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

Isadora Rivet, now a widow as solemn as an overcast sky but only in the image she so carefully curated— because heaven forbid anyone suspect she might have had something to do with her husband's sudden and tragic demise. Or, to be precise, the demise of the man who was playing husband while secretly 'monitoring' her, like some wannabe spy stuck in a bad mystery novel.

She sipped her morning tea with the elegance of a cat that just knocked over a priceless vase, flipping lazily through the newspaper. For once, she wasn't dressed to slay— both figuratively and literally. Instead, she wore a simple black blouse paired with high-waisted pants. It was a look that screamed, "I'm grieving!" while whispering, "Or am I just tired?"

The butler, ever the perfect portrait of a man who might have better things to do (but will never say so), entered to inform her of a visitor.

Today's grave of a man who tried to live for tommorrow