CloudCatcher

In the greed-filled world of corporate empires and magic knights, Min Jae was a king in business, with pockets so deep he could drown in them. That is, until his life deemed his playthrough unfair and gave him a red card. Poison was his family's best friend, as everyone had at least tasted it once, not twice because they never could.

Death was never on his calendar, neither was an offer for a divine gig. Enter the Deity of Stories, a celestial being with a fetish for plot twists, who offers Min Jae a deal he can't refuse: become her divine cameraman. 

No, not the kind with a lens, but one who records the tales of mortals. In return, he gets a second shot at life, in a world where his dearly departed parents are alive and well, ready to dote on him from birth.

Reborn as Judge (because “Min Jae 2.0” sounded too dull), he quickly realizes this new life is no gift. This steampunk utopia, filled with airships, clockwork gadgets, and an alarming lack of Wi-Fi, thrives on manipulation. But who needs the internet when you have a divine camera and the sharp mind to control it all?

Judge isn’t just here to record stories; he’s here to write them, casting himself as the mastermind behind every twist and turn. Armed with his divine powers, he navigates complex schemes, power-hungry nobles, and ruthless industrialists, all while keeping his ultimate goal hidden: to ascend to godhood and rewrite his own fate.

Of course, he generally makes a glorious mess of things, all while trying to keep his dear parents blissfully unaware of his less-than-angelic schemes. But as the stakes rise and the Deity of Stories watches his every move, Judge must tread carefully. Can he manipulate his way to the top, or will he become just another character in someone else’s plot twist?

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Just a quick disclaimer: The book steers clear of any unwanted adult stuff. However, it does feature a potentially disturbing amount of violence—enough to make you wonder about the author's mental health.
So proceed with caution—and maybe a shield!

Cameraman Never Dies

Judge's voice croaked out like a rusty hinge being nudged open, which, frankly, wasn't too far off from how he felt. His enthusiasm might've been lacking, but the volume was just enough to reach Seraphis.

Seraphis turned towards him, her hand slick with grease and who-knows-what remnants of her culinary attempt. She gave it a mighty shake, and behold! The meaty leftovers scattered as though fearing for their very existence. Even the grease— that slippery traitor that usually clings on through soap and water— surrendered and fled.

"Get over here, you whining lizard." She leaped over, grabbed him by the collar like a scolding mother cat, and dragged him back to the pathetic excuse for a campfire. Judge found himself unceremoniously seated and handed what appeared to be... meat. Blackened. Burnt to a crisp. Seasoned with enough salt to rival a sailor's vocabulary.

Let's go hunt some... c-cloth?