cameras. For the world.
> "Wake up to reality, humanity!"
And then—he tore it.
> Only for a terrifying white ray to explode from the chapter.
It didn't shine—it devoured.
It tore through the sky. Through the stage. Through reality itself.
The world shook, as if it were screaming in agony.
"It was a trap…" Jin whispered, the realization crashing down on him a second too late.
And then—
the light swallowed him whole.