Ugh. I'm bored. I tossed my phone onto the bed. Chapter 200—and the hero and heroine were still dragging out their romance like they had all the time in the world. No tension, no excitement. Just sickly-sweet fluff that made my brain numb. I needed dopamine, not this.
Two nights ago, I was screaming with excitement, devouring chapter after chapter. The plot? Chef's kiss. The art? Incredible. But now? Total snoozefest. I sighed. Time to find a new comic.
I didn't know why I loved these stories so much. Maybe it was the fantasy—the thrill of escaping into a new world and starting over. A heroine waking up as a villainess. A girl disguising herself as a boy. Gold. I think I loved the possibility of it because my real life? A complete disaster.
I'm a thirty-something NEET, living at home, hiding in my childhood bedroom like some kind of recluse. If my family dragged me out of here and forced me into rehab, I wouldn't be surprised. I've seen that kind of thing in social media reels—relatives calling the cops to forcefully remove their shut-in sibling. Lol. I spend all day in bed, curled up with my phone, buried in comics and novels. I barely move except to shift positions.
But inside those stories? I'm alive. I feel things. I live and breathe with the characters. I laugh when they laugh, cry when they cry. Then, when I do crawl out of my cave—to grab food, mostly—I'm painfully aware of how unreal my own life feels. My body stiff, my hair a tangled mess, I creep through the house like a cavewoman emerging from the shadows.
And my family? They stare at me. Pitiful. Concerned. Like I'm some tragic figure, wasting away. They don't realize that I'm rushing—hurrying back to the good part of the story. The moment when the hero realizes the heroine is actually a girl? Peak storytelling. That's what I live for. But they wouldn't get it. No one would.
Maybe I really am a manga addict. I shifted in my bed, careful not to kick my phone, my book, or my pen—all tangled together in a chaotic mess. My stuffed toy was probably buried in there too. If it were alive, it would have run away by now. And my hair? Forget it. My comb was lost to the void, and I was too lazy to look. Ugggg.
A knock at the door. My sister. I groaned, pulling my blanket over my head. I usually don't let anyone in, but she doesn't count. Still, the state of my room was bad, even by my standards. She stepped inside, unimpressed, picking up an empty pizza box like it personally offended her. She was younger than me but looked like the kind of girl who should be the heroine in one of my comics. Pretty. Put-together. But miserable with men.
Not that I blamed her. None of her exes even came close to the second male leads in my stories. Yet another reason to hate reality. "Aly," she sighed, her voice serious. "You need help." I froze. "Mom and Dad are worried about you. You're making things hard for everyone. Please. Get some help. Try to have a normal life."
I didn't look at her. I couldn't. Instead, the moment she left, I frantically started searching for a new comic. My hands shook slightly. Like an addict looking for their next fix. I needed out. I needed to escape.
But then, my phone screen lit up. A notification. And in the reflection—I saw myself. I hadn't left this room in a week. I hadn't looked in a mirror in even longer. My hair, tangled and wild. My face, dull and pale. And my body—I poked my cheek. Soft. I knew I had gained weight, but seeing it… acknowledging it… my stomach twisted. Even cavemen probably had better physiques than me. No wonder my sister was worried. No wonder my family kept staring.
I knew this wasn't healthy. I knew I was a mess. I was practically a junkie—except instead of drugs, I was hooked on fiction. But what else was there? What was the alternative? I hated this world. I wished— I wished I could be reborn. I wished I could wake up as a princess in another world. A hero. Someone important. I wished I could start over.
Please. Just once. Just—I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing with every part of me. Until the exhaustion took over. And I drifted into sleep, still praying that somehow, this time—it would work.
A wave of heat crashed over me—intense, suffocating. I felt like I was standing under a stage spotlight—or trapped in an oven. Sweat clung to my skin. Am I sick? Running a fever? A sharp, burning pain shot through my waist, followed by a strange warmth trickling down my skin. I groaned, my mind hazy, the edges of my thoughts blurring. Distant voices murmured around me, their words tangled and indistinct. No. No one is supposed to be in my room.
I flailed blindly, shoving aside what I thought were empty cans and crumpled tissues. Panic surged through me as I forced my eyes open—bright light blinded me. "I told you no one could enter my room!" I screamed. A deep, booming voice cut through the chaos. "Keep your distance!" The sheer command in those words sent a shiver down my spine. My vision adjusted—and my breath caught. A massive figure loomed over me, clad in gleaming silver armor, a dark cape sweeping the ground behind him. I had to crane my neck to see his face. His eyes, sharp and calculating, studied me as if I were some kind of beast. His hand rested on the hilt of a sword, a scar cutting across his perfectly chiseled jaw, adding to his fierce, battle-worn appearance.
My pulse spiked. Holy—he was beautiful. Not in the fragile, pretty-boy way of my comics, but in a deadly way. Sharp. Dangerous. Real. Too real. A jolt of excitement shot through me, followed by a rush of dopamine. If this was a dream—I never wanted to wake up. Except—the pain. My waist throbbed, a searing-hot agony that nearly stole my breath. I screamed, clutching my side. The world around me shook. Dust. Blood. The stench of iron and sweat. Men on horseback, their armor glinting under a sky choked with smoke. Screams. Metal clashing against metal. The thunder of hooves.
I gasped for air. This isn't real. It can't be real. I glanced down. I was still in my pajamas—my dad's oversized T-shirt (for strategic snack consumption without judgment) and my baggy sweatpants. But my shirt was soaked—not with sweat. With something dark. Sticky. I lifted my trembling hand—blood. "Am I bleeding?!" My voice cracked with panic. A fresh wave of pain pulsed through me, and my breath hitched. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself awake. "Wake up, Aly! It's just a period cramp. Just a really bad cramp—"
But no. I wasn't waking up. I was still here. I forced my gaze back to the dark-haired knight. His intense eyes flickered between wariness and disbelief. Someone nearby mumbled in an unfamiliar language. A sudden splatter—a foul, warm liquid rained over me. I gagged. More blood. Another scream ripped through the air. I turned just in time to see a man get run through with a sword. Oh my god. Oh my god—my stomach lurched. I swayed where I sat, trying to process it all. My heartbeat pounded everywhere—in my throat, my ears, my wound. I felt lightheaded. I wiped my face with my already filthy T-shirt—instantly regretting it.
The world froze. Dozens of eyes snapped to me. Wide. Stunned. The knight in front of me stiffened, his gaze darkening. Then— "Keep fighting!" he roared at his men. And then, to me— "You!" His sword flashed, the tip pointed directly at me. My breath hitched. His voice was thick with anger. With accusation. "Are you trying to seduce my men, you creature?!" I blinked. Wait. WHAT?! My mind short-circuited. I was covered in blood. Dressed in rags. Looking like a deranged swamp monster. And this dude thought I was—trying to seduce them?! I gawked at him, utterly baffled. Then I glanced down. My oversized T-shirt had shifted. The baggy fit I always relied on to hide my body—was betraying me. It had lifted just enough to reveal the curve of my waist. My hips. The hourglass shape I loathed and always tried to cover.
Oh ! Realization slammed into me like a truck. These medieval warriors? They had probably never seen a woman dressed like this—loose, flimsy fabric with no corset, no layers, no restrictions. And I'd just lifted my shirt right in front of them. Oh my god. They know I'm naked under this.
Heat flooded my cheeks as agony shot through me with every movement. The knights surrounding me were massive—easily two meters tall. Their broad shoulders and towering frames made me feel like a dwarf in a world of giants. The black-haired knight, his expression surprisingly disgusted, draped a dark brown robe over me.
Before I could react, I was hoisted onto another knight's shoulder as if I were a sack of potatoes. The heavy fabric felt suffocating, thick with the scents of sweat, dirt, and something earthy—like leather and steel. I tried to press my hand against my injured waist, but the rough material clung to my damp skin, hindering my movements.
Then—I was tossed. Flung onto the back of a horse like an afterthought. The shock rattled through me, forcing a strangled gasp from my throat. What the hell—?! Pain exploded from my waist, making it hard to breathe for a moment. The knight muttered something in his language—probably cursing my uselessness—before adjusting my position.
His grip was firm, his hands large as he shifted me into place. The movement sent another wave of agony rippling through me, and I clenched my jaw, determined not to cry out. Each stride of the horse was a fresh form of torture, jolting my wound anew. A heavy hand pressed against my back—not roughly, but steady, holding me up, keeping me from slumping forward. It was… oddly grounding. I should have been terrified. But exhaustion was winning.
After what felt like hours, the pace slowed. The man behind me stiffened. A new presence. I barely had time to process it before—I was ripped away. Another set of hands seized me, and suddenly, I was on a different horse, my back slamming against the hard saddle. A sharp, disgusting sensation crawled over my body. Hands. Unfamiliar hands. They moved over me aggressively, pressing against my stomach, my chest—A triumphant laugh—Then—A sickening thud. The weight on me vanished. Something warm splattered my face. I gasped. Through the flickering firelight, I saw it—an arm, flung aside. A body. Headless. Armless. I choked on a scream. My stomach lurched. I would have thrown up if I'd eaten anything. Before I could even process what happened, I was on another horse. Not tossed. Placed. A black steed beneath me. A familiar presence behind me. Arms—larger, stronger—wrapped around me. The commander. I knew it was him before I even turned my head. And for some insane reason—I felt safe. Not because I trusted him. Not because he was gentle—he'd just executed a man without hesitation. But because the chaos had stopped. My body relaxed against his solid frame. I buried my face into the rough fabric of his robe, inhaling the scent of leather, sweat, and something faintly smoky. Anything to drown out the stench of blood. Anything to block out the nightmare I'd just witnessed. I squeezed my eyes shut. Wake up. Please, wake up. I pictured my bed, my messy room, the comforting hum of my phone screen as I scrolled through comics. I imagined a hot shower. Fresh clothes. I begged for it. But the steady rhythm of the horse's hooves told me the truth. I wasn't waking up.
Heaven's Thunder
The sounds of clashing swords and cries of battle began to fade after a long day of bloodshed, giving way to an eerie stillness. The once-deafening chaos of steel and dying screams diminished, leaving only the heavy, labored breaths of the victors echoing across the battlefield. The dark knights of the Moon Ojon Kingdom stood among a sea of bodies, their armor glistening with crimson in the dim light of dusk. An acrid scent of iron filled the air, mingling with the damp earth beneath their boots.
General Lord Commander Claudius Ojon, ruler of Ojan, stood still atop his horse, his sword raised high, dark eyes scanning the remnants of the battlefield with keen vigilance. He observed his knights as they pursued the fleeing warriors of the Sojun Kingdom. These fighters hailed from a land once ruled by Claudius's ancestors, a realm blessed by the Goddess of War and Muscularity. Despite their strength, they had succumbed to the forces of Ojan. Their instinct to protect their women had proven to be their downfall, a vulnerability that allowed the Ojan knights to seize the upper hand.
But this was not the only factor in Claudius's victory. For the past two years, he and his men had trained in the Shadow Land, a realm notorious for its brutality and considered the second most savage place after the human realms. In the Shadow Land, magical powers were rendered useless; only raw physical strength ensured survival. This harsh environment tested a warrior's endurance and willpower to their limits. Claudius transformed this crucible into a forge for his strength, honing his body without relying on external magic or enhancements. The trials of the Shadow Land had perfected him and his warriors, making them stronger than ever.
"Kill the men and capture the women alive!" he ordered, turning his horse to ensure his knights heard him clearly.
Now victorious on the battlefield, Claudius set his sights on gathering the residual energy of the Sojun women —the pure masculine energy that had long been stolen from his ancestors. Traditionally, he collected this energy after each battle to enhance his strength for the upcoming war—an endless conflict that had persisted in a maddening time loop for centuries. But this time, Claudius vowed to break the kingdom's curse and conquer it once and for all. He intended to take control of the source of Sojun energy itself, refusing to settle for merely feeding off the leftovers any longer. He was prepared to invest whatever time and effort it would demand.
Suddenly, thunder roared, breaking his victorious thoughts and striking the ground with a force so intense that even the hardened knights recoiled. In the center of it all lay a mysterious creature sprawled on the bloodied ground. Claudius narrowed his eyes in intrigue; he had never seen anything like it. Waves of water and light danced around it like an eggshell, the refreshing scent of fresh water contrasting sharply with the grim battlefield around him.
After a few moments, the protective water shield faded quickly.
Was it a woman? Her golden-tanned skin glistened in the dim light, and her brown curls cascaded over her face in shades unlike anything he had ever encountered. The unfamiliar energy radiating from her was so potent that he felt almost magnetically drawn to it. The last time his army had seen a woman was over two years ago, and the last time they had encountered such a shapely figure was in old drawings from the history books, depicting the time when the doomed Goddess Ivory ruled Ojan.
His men stood frozen, staring. The delicate curve of her waist and the smooth expanse of her exposed skin seemed otherworldly among the battle-worn warriors. A knight stood close by, his blade tip brushing against her waist, the motion intentional yet lacking force. Claudius tensed as he saw a shallow cut appear, blood welling at the surface. So fragile. The knight's eyes widened in disbelief at how effortlessly her skin had broken.
Then, her eyes opened—large, expressive, and dark as twilight. She fluttered them as she stirred, taking in the chaotic scene around her. A severed head rolled past her, and blood splattered across her skin in sickening streaks. Claudius braced for a scream, but instead, she froze, wide-eyed and horrified. Her small hands trembled as she wiped at the blood, her soft mouth opening in silent shock. As she moved, his soldiers stiffened, and her robe slipped, revealing a glimpse of soft, plump curves.
A hush fell over the men, heat surging through Claudius's veins. This was dangerous. His army had never seen anything like this, and their usual hunger for women could escalate the situation. He clenched his jaw and shouted, "Keep fighting!" His voice rang across the field like a blade.
The men snapped to attention as his glare swept over them, hard and merciless. "If anyone loses focus, I will take their head myself." Silence followed, thick with tension. Satisfied, he turned back to the woman—her body still trembling, her gaze filled with confusion and something more. Curiosity? He draped his heavy, dark brown robe over her, shielding her from their prying eyes.
Then, to his right-hand knight, he commanded, "Delos, take her and bring her to the base." The warning in his voice was lethal. "If anyone touches her, they will lose their hands and heads." His word was law. The battle had been won, but this victory was only the beginning.
As they approached the base, Claudius thought about their next steps. They needed to regroup and formulate a plan to enter the city without being affected by the curse and before the harsh winter of Shadow Land arrived. Suddenly, a concerning sound distracted him.
He glanced back at the creature, observing her shaky movements and evident discomfort. A wave of worry washed over him. He turned to his loyal knight and directed, "Go to the back of the troop. Adjust her position and slow down. Ensure she stays safe during this ride." His knight nodded and urged his horse to the rear of the marching line
Then laughter echoed from that very direction—distant yet unmistakable. Claudius's expression darkened. That laughter came from the men he had stationed after issuing his last orders. A messenger galloped forward, his face pale. "Some of the men… are trying to… play with the woman-shaped creature," he stammered, his voice trembling.
Rage ignited within Claudius, cold and lethal. A wave of dark energy surged through him as he silenced the messenger with a single, steely look. He urged his horse into a gallop, his blade already unsheathed.
When he reached the back of the troop, he saw the knight holding her in front of him, his hand touching her inappropriately while laughing with a few others. No words were necessary. In one fluid motion, Claudius struck, severing the knight's arm—and then his head—before the fool could even cry out. The body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, fresh blood pooling beneath it. The woman-like creature lurched in surprise. Without hesitation, Claudius reached out, catching her before she could fall. His grip was firm yet protective as he maneuvered her back into a secure position in front of him, shielding her from the stares of his men.
A heavy silence settled in. The other soldiers stood still, their faces pale with fear; it was the only way to keep control. No one dared to breathe too loudly, let alone speak. The only sounds were the steady march of soldiers and the rustling of horses. Claudius focused his attention on her. To his surprise, she didn't resist. Instead, he felt her body tense momentarily before relaxing against him. Her curls fell into the folds of his robe as her weight rested against his chest. He anticipated fear, screams, or some sign of horror due to the brutality she had just witnessed, but there was none. When she cast a final glance at the fallen knight, he sensed something unexpected: relief. His sword was still dripping with fresh blood, and the air was thick with unspoken dread. The other knights remained rigid, their silence filled with tension.
And yet, this delicate being he had taken under his wing leaned against him as if he were her safe haven. Did she really trust him? The sounds around them continued—the rhythmic march of soldiers and the steady clatter of hooves against the ground. No one dared to break the silence.
Ahead, the immense galaxy sprawled across the sky, its stunning vastness illuminating the path to their base, which was now visible on the horizon. In that serene moment, as he felt the weight of his sword in his hand, a thought arose: Who was this creature that he had instinctively claimed as his own?