Since childhood, he had always loved stories.
At the age of nine, he began reading books, and from that point onward, he was hooked. Finishing his first book lit a fire in him—he began consuming stories without end. It became an addiction.
He spent so much money on books that he often had none left for anything else. Eventually, he found himself asking: How can I read stories more cheaply?
At sixteen, the answer came—online novels. They were accessible, fresh, and far cheaper than physical books.
With no social contacts, he became practically a shut-in. Stories were his only escape.
He was particularly drawn to tales of shut-ins who were reincarnated in fantastical worlds, gifted with overpowered abilities. Secretly, he wished the same could happen to him. After all, he had nothing to be proud of in real life.
But now, five years later, those stories had lost their magic.
"What the hell is this shit?" he muttered bitterly. "How can an author write something this bad? And what's with the title King of Destruction? Seriously, why try so hard to aura farm?"
The disappointment hit harder than usual. "I really thought I could escape this fucking boredom with a good story, but everything on this website is cringe as hell."
Scrolling, he read title after title with a grimace. I am the Extra. The Strongest E-Rank Hunter. Harem Adventure.
"Why do all the titles sound like this? Is this all that exists here?"
He wished the authors would break free from the cycle—write something unique, something meaningful.
"But nowadays, this all just feels like shitty fast food," he said aloud, exasperated.
His frustration lingered. He sighed and stared at his screen.
"Why do they always do this… sigh."
A bitter thought crossed his mind. Man… life sucks. I swear, I've read every peak fiction out there.
He felt hollow. "What now? Should I just accept life and study more? My grades are already shit, since all I do is read novels and manhwas anyway."
Then, an idea surfaced.
Maybe I could make recommendation videos on YouTube. With his extensive reading history, he could make thousands of videos.
He began scrolling through his bookmarks.
"Which stories should I choose?"
Suddenly, something caught his eye.
"…Hmm?"
"What is that?"
A story he didn't recognize sat in the list.
"I don't remember adding this to my list," he said, confused. "Maybe a bug?"
The title was glitching—black squares replaced the letters: ◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️.
It only had a prologue.
Prologue
Life is boring.
Joy came only through immersion in stories from other worlds—Murim, post-gate hunter societies, and more.
He often wondered: Why do I love these stories, even when most are poorly written?
Don't you agree?
"That's it?" he asked aloud. "Where's the rest?"
He hovered over the remove button. "I should get rid of it."
Click. Confirm.
"Well," he said, stretching his arms. "Time to go to sleep. Tomorrow is also a day."
Just two steps away from his desk, he reached his bed. He changed into pajamas, switched off the lights—one of the few conveniences of his tiny apartment.
"I'll brush my teeth tomorrow," he murmured.
But sleep didn't come. The silence was oppressive.
He lived in the center of one of the world's largest cities, yet there was no sound.
"Why is it so quiet?" he wondered.
He switched the light back on, stood up, and crossed six steps to the window.
He opened the curtains.
Anxiety surged through him.
"The city is empty?" he whispered.
Never had he seen it like this—no cars, no people, nothing. The city that never slept had stopped breathing.
Instinct took over. He ran to the door—less than two seconds in a space that small. Shoes on, door open.
Outside, only silence and stillness. The atmosphere was void-like.
"Where is everyone?" Panic began to build.
Then, a figure appeared in the distance—unclear in form.
Suddenly, his head grew heavy. And then… it happened.
Just like in the stories—a transparent, faintly bluish screen.
[The Title "The One Who Seeks Good Stories" has been granted to you]
He didn't even have time to react.
Darkness claimed him.
His eyes opened slowly. "Where am I?" he whispered.
The surroundings were surreal—no floor, no ceiling, only space. Endless galaxies glimmered around him.
It didn't feel like a dream. It felt real.
He was naked.
He pinched himself. The pain was real.
"Did I die? Is this the afterlife?"
Panic rose. Sweat coated his skin.
"This can't be happening," he said, overwhelmed.
But something felt strange. Despite everything, he felt peace—like the cosmos had calmed his mind.
He walked endlessly through the void.
Time seemed to lose meaning.
[The system greets The One Who Seeks Good Stories]
"What…?"
[You have been chosen by the system to seek good stories for the gods]
Pain stabbed through his skull.
"My head aches so much!"
[You have been granted the right to shape worlds]
"What is this screen?!"
[May you seek stories for you and the gods to enjoy]
"What does that mean?"
[The Tutorial has begun. You will be given the necessary information now.]
"Aaaahhhh!" It felt like needles piercing his brain.
[Decide on one ending to clear the Tutorial]
"What does that mean?!"
[Introducing the Story]
He was pulled into it—no choice. Everything warped.
The memory wasn't his… but it became part of him.
***
A man stood amidst carnage.
"You devil! What have you done?!" shouted a warrior, trembling as he gripped his sword, grief in his voice.
"I merely did what I was destined for," came the cold reply.
The man charged, blade slicing the air. The swordsman's fury met a single step—and his death.
The figure in black watched his foe's head hit the ground with a thud.
"That you are weak," he finished.
Around him, villagers cowered. Women clutched children, men held tools in shaking hands.
To them, he was the monster.
"He killed Sir Alden…" someone whispered.
He walked forward. No one moved. Then a voice broke through—a child.
"You… why do you do this?"
He stopped, looked into the soot-streaked face of a boy no older than ten. But he said nothing.
What was the point?
He turned and walked away.
Hours passed.
By a clear river, he found brief peace. The cool water grounded him. He drank, rested, looked at the stars.
But then came the memory.
An army had once stormed his village. He was a child, watching his home burn. His mother died before his eyes. His father too.
He had been the only one to survive.
He woke, gasping. The memory's pain lingered. The river no longer felt peaceful.
It was time for vengeance.
[Ending the Introduction]
***
The sky returned.
He lay on grass, the sun bright overhead.
"Whose memories were those?" he asked himself. "Why do I feel a bond with him…?"
He realized he wasn't just reading anymore.
"This isn't like the Isekais I always read," he murmured.
Despite the confusion, a part of him felt… happy. Escape had finally come.
But anxiety remained.
"I don't want to be some kind of novel MC…"
[Your goal is to bring a fitting ending to this story. How you do it is up to you. If you fail, your soul will perish. You have 2 years. Good luck.]
"The system again…"
No time to waste.
He stood, noticing his clothes had changed—an elegant black robe, accented with white stripes and golden flower patterns, silk-like yet alien in texture. Barefoot and regal.
"They look expensive," he muttered, drooling slightly.
But focus returned.
"So what the hell is happening right now?"
He tried to piece it all together.
"There was a glitchy novel. A system. A world."
"This can't just be accepted. I'm not a brainless protagonist!"
Frustration built again—until a voice called out.
A woman. Shouting. Waving.
He couldn't understand her words—foreign beyond recognition.
[First achievement: get into contact with an inhabitant of this world]
[Skill earned: Automatic Translation Lv.1]
[You have earned the right to open your status window]
[Status Window]
Title: The One Who Seeks Good Stories – effects locked
Skills:
Automatic Translation Lv.1
"This reeks too much of a cliché," he thought.
But there was no denying it now—
The story had begun.