A Slop of My Own Making

Kim Jiwon squinted at the screen, a half-finished instant coffee cooling by his elbow. His finger hovered over the refresh button. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't. But of course, he did.

"How does this guy still have the audacity to write?"

"The Hero King is actual dogshit lol. Go touch grass."

"Bro thinks he's Tolkien when he writes like a Wattpad teen high on Monster energy."

"Lucas is such a cookie-cutter protagonist it's embarrassing."

Jiwoon's lip twitched. That last one. It burned. Not because it was wrong—but because it was so right.

The fan art of Lucas Orlenhart, the noble-featured protagonist of his novel The Hero King, stared back at him from the sidebar. Golden hair, aquamarine eyes, and a divine presence wrapped in princely arrogance. He had paid good money for that commission, not that it helped.

Not that anything helped.

The WordCount stat blinked at him like a mocking metronome. 320 chapters. 12 active readers. 378 dislikes this month.

"Slop," Jiwon muttered. "That's what they call it. Fantasy slop."

He closed the tab and leaned back in his chair, head tilting toward the ceiling of his shoebox apartment. Cracks like spiderwebs veined the plaster above, mirroring the ones he felt along the edges of his psyche. When had the joy vanished? Was it ever even joy to begin with?

He thought about how it started—his father's death. Cancer, the kind that eats away at you slow and leaves nothing but regret. His mother working herself into the grave just to keep them fed. Jiwon had been sixteen when he decided he'd become a writer. That he'd build something beautiful. Something people would care about.

Now twenty-three, deep in college debt, scraping part-time jobs, mocked by strangers for the world he poured himself into.

He needed air.

Seoul, 11:48 PM

The city buzzed. Not with excitement, but a dull, buzzing lifelessness. Neon lights lit the puddles beneath his feet like portals to brighter worlds. He walked without purpose, just trying to feel unwritten for a moment.

The 7-Eleven bell jingled as he stepped in.

Fluorescent lighting stabbed at his tired eyes.

"Microwave curry and Jinro," he muttered.

"Student ID?" the clerk asked.

"College student discount?" Jiwon scoffed.

"That's hilarious."

He was halfway to the counter when the door slammed open. A hooded figure stormed in—trembling, nervous, desperate.

"Wallet. Now."

Jiwoon turned, blinking, too exhausted to even be afraid. "Seriously?"

The knife was small, rusted. The hand behind it was shaking, maybe more terrified than he was.

"This really how I go?" Jiwon asked.

The blade hit deep. Right below the ribcage. A sharp plunge, cold and final. His curry splattered across the tiles as his knees gave out. Blood gushed like paint onto a canvas that didn't need more red.

As he staggered backwards out of the convenience store, the world slowed.

And then—blinding headlights.

A horn screamed.

Impact.

Everything shattered.

Fade to Black.

Then—light.

Not soft or warm. Harsh. Blinding. Then—pain. A fist collided with his jaw.

He hit the ground hard, cheek kissing the dirt.

"Don't ever touch her again, you piece of trash!"

Jiwon's eyes fluttered open, dizzy, bleeding, but what he saw made the pain vanish.

Standing over him, eyes ablaze, was a boy out of fantasy. No—his fantasy.

Lucas Orlenhart.

He looked exactly as Jiwon had imagined him. Down to the faint scar across the brow, the intricate golden trim of his sword-school uniform, and the fury of justice burning in his sky-blue eyes.

"This... this can't be real," Jiwon whispered, trying to push himself up.

Lucas raised his fist again, only to be stopped mid-swing by a firm voice.

"That's enough!"

Another voice chimed in, deeper. "What kind of students brawl in the middle of campus grounds?"

Two figures emerged from behind them—dressed in the long robes of Imperial Academy instructors. One was a tall man with an eyepatch and hawk-like features. The other, a woman with stern eyes and silver hair braided like a whip.

They each grabbed one boy by the collar.

Jiwon—no, Kain Norigusho—was yanked to his feet.

"What the hell is going on here?" barked the man.

"He tried to hurt another student!" Lucas snapped, righteous fury lacing his voice. "A commoner girl. He cornered her!"

The woman narrowed her eyes at Kain. "You again. Kain Norigusho. Why am I not surprised?"

It hit him like the blade had.

Kain Norigusho.

A name he had given. A petty noble, barely a side character. The kind of villain who only exists to be humiliated.

He had written this moment. Lucas saving a girl from some smug, privileged third-rate noble.

But the script had flipped.

He wasn't the author anymore.

He was a villain.