Social Web Sight required a visual.
Kasia provided it. A VIP ticket to "Fistoria Futures," a small industry mixer for top authors and partners. Kozlov would be there.
"Your presence will be noted," Kasia's message read. "Wear the black suit. Be a ghost. Observe."
The suit arrived via courier. Another silent luxury piece. I put it on. Looked in the mirror.
A young entrepreneur. A prodigy. Not a kid.
The event was in a renovated warehouse. Edison bulbs, exposed brick, the low hum of ambition. I recognized a few faces from Fistoria banners.
I grabbed a sparkling water, stayed near the wall.
Kozlov arrived ten minutes late. A entourage of two—probably his agent and a friend. He was tall, with the carefully tousled hair of someone trying to look effortlessly genius. He wore a nervous smile.
My pulse steadied. Target acquired.
I focused. Activated Social Web Sight.
The world around Kozlov shimmered. Lines of light, visible only to me, erupted from him, connecting to people in the room.
Thick, green lines to his agent (Ally/Strong). A flickering yellow line to a Fistoria marketing manager (Professional/Debt). A thin, red jagged line to another author across the room (Rivalry/Strained).
But the most interesting lines were faint, stretching out of the room.
One pulsing red line shot into the digital ether—labeled Ghostwriter - Betrayal.
Another, a frayed grey line, led away with the tag Mother - Burden.
And a thick, golden chain connected to the Fistoria logo on a banner—Contract - Pressure.
The web told a story. A man held together by deals and desperation.
I sipped my water, the skill duration ticking down.
Kozlov was holding court, talking loudly about his "groundbreaking magic system." But the green line to his agent flickered with streaks of orange. Doubt.
His agent was worried.
The five-minute duration ended. The lines vanished.
I had seen enough.
I slipped out before anyone could approach me. In the cool night air, I texted Kasia.
Me: The agent is doubtful. The ghostwriter betrayal line is active. The mother is a heavy burden. Increase pressure on all fronts.
Kasia: Understood. The ghostwriter will send his formal delay notice tomorrow. A collection agency will call regarding the mother's oldest medical debt. The agent will receive an anonymous tip about Kozlov's declining reader retention.
Cold. Efficient.
I felt a thrill that had nothing to do with the night air.
This was strategy. Real-time, psychological warfare.
The next day, at school, I was a phantom. My mind was in the war room.
Notifications trickled in.
Kasia: Ghostwriter delay notice sent. Kozlov is panicking. He's offering bonuses.
Kasia: Collection call placed. He was heard shouting in the office.
Kasia: Tip delivered to agent. They are meeting in one hour.
I checked Kozlov's Fistoria page. His launch countdown banner still glowed. Three days.
But the comments section had a new, sticky post from a moderator.
"Please note: 'Sword of the Exiled Prince' launch may experience minor content delays. We appreciate your patience!"
The first public crack.
Readers reacted instantly.
"Delays before it even starts?"
"Unprofessional."
"I'll just reread Chronos Imperium."
I smiled.
My own page, meanwhile, glowed with health. Kasia had secured me a "Spotlight Interview" on the Fistoria blog. It went live at noon.
The questions were softballs. My answers, crafted with Reader's Insight, were confident, visionary.
The comment section flooded with praise.
"Chronos_Architect is the future!"
"This guy gets it."
The ranking gap between #1 (me) and #4 (Kozlov) widened.
In the library, I opened my analytics. Used Reader's Insight on my entire story arc.
The heatmap was a sea of green, with pockets of deep emerald where the plot twists landed.
I was operating at peak efficiency.
After school, a new Fistoria notification.
Milestone: 10,000 Power Stones donated to "Chronos Imperium."
[MILESTONE ACHIEVED: CULTIVATED A DEVOTED READER BASE]
[REWARD: RANDOM SKILL ROLL INITIATED…]
Another roll. The gacha mechanic was addictive.
The slot machine spun in my mind. It landed on an icon of a whispering mouth.
[SKILL UNLOCKED: WHISPERED DOUBT (ACTIVE)]
[DESCRIPTION: Once per week, you may plant a seed of profound self-doubt in one individual. They will question a core competency (e.g., their talent, their judgment). Effect lasts 48 hours. Best used on creative or intellectual rivals.]
A direct debuff skill. Perfect for the final push.
I looked at Kozlov's author photo on my screen.
Three days until his launch.
I had a new tool.
And a front-row seat to his collapse.
//-\\
To my fellow authors in the trenches:
They told us we weren't good enough. They sent the cold, automated emails. "Not a fit for our current line-up." "Lacks marketability."
Every time you see Alex Thorn crush an editor in this story, remember: this isn't just fiction.
This is the scream of every writer who stayed up until 3:00 AM pouring their soul into a document that the world ignored. It is for everyone who has ever struggled with low reads, low reviews, low comments, and those painful, stagnant low collections that make you want to quit.
The gatekeepers are human. They are flawed. And in the digital age, they are becoming obsolete.
They sit in their comfortable chairs judging worlds they could never even imagine, let alone build. They look at spreadsheets while we look at the stars.
We don't write for the approval of a corporate board in a glass office. We write for the person scrolling on their phone at a bus stop, looking for a world better than their own.
We write for the ones who need an escape from a life that feels like a dead end.
If you have a manuscript sitting in a folder named "Draft 1" that you're too afraid to post—post it right now.
Stop waiting for permission to exist. If you've been rejected ten times, go for the eleventh. Use their "No" as fuel for your fire.
Alex Thorn had to die to get his second chance. You don't. You just have to keep typing until your fingers bleed and your vision blurs. The industry thinks they hold the keys. They forgot that we are the ones who build the doors in the first place.
Let them call us "cringe." Let them call us "amateurs." While they talk, we build. While they judge, we evolve into something they can't control.
Current Motivation Level: 12%
Next Level: +1%
If this chapter resonated with you, drop a comment. Tell me about the time a gatekeeper told you "No."
ALL HELL FROM WEBNOVEL STARTS FROM YOU!
— A.T.