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

"He's in!" Judge exclaimed, leaping from his grandiose throne made from a stone statue remains like a cat pouncing on a laser pointer.

"Alright, I'll tie him up," Seraphis muttered, adjusting the hilt of her sheathed sword as though it were an unruly child. "Seriously though, not killing is way harder than just finishing him off." She stepped forward with the nonchalant grace of someone doing their least favorite chore. The corpses strewn about might as well have been inconvenient laundry piles.

Judge snapped his fingers, and they both were transported into the studio. The entire scene shifted like a bad magic trick. One moment, it was all blood and guts; the next, it was an oppressive, unnatural darkness. Everything— the walls, the floor, the bodies— vanished into the void, leaving Judge and Seraphis glowing faintly like awkward lightbulbs.

"Judge," Seraphis said, her tone dripping with "Are you even listening to yourself?" energy.

When things get too bright and you can't even see your own shadow