Chapter Zero.

Note: Please don't read as

I never imagined my dream would be blank and peaceful.

A sea like glass surrounded me, reflecting the sky above.

Blue overhead, blue below.

Turning slowly to take in the view, I froze.

Behind me rose a massive mountain of bodies.

Limbs intertwined and knotted like rope, spines interlocked so the captives could never escape the pain.

Atop them, like cherries on a sundae, sat several skulls, blood seeping from every hole.

I recognized the faces, especially those whose flesh hadn't yet rotted from the bone.

The expressions of shock they wore at the moment of death were still carved there.

They deserved it anyway.

How many had I silenced? One hundred? Half a million? I lost count once they became too resistant.

I should have felt triumphant. Instead, something felt wrong.

Was it the bodies?

Was I forgetting something?

I couldn't tell.

A soft splash turned me back around.

The journal floated nearby, exactly as I had first seen it, blank, no designs, untouched.

Three sets of characters glimmered on the cover:

「読裁者」

「讀裁系」

「독심계」

And at the bottom, the English translation:

Reader — Judge — System

I released a breath that left my throat as vapor.

Then space split cleanly in half, light on my side, darkness on the other.

From the shadows stepped a figure dressed in a white hanfu, an unsettling contrast to the casual shirt and trousers I wore.

Black hair flowed like ink over pale skin.

My face, yet his eyes had been gouged out, leaving hollow pits that dripped blank ink.

He smiled warmly.

"Han," he called, in a voice both gentle and terrifying. "Did you finish them all?"

I said nothing.

He lifted one hand, gaze never leaving mine, and snapped his fingers.

The mountain behind me collapsed with a wet grinding sound, flesh tore and bones shattered, spilling randomly.

What remained spread into a muddy sea of red, with few chunks of meat.

The chunks suddenly turned black, then sprouted black lilies. Each one was glossy, giving off a faint glow.

In his other hand, the wind congealed into a near-invisible blade that hummed as it spun.

He released it toward the journal, and it sliced the book in half.

The pieces drifted apart and reformed into two perfect copies.

On one cover the second glyph appeared, while the third split between them.

He laughed softly at the sound of pages re-stitching, then smiled again.

"A story always wants to live, Han," he whispered. "Cut it as many times as you like, it will always find a way."

I lunged to snatch the nearest copy while he glided forward, leaving a trail of black across the water.

"Did you kill the one who stole your life?" he asked, brushing his fingertips over the journal. "The man who sold your drafts to some journalist?"

He already knew the answer.

Then he tilted his head. "Shall I help you finish it? You need me."

I clenched my fists. "You're too weak to finish anything."

"Am I?"

He crossed the thin film keeping us apart.

Cold seeped under my feet as black ink spread outward, from under his feet.

"You always wondered what comes after revenge," he murmured. "Let me help."

"You still want them to like and forgive you," I said. "That makes you useless."

He paused. Ink streamed from his sockets, dripped in thick beads, then fell like a small waterfall.

Before I could move, his cold fingers closed around my throat.

"Zhrak," he hissed, using the name I should have forgotten. "Remember Amy, Jisoo, the comments. Remember her."

He tightened his grip. "Have you forgotten what they did? They read our agony like bedtime stories. They typed 'more' while you bled across your carpet that day."

Ink dripped onto my chest, freezing against my skin.

"One of them is watching right now," he whispered.

I froze.

"Yes," he breathed, pointing into the darkness.

"They're staring, Zhrak, waiting to see what I'll do."

"They breathe quietly, controlled," he went on. "Faces twisted in confusion, or maybe anticipation. I can feel their curiosity."

I scoffed.

"Zhrak!" he screamed, shaking me as his voice echoed through the empty space.

Ink sprayed across my cheek. "We have to kill them all, every single one. Even the ones who still want us gone after your death, the watchers, the author, every last one… even us!"

His words rippled across the blackened sea.

And I could no longer tell whether I was inside the dream… or the dream was inside me.

Rrrakt!

Both our heads snapped toward the sound, our eyes widening at once.

A razor-thin rip had opened in mid-air, and the water beneath it shivered.

The tear expanded slowly, its low groan swallowing every hint of silence around us.

Beyond that rent stood a massive sakura tree, every blossom intact.

Spring was still early on that side.

Beneath the branches waited a white desk and chair, similar to my old writing corner.

Only an open notepad rested there, its pages frozen mid-flutter.

At the edge of that scene, two people argued in hushed tones.

One barely 5′4″, the other 6′5″.

The ink-eyed version of me tilted his head.

Wind quietly gathered and shaped itself into a blade in his free hand, then he flung it at the rift.

To my shock, the taller stranger caught it, turned the weapon into ink, then raised a hand to hush his partner.

Both turned to face us.

Their eyes were both white—too white for eyes—with black irises.

A chill slid down my spine as the shorter figure waved.

Now I figured it was a female, quite young; the other one was a man.

「Oh my, are we on that page already?」

I heard her say, with a voice that was tiny, calm, but didn't have much of a pitch. It was just right.

The man—no, a guy around my age—beside her shook his head and crossed his arms.

He seemed to be assessing the rip.

Are they Readers? I thought, but the other me muttered, "No."

「Don't worry, you two!」

「I spilled coffee on my phone and scrambled some texts.」

The guy chuckled. 「Worse for me, I wrote half of this while drunk.」

"Who are those people?" the other me asked, suspicion rising in his tone as they spoke.

I understood nothing.

Drafting?

Drunk?

What exactly were they even talking about?

We watched the duo converse with themselves, totally ignoring us and the massive rip in the air.

I doubt they even cared. This might not be the first time.

「I told you not to come up with an idea like this. It's too early. We haven't even gone far.」

The guy said to her as he made his way to the table and flipped the book.

Ding!

Ding!

I heard a bell echo in the space, just as I realised and assumed it was just the system, everything vanished.

The sakura, the desk, the white-eyed pair both gone.

I was now on my bed, the scent of incense in the air, mixed with the cool air and the sound of rainfall.

Ding!

The world snapped back.

Sakura petals froze mid-sway.

The journal was gone.

The other me no longer strangled me. He simply watched, with a wind blade ready for an attack.

The girl pressed her fingers to her brow, while the tall man flipped the pages of the notepad, muttering as he wrote.

「This timeline's off-beat,」 she whispered to him. 「We shouldn't be seeing him yet.」

「Too late. The bell rang thrice,」 the man replied. 「And the idea was already thought of, thanks to some impatient human.」

She exhaled and faced us.

「Han, Zhrak,」 her voice shifted between apology and awe. 「This meeting is—」

She got cut off by the excited outburst from the man immediately.

「All done!」

The tear shuddered. Lines of code—no, calligraphy, moved from within the rip and over it, like needles sewing back a torn cloth.

The sea beneath us fractured into a thousand mirrored shards.

Ink rushed upward, swallowing every single thing.

I reached for anything solid, the journal, the other me, but the world folded inward like paper.

Just before the darkness sealed, a voice echoed through the void:

「When the ninth bell tolls… turn the page, but do not read the words in the margin…」

Silence came first.

Then, somewhere beyond the void, a bell began to count.

One...

Two.....

Ding!`