White Room, Black Book
There was no pain.
That was the first thing I noticed.
No falling. No impact. No tearing of flesh. Just an abrupt end—like a sentence cut mid-word.
When I opened my eyes, I was no longer on the construction site. There was no wind, no city, no sky.
I was sitting.
On nothing.
The room was white.
Not the soft white of clouds or marble, but an absolute white—floor, walls, ceiling—all blending into one endless surface. There were no corners. No shadows. No source of light. The brightness didn't hurt my eyes, yet it felt unnatural, like the world itself had been erased and replaced with a blank page.
In front of me floated a book.
It didn't fall. It didn't hover with magic circles or glow with power. It simply was.
A black book, old and worn, its surface cracked like dried earth. No title on the cover. No symbols. No ornamentation. Just black.
I stared at it for a long time.
Somewhere in my chest, something stirred.
Then the book opened by itself.
The pages were blank at first.
Slowly, letters began to appear, written in a clean, emotionless script.
> "The story creation has ended."
My breath hitched.
> "You may rewrite the story once."
"You may begin from any point you choose."
"You may include, remove, or alter events, rules, and foundations."
The words paused.
Then more lines formed.
> "You are permitted one rewrite only."
"You are limited to one thousand lines."
"All changes must be logical."
"All changes must connect."
I felt my heart pounding again—real this time.
My memories flooded back.
Not slowly.
All at once.
The orphanage.
Aria.
The construction site.
The alley.
The kiss.
The laughter.
The push.
My dream.
My past life.
My struggles.
My wishes.
My family.
My friend, Askra.
King of martial artists.
The dream I laughed at as a child.
The dream I buried under survival.
The dream I handed to another because I thought I wasn't worthy.
I clenched my fists.
"So it wasn't a dream I dream everytime I slept. It was my memories." I whispered.
The book did not respond.
I looked down at myself.
My body was intact. No wounds. No blood. I felt… whole. Yet I knew with terrifying certainty that I was dead.
"This is after death," I said quietly.
The book turned a page.
New words appeared.
> "This is the interval."
"…An afterlife?"
> "No."
The answer appeared instantly, flat and uncaring.
> "This is a record."
I swallowed.
"A record of what?"
The page flipped again.
> "Avatars."
The word made my spine prickle.
I stared at the blank space beneath it, waiting. Nothing else appeared.
"…That's it?" I asked. "You're not going to explain?"
The book remained silent.
For the first time since waking up, panic crept in.
"One rewrite," I muttered. "One chance."
I laughed weakly.
"What am I supposed to write?"
My entire life had been about enduring, not imagining. I had followed paths carved by necessity. Survival had never left room for creativity.
"I don't even know this world," I said. "I don't know its rules. I don't know what's possible."
The book waited.
"I can't just… write something great out of nowhere."
Silence.
Then, slowly, new words formed.
> "State your intention."
I blinked.
"My… intention?"
> "What do you seek?"
I hesitated.
So many answers surfaced at once.
Revenge.
Power.
Justice.
Escape.
But beneath them all was something simpler. Something honest.
"…I don't want to live like that again."
The words trembled as they left me.
"I don't want to be weak. I don't want to be disposable. I don't want my life to be something others can use and throw away."
The page turned.
> "Clarify."
I took a deep breath.
"What are my options?" I asked.
The book responded, precise and detached.
> "You may write favorable events."
"You may write advantageous encounters."
"You may define systems of power."
"You may establish laws."
My eyes widened slightly.
"But first answer me. What did you write? Why she cheat? I thought she really loved me? But was I always wrong?"
>"Read the story carefully after you left her alone in school."
I was still in daze. But I do it.
[ The story was simple. The principal's son. Who was 5 years son in our school and was already in college came in the school program. He liked her.
Then he put a drug in her drink. Spend the night. When she wakes up in morning, she found herself in his arms. He was forcefull. And she like it.]
" What?" I didn't want to read. But I continue.
[His money, the recognition from a upper socity make her fall for him more. But in the higher society to stand up she needs money. So she used Bigin's money. Principal's son already used his father to make her study for free. ]
" I ? Can't.." I wanted to say something but only my eyes became wet more.
[Then in college they found a stock to buy. A new company. But they knew it's backing network. They knew they will hit jackpot. But they need to buy as much as possible. She also wanted to buy majority on her name. So she used Bigin's money. ..]
I couldn't read it anymore. I can't imagine. All the time I was eating only bread survive. And she was just. I was angry.
For once a revenge thought came in my mind. But I didn't do anything. I just cry.
I don't know how much time is gone. But I have planned to write something new.
" I am ready. Let's write!" I said.
>" You can write only 1000 lines. I will write 1000 words after that. After that you can write again. If death. You will goes back with the powers you get from the Avatar. "
"Ok! Let's see. It's a modern world. And if I remember correctly there is a famous stories covering gangsters. Let's use them.. But how?"
[ Ok. Someone pushed Bigin. But bigin fall on a truck and survive. But the he was wounded. People came out of the truck. He didn't know that this truck is actually kidnaping people to sell. They throw his body in truck.
But Bigin saw the one who pushed him. His supervisor...]