The Author's Mark

The world shattered again.

But this time, Kim Dokja didn't flinch.

He stood in the middle of the crumbling subway station as time cracked like glass, watching the ceiling dissolve into stardust and reassemble into a sky he recognized all too well — dark, vast, and full of eyes.

The First Scenario began again.

He could feel it in his bones. The nausea, the suffocating dread, the buzz of incoming system messages that hadn't yet appeared — it was all exactly as he remembered from the start. But something had changed. The weight of reality was heavier, more knowing, as if the world itself had become aware that it was being watched. Or worse — judged.

People screamed around him. The train had derailed, just like before. Blood, smoke, panic — the chaos of humanity trying to understand the impossible.

Kim Dokja closed his eyes.

He wasn't surprised to be back here. It made sense. The girl — the other reader — wasn't supposed to appear yet. Her presence had caused a ripple, an error in the narrative fabric. Something — or someone — had snapped the timeline back into place. A reset, perhaps. A recalibration.

And yet… Dokja still remembered everything.

That shouldn't have been possible. If the scenario reset, memories were supposed to be wiped. Everyone was supposed to be back at zero. But he wasn't.

He still remembered the girl. Her words. Her knowledge. Her voice saying, "See you on the next page."

She had been a warning. Or maybe a test.

But the message was clear: the story was watching.

And now, it was correcting itself.

"You are not the only reader," she had said. But Dokja… he was the only one who had read the story to the end.

That made him different.

No, it made him dangerous.

A bell chimed in his mind. The system message finally arrived, flooding his vision in clean white text.

[Main Scenario #1: Survival in the Dark]

Clear Condition: Kill one person within the allotted time.

Time Limit: 30 minutes.

Reward: 300 Coins.

Penalty for Failure: Death.

Dokja opened his eyes again and turned slowly. People around him gasped and sobbed. One man vomited into his hands. A child clung to her mother. He could already see the seeds of desperation taking root.

It was all playing out exactly like before.

Yoo Sangah was sitting two seats away. She hadn't noticed him yet.

The constellation messages hadn't started. The dokkaebi hadn't appeared.

But he wasn't waiting.

He stepped into the aisle, walking with purpose, and pulled out the worn novel that had somehow reappeared in his coat pocket — Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse.

Its pages glowed faintly, whispering secrets only he could hear.

The book wasn't just a guide anymore. It was a key. Proof of authorship. A symbol of his connection to the final ending.

He flipped it open, and just as he did, the words on the first page twisted.

They changed.

[New Directive Installed]

"Welcome, Candidate. You are now participating in the Author's Audition."

Objective: Survive the Scenarios and uncover the identity of the Hidden Author.

Role: Witness-Protagonist.

Observation Level: Elevated.

Warning: You are no longer a passive player. Your choices will directly influence the final manuscript.

Kim Dokja stared at the new message, stunned. The Author's Audition?

So it was true.

The scenarios weren't just trials for survival — they were a selection process.

The Constellations were looking for something. Or someone.

An Author.

And Dokja — the only reader who had reached the end — had become a central figure in that cosmic audition.

But he wasn't alone.

Others were being chosen too. Readers, players, variables. And not all of them played fair.

So that's what this is, Dokja thought. A story choosing its next creator. A war of interpretation. Whoever survives, shapes the ending.

He looked up sharply as a shadow flickered past the shattered glass of the subway door. A flicker of memory — no, foreshadowing. The girl. She wouldn't appear yet. But others would.

Suddenly, the ceiling cracked. This was the part where the dokkaebi appeared — the small, mischievous being who delivered messages for the stars.

But instead of a dokkaebi, the air shimmered… and something new stepped through the veil.

It wasn't small. It wasn't mischievous.

It was tall, hooded, and cloaked in white ink and stars. Its body looked like a walking manuscript — pages fluttering from its arms, its face a blur of censored sentences.

Everyone screamed. Kim Dokja didn't.

The figure turned to him.

[You have been acknowledged by the Manuscript Watcher.]

[Your narrative influence has been noted.]

The being raised a hand, and for a moment, the entire subway held its breath. Time slowed.

The Watcher's voice rang out, but it wasn't heard with ears. It was felt, like a pen scratching across the inside of the skull.

"Prove your story is worth surviving."

And then — reality snapped back.

The other passengers screamed and ran. Yoo Sangah shrieked. And from the back of the train car, a man with bloodshot eyes lunged at a teenager, driven mad by the scenario's demand to kill.

Dokja moved before he even thought. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't shout.

He just read ahead.

[Skill Activated: Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint, Lv. 1]

You foresee the next 3 seconds of a narrative event.

He moved like he knew the man's steps before they happened — because he did. He twisted the attacker's wrist, slammed his elbow into the man's ribs, and brought him down in one clean motion.

No death. Not yet. But the crowd watched him now.

Yoo Sangah looked at him, wide-eyed. Just like before.

Only this time, she mouthed something strange.

"You're not following the script…"

He froze.

And then he saw it. A mark on her neck. A faint symbol — a quill crossed with an eye.

[Alert: You have encountered another Candidate.]

Kim Dokja's heart pounded.

So it had begun.

The world was watching. The narrative was shifting. And the players had returned to the beginning — but this wasn't the same story anymore.

This was a contest. A cosmic audition.

And he… was in the spotlight.

End of Chapter 8.