The day of Kozlov's launch arrived.
I woke up early. Didn't write. Today was for observation.
I had my laptop and phone set up like a mission control. Fistoria ranking page. Kozlov's novel page. My own page. A private chat with Kasia.
Kasia: All systems are go. His agent is ready to jump ship. The ghostwriter is incommunicado. The collection agency is calling again at 10 AM.
Me: And the platform push?
Kasia: Rescinded. I cited 'unforeseen production issues.' The marketing budget has been reallocated.
Me: To?
Kasia: To a 'surprise bonus chapter' promotion for Chronos Imperium, running concurrently.
I laughed aloud. It was brutal. Beautiful.
At 9 AM, "Sword of the Exiled Prince" went live.
Five chapters. The cover was decent. The synopsis was generic.
The initial read count jumped—his loyal fans diving in.
I refreshed his page every minute.
The first comments were from his core followers.
"Finally here!"
"Let's go!"
By 9:30, the tone began to shift.
"Wait, where's the big battle scene? It just... cuts away?"
"The prose feels rushed."
"This isn't the quality I expected."
The ghostwriter's missing chapters were a gaping wound in the narrative.
At 10:05 AM, a new comment from a reader named LoreMaster:
"I just got a call from a debt collector asking for Adrian Kozlov? Weird. Anyway, chapter 2 was mid."
The personal and professional were colliding. Publicly.
Kasia's work.
My own promotion went live at 10:30. A site-wide banner.
"CHRONOS IMPERIUM: NEW BONUS CHAPTER UNLOCKED! Read the lost interlude of God-King Chronos!"
My reader count spiked. Power stones poured in.
Kozlov's launch wasn't just stumbling. It was being buried under my own victory parade.
At noon, I decided to use my new skill. Whispered Doubt.
I focused on Kozlov's author photo. Pictured him in his apartment, refreshing his page, watching his dream unravel.
I formed the seed. You are a fraud. Your talent was borrowed. You cannot do this without help. You are failing.
I pushed the skill. A slight, cold nausea washed over me. The cost.
It was done.
I didn't need to see him to know it landed.
The effects showed in his communication. At 12:30, he posted an unprofessional, frantic author's note.
"To my dear readers – Please bear with me. There are technical difficulties. The story is sound! My vision is pure! I am dealing with... personal matters. Your support means everything."
It reeked of desperation.
The comments turned savage.
"Technical difficulties? You just had to write it, man."
"Personal matters shouldn't affect your professional launch."
"Chronos Imperium updated three times this week. No excuses."
By 3 PM, his ranking had dropped. From #4 to #7.
A launch day, and he was falling.
My ranking, meanwhile, was cemented at #1. The gap was a chasm.
Kasia messaged. A screenshot of an internal Fistoria slack channel.
Marketing Manager: Kozlov launch is a non-starter. Engagement is 70% below projection. Do we pull the plug on week-two features?
Senior Editor (Kasia): Recommend we do. Reallocate remaining resources to confirmed winners. Chronos Imperium is carrying the fantasy slate.
The reply was a thumbs-up.
It was over.
At 5 PM, I closed my laptop. The silence in my room was profound.
I had taken a rival, a genuine threat, and broken him in the public square. Without throwing a punch. Without most of the world even knowing I was involved.
It was power. Clean, surgical, and absolute.
I felt the Skill Synchronization pulse faintly. A feedback from Kasia. It wasn't a clear emotion. It was a sense of... satisfaction/pride.
She was enjoying this as much as I was.
My phone buzzed. A system notification, but not from Fistoria.
[TENSEI SYSTEM: MILESTONE]
[RIVAL NEUTRALIZED: ADRIAN "THE PRODIGY" KOZLOV]
[REPUTATION WITHIN FISTORIA INCREASED: 'FEARED CONTENDER']
[REWARD: CONTRACT NEGOTIATION WEIGHT INCREASED (MINOR)]
The System was keeping score. And it approved.
I stood up, stretched. The cold fire was a calm, steady blaze now.
Kozlov was the first. A test case.
Now, I knew the blueprint.
I opened my notes. Scrolled past Kozlov's name.
The list was long. Other authors. Critics. Silent Readers. The entire ecosystem.
Next, I needed to address the noise. The anonymous, faceless hate that every success attracts.
The Cringe Induction skill had been working passively. It was time to get proactive.
I needed to find a specific hater. Make an example.
But first, I texted Kasia.
Me: Good work. What's the next biggest annoyance on my dashboard?
Kasia: The user 'CriticKing.' Leaves detailed, vicious one-star reviews on every chapter. Analysis suggests he is a failed writer. His criticism is sharp but malicious. He is influencing a small but vocal minority.
Me: Send me everything you have on CriticKing.
A new file arrived in seconds.
The hunt for the next target had begun.
The launch was over.
The reign continued.
//-\\
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: 13%
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.