Rain sighed, long and sharp, flipping the book shut with a smack.
"What the hell is wrong with this novel?" he muttered, his voice echoing through the quiet room.
He glared at the cover like it had personally offended him.
The world was cool. The setting was even better. But the MC? Pathetic. Every time. Why couldn't there ever be a main character who actually stood up for himself? One that wasn't some weak bitch?
He slumped back in his chair, scowling at the ceiling. Every single novel was the same. The MC was always some relatable loser. Couldn't talk to females without stuttering. Had powers so broken they could destroy mountains, but still cried about morality when the villain deserved to die.
Another sigh left him, deeper this time. What a waste. Hours gone for nothing. Everyone had said, just wait till the character development. But he was two hundred chapters in, and the MC was still the same wimp.
He rubbed his eyes, exhausted and done. He wasn't the kind of person to write reviews. That was for old people—the ones who reviewed vacuum cleaners and toasters online. But this time? He'd had enough.
Ten novels this month. Ten disappointments.
Swallowing his pride, he grabbed his phone and opened the app.
The title glared back at him in bold letters: The Unforgivable End.
Just staring at it made his stomach twist. Even the light from his phone felt like an insult stabbing at his tired eyes. But what really pissed him off were the reviews.
"This novel is so amazing. I truly feel connected to this MC. The way he fights is heroic. He's a good person. 10/10."
His jaw tightened. Yeah. No wonder they felt connected. It's because they were all the same kind of weak. "Yeah! No wonder you feel connected to him. It's because you're a pussy!" he yelled into his small apartment. His voice bounced off the peeling walls.
Then he remembered the noise complaints from his neighbors and sank back down, muttering curses under his breath.
He scrolled further.
"Who wouldn't love this story? It's perfect. The worldbuilding, the characters. No harem too? Wow. The MC is the best! His powers are cool. The world is detailed!"
Rain almost lost it. His thumb trembled above the Review button.
Five minutes later, his screen glowed with his creation — pure, unfiltered rage.
Do y'all seriously think this is a good novel? How? Why? Sure, the story's fine. The side characters are fine too. But the MC? A fucking drag.
Can't stand up for himself — -1.
Doesn't kill when he should — -1.
Can't talk to a female to save his life — -1.
Has insane powers but can't use them right — -5.
And finally… to sum it all up for you reviewers who rated this a 4.9/5 — screw you reviewers! And screw you author!
He exhaled hard, lifted his finger, and hovered over Submit.
Relief hit him suddenly, heavy, like he'd been holding his breath for months. All those hours waiting for another crappy chapter, every wasted minute of reading… gone. Vanished, like they'd never existed.
He thought that would make him happy. That it would finally feel like it was over.
It didn't.
For the next few days, sleep barely came. His mind kept circling back to one thing — the review.
Notifications poured in, more and more each day. And none of them were good.
-356 likes. 24 comments. Every single one the same.
"SHUTUP."
"What would you know?"
"You're a clown!"
"Have you even read it?"
Each one made his blood boil. But one — just one — made his face burn. From a user called TheUnforgivableEndUser.
"If you were in this novel's world you would surely die quickly. You would be the lowest person of them all. It would be surprising if you even learned how to control your own powers."
Without thinking, he fired back.
"Difficult? Where? This world would be a breeze. And what kind of argument is that? Die instantly? Do you know how many video games I've played? If I went into this world, I'd already know every sequence that would happen because I've read the novel. It would be a walk in the park."
The reply came instantly. Creepy-fast.
"Is that a bet?"
His fingers hovered. Then shot a reply.
"Obviously. But who the hell would bet on a hypothetical scenario?"
He expected a pause — forty seconds, maybe a minute. But nothing. No response.
A smirk tugged at his mouth. Haha. Didn't even want to respond. He'd won.
Finally, he tossed the phone aside, flopped onto his bed, and closed his eyes. Sleep came easier this time.
Rain woke up like any other day. He got off the bed, eyes still half-closed. No need to open them fully — he knew the layout of his apartment by heart.
Blindly, he shuffled forward, reaching for his bedroom door. His hand met air. Frowning, he patted the wall, reached again. Nothing.
"What the hell…" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes open.
His breath caught.
This wasn't his room.
The white bed was gone—replaced by a black one, stiff and unfamiliar. The desk where his PC sat? Gone. The chair? Gone. The paintings he'd hung up just to make the place less depressing — all missing. The walls were plain, off-white, cracked.
He smacked his cheek lightly. "Get it together, Rain."
Maybe this was a dream. He flopped back onto the bed, squeezed his eyes shut. Waited.
Thirty seconds later, he opened them again. Still here.
His chest tightened. Where… am I?
The floor was marble now — cold under his bare feet. The air smelled faintly of dust and iron. A small table sat in the corner, uneven, handmade.
He pushed open the door and stepped into a narrow hallway. No posters, no scuffs, no sign of life. Just gray walls and silence.
At the end, a kitchen. If it could even be called that. A single wooden table. No fridge. No cabinets. A chipped counter that looked untouched for years.
He moved into the living room next. Torn carpet. A couch that looked like it would collapse if you sat too fast. No TV. No anything.
"What the hell is this…" The words slipped out.
Kidnapped? Drugged? None of it made sense.
Then he saw the front door. White. Tiny window. Paint flaking.
He sprinted toward it, grabbed the handle, and yanked it open.
Cold air met him first. A chill that sank deep. Something in his gut screamed, a twisting instinct he couldn't explain. Rain had always trusted his instincts — they usually kept him alive. But this time, the feeling was strange. Wrong.
He stepped outside. A quiet street. Houses lined both sides. Cracked roads stretched ahead. Cars hummed faintly somewhere distant. Trees swayed in calm wind. Everything looked normal. Too normal.
He hadn't checked the whole house. Two doors in the hallway. One had to be another room.
He stepped back inside and closed the door quietly, heartbeat loud in his ears. The right door opened to a small bathroom, plain. He shut it quickly. Turned to the left.
That one had to be the bedroom. He twisted the knob slowly and stepped inside. Different from the room he'd woken up in. White bed. Desk with a mirror. Gray walls. Marble floors cold enough to bite. The air smelled of dust and something faintly metallic.
Then he heard it. Breathing.
He spun around. Heart hammering.
Darkness swallowed everything.
The pounding in his head came first. Hard. Relentless. Like a steel hammer slamming over and over.
He blinked. Everything was hazy, blurred. Shapes and light blending together. "What the hell…" The words croaked out weak.
The fog in his vision lifted, slowly. That's when he saw her.
She stood right in front of him. His eyes dropped to himself — sitting in a chair, taped up like some criminal. Panic hit sharp. He jerked, twisted, fought the bindings. The chair didn't budge. Too heavy.
"Who are you?" The words tore out, raw with confusion and anger.
She didn't answer. Just stared down at him like he was something disgusting. Pink hair. Black eyes. A face so delicate it almost made him forget how trapped he was. Around his age. Maybe nineteen. About five-five, though it was hard to tell from his angle.
"Who are you?" he demanded again.
She sighed, bent down to his level, and poked his forehead with a finger. "Who are you?" she said softly.
Rain froze. She didn't seem aggressive. She actually looked… innocent.
"I asked first," he said, irritation cutting through confusion.
Her hand moved faster than he could react. A slap cracked across his cheek. Pain flared, hot and sharp. His skin burned red. "Ow! What the fuck?"
"That's not how it works," she said calmly. "You answer my questions. I don't answer yours."
His chest tightened. Taped to a chair, in a house he didn't recognize, slapped by some stranger — he was seconds away from snapping. He'd never wanted to hit a girl before. But right now? God, he wanted to.
He didn't want to speak. But he didn't want another slap either. Clenching his jaw, he said, "My name's Rain."
The girl smiled faintly, then poked his forehead again. "Okay, Rain… now what are you doing in my house?"
He froze, mind scrambling. Should he tell her the truth? That he woke up here? Make up something? Stay silent? Silence felt safest. He chose that.
Thirty seconds passed. Then her hand came again — harder this time — striking the other side of his face.
"Ouch! Man, again? What the hell is wrong with you?" He tried to move his hands, forgetting they were bound.
"You didn't answer me," she said sharply.
He gritted his teeth, pain radiating across his jaw. "Fine. I woke up here."
"Huh?" Her brow furrowed.
"I woke up in the other bedroom," he said tightly. "I don't know how I got there… but I did. Anyways, where even am I?"
She stared at him for a moment. "Do you seriously expect me to believe you just randomly teleported into my guest bedroom?"
Hearing it out loud made him sound insane. "It's true!" he snapped.
She let out a long, tired sigh, like she was dealing with a child.
Something in him snapped. He stopped caring what she'd do. The chair rattled as he jerked against it.
"Do you seriously think the cops will let this slide?" he said. "You can't just tie someone up and slap them around. That's illegal!"
Her expression didn't change — just confusion, blank and pure. "Cops? Huh?"
He blinked at her. Was she serious? "Yeah, like… law enforcement," he said slowly. "People who arrest you. The ones who put you in jail for doing crazy shit like this?"
Her head tilted, eyes soft and empty. "What the heck is law enforcement?"
He froze.
For a second, he thought she was joking. But the look in her eyes wasn't sarcasm. It was real.
And for the first time, something deeper than anger stirred in him — a creeping unease crawling up his spine.