I used to be a writer.
At the age of sixteen, I dropped out of school. My first novel had become a huge hit, transforming me from an unknown kid into a television star and signing autographs seemingly overnight. Back then, I thought life was simple.
Four years later, I decided that I wanted to write something different. Not a sequel or a similar story. Something entirely new.
Deadlines piled up, and the calls from my editor never ceased. To be honest, it was incredibly exhausting. Still, I kept writing desperately, hoping I might create another miracle.
But— that story never got finished.
Even the parts I shared hadn't been accepted by anyone.
"Isn't there any tragedy?" "What about betrayal?" "A twist that grips the heart?"
Those were the voices I heard.
That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to write a story where someone could become strong without suffering. A tale where even an ordinary person with a happy daily life could become a hero. That was the kind of story I wanted to create.
However, no one was looking for something like that.
Gradually, readers drifted away. My contract was terminated.
I wasn't surprised. I knew it would come to this.
Even so— I made up my mind. No matter for whom, I would finish that story for myself.
—But before that.
"…Huh?"
I blinked. One moment, I had been sitting on the couch in my apartment; the next, I found myself standing in a space that was pure white, stretching on endlessly.
There was no floor, no sky. Just an expanse of whiteness.
I tried to speak, but no words came. A sense of discomfort clutched at my chest.
…Where had I gone to school? …Who were my old friends? …What did my mother's voice sound like again?
Memories were slipping through my fingers at an astonishing speed.
And when I looked at my hands— they were beginning to fade.
I wasn't particularly religious, but I always thought there would be something after death. Heaven, reincarnation, that sort of thing.
But this—
This wasn't something so gentle.
It felt as if my very existence was about to be erased from this world.
My very being seemed like it was fading away.
I fought desperately.
I didn't want to disappear. I absolutely did not want to vanish.
That thought grew larger and larger, echoing in my mind like a scream.
There were still things I wanted to do. There were still stories I wanted to tell.
As I felt my limits closing in, thinking I was done for—
—suddenly.
A soft sensation brushed against my cheek.
Startled, I turned around.
…No one was there.
But on my chest, a book had fallen.
A cover pure white with golden embroidery. It was an old book, worn with age.
As I tried to turn its pages, they seemed to extend endlessly, with no end in sight.
At that moment, a name unexpectedly floated into my mind.
"Sarasvati".
…Sara, huh.
With that name, something within my chest awakened.
A miracle.
In an instant, the contours of my body sharpened, and I felt that I was "existing."
I was going to be okay. All I had to do was escape from here!
As if reading my thoughts, the book began to glow softly.
Its form twisted and morphed into a small ship.
…To be honest, I didn't understand what it meant. But there was no time to hesitate, so I jumped aboard.
The boat set off on its own...
"—Soldier! Is this really the time to be dawdling?"
The shouted voice pulled me back into reality.
" No sir!"
Now I find myself—on some massive battlefield. Broken tanks, smoke rising from exploded bombs. Countless corpses scattered everywhere.
I calmly reloaded my gun.
…Seriously, how did it come to this?
The squad leader was shouting something, but honestly, I was hardly paying attention. Then our team got called. We were told to charge into enemy lines and hold our ground as best as we could until other units could flank. Don't die in the meantime, that was the gist of it.
──I see.
So we're just the precious sacrifice for victory, huh?
I exhaled quietly and stood up. My comrades followed suit.
We dashed across the battlefield. There was no fear… at least, that's how it seemed.
Bullets rained around us, and one by one, people fell to the left and right. Yet, I kept running. Even when something pierced my leg, I didn't stop. But then the next shot hit me square in the chest—my body froze in place.
There was hardly any pain. Just the surrounding shouts echoing in my ears.
As my vision darkened, strange letters floated before my eyes.
[FAILED]
(Tch… damn it…)
The next time I opened my eyes, I was on my ship. …Well, calling it a ship is just my personal choice.
I propped myself up and looked around. ─Nothing had changed, same as always.
I let out a deep sigh and muttered to myself.
"...Why does every protagonist have such a tragic past?"
Leaning against the wall, I stared at the ceiling.
Just because you've overcome great misfortune doesn't mean the world is going to let you off easy. It won't let you die. You'll become ridiculously strong at lightning speed, mowing down enemies left and right… but what's lost will never return. Only the scars will remain.
As a former writer, I understood. If you write a character like that, readers would think, 'Ah, they've grown.'
But honestly—I thought that was crap.
You can build a story without forcibly shoving misfortune onto someone.
I closed my eyes, and suddenly, another thought crossed my mind.
"...Speaking of which, what's the difference between fiction and reality?"
I voiced my thoughts.
Is there a clear line drawn like a sharp knife? Or is it more like a gentle slope, slipping away unnoticed?
──I believed it was the latter.
Watching someone's life unfold like a story. But on the other side, someone else might be watching me the same way.
Another sigh escaped my lips.
"...Well, whatever. I'll just continue writing stories without tragedy from now on."
I declared this without an audience to hear.
———————————————————–
Beyond the deck, the endless expanse of white stretched out beyond the deck.
Konan slowly sat up and rubbed his face with both hands.
"Is this... the thirty-second time?"
That number weighed heavily on his chest.
There was still no contact from the Archive. In other words, he had no choice but to go report in person.
"Haah..."
He sighed and brushed off nonexistent dust from his jacket.
He reached for the silver emblem placed near the helm. It was the key to return him to the Archive —the badge glittering with geometric patterns.
As he commanded himself in his mind, the ship's hull began to disintegrate into shards of light.
Konan took a step into the void. The world warped and distorted, and a golden gate opened.
It was neither a city nor a nation, nor even a place.
It was an idea made tangible.
A colossal tower of ivory stretched toward a non-existent sky.
It cast impossible shadows over an endless city of bridges, corridors, and monuments.
Those structures were subtly writhing, as if breathing.
In the plaza, field agents were bustling about, but Konan ignored them and squeezed through the crowd.
At the end of the path stood the .
Seven spiral towers were woven from the mesh of nameless memories and concepts.
Only the chosen could determine the fate of entire worlds here.
Before the gate stood a familiar figure.
A woman clad in a dark military-style coat, arms crossed, her pale golden hair in braids.
his superior—
Michelle Iria, Level 3 Supervisor.
From her sharp gaze, it was evident that her mood was absolutely terrible.
"You're late."
Without any greeting, she said.
Kounan shrugged.
"I took the long way. Besides, here time doesn't really mean anything, does it?"
"Cut the jokes."
Coldly retorting, she continued,
"Thirty-two consecutive failures. Do you understand what position you're in?"
"I know that I'm consistent ,at least?"
He replied, filled with expectation, but—
She didn't laugh.
"The council isn't that interested in your abilities or the mysteries of your Patron. If you don't produce results, you'll be reassigned or face harsher measures."
Michelle's words fell on him like rain hitting glass, with no impact.
Later, he found himself sitting at his desk in a corner of one of the smaller halls.
(...I mean, why are we still using paper?)
With all that power, the council still clung to paper reports. They said it was tradition, but to Konan, it was simply stubbornness.
Muttering complaints, he picked up the quill—a real feather quill, at that.
Mission Code: 032
Result: Failure
Reason: Subject refused deviation and returned to the story flow
Report: Minimal
With a careless manner, he filled in the necessary details.
A string of empty words—everything felt meaningless.
Once he finished writing, the report shimmered and sealed itself automatically.
Then, it was drawn into a narrow crack in the wall.
.....
"Hey there. You finally decided to show up."
On his way to the agent's district, Kounan ran into a few people.
Ren was as friendly as ever.
As far as Konan knew, he was twenty-two.
Next to him stood Eris—around the same age as Konan, her unreal silver hair always caught his eye.They were both low level field agents like him.
Eris's blue eyes held a subtle hue today, something between teasing and pity.
"Another failure, I see?"
She said lightly.
"Thrilled to see you too, really."
Konan muttered as he walked past them, trying to avoid the encounter.
"You guys heading out again?"
He asked over his shoulder, and Ren nodded.
"Yeah."
"Must be nice. I was just thinking about taking a break myself. That glorious chance for redemption just went up in smoke."
At his words, Eris' tone softened just a bit.
"...You don't have to push yourself so hard. Your way isn't the only way."
Konan waved a dismissive hand.
"...We'll talk about that another time."
She was right though.
There was no real need for him to keep going out as a field agent.
He could stay in the Archive , get assigned to the management department, or even join the research team. Worst case, he could survive as maintenance staff.
But—
That kind of life just didn't seem to fit Konan.
For a while, the three of them walked in silence, side by side.
Eventually, they reached a junction where the path split, and Ren said cheerfully,
"When you get back, drinks are on me!"
Konan shrugged lightly.
"...Sure."
Two (days?) later, Konan finished preparing for departure.
"Preparation for departure is complete. Since you'll probably disappoint me again anyway──"
Michelle said without turning around.
"Just get it over with."
He stared intently at the glowing tablet in his hand, tapping his fingertips on it rhythmically.
──
(Just one more time.
Maybe this time, somewhere out there, someone will understand the story I want to tell.)
A distorted little smile crept onto his face as he walked toward the deployment room.
The Loom was already activated.
It was a massive sphere—an open world where countless threads twisted and entangled.
Each thread held its own world.
Countless stories wrapped in emotion and memory.
Some shone so brightly they were blinding,
while others flickered weakly, about to vanish.
It was beautiful, and yet── terrifying.
In this moment, somewhere, someone was winning, and someone was losing,
someone was crying, and someone was laughing.
Suddenly, Eris's words crossed his mind.
──Here, you could choose a different way of life.
However, imagining himself remaining at the Archive, stuck doing desk work,
only brought a suffocating feeling, as if trapped behind a transparent wall.
One last time, he glanced over his shoulder.
Then, Konan stepped into the Loom and disappeared in a flash of light.