I was the most famous writer in the country, known especially for my action-romance stories. I had created countless characters, worlds built on violence, passion, and fate. Recently, I had been pouring all my time into a new webtoon—one centered around a notorious school bully named Kang Seong-Joon, a character I designed to be merciless, brutal to anyone who dared cross his path.

That night, I was deeply engrossed in writing his point of view. My fingers flew across the keyboard, shaping his cruelty, his dominance, his rage—until a sharp ringing sound cut through the silence.

A bell.

Before I could react, a blinding light burst from my laptop screen. It wasn’t an ordinary glow—it felt alive, swallowing my vision whole.

Hours later, I woke up.

I was sitting upright on a chair.

Around me were rows of students in uniform, their whispers filling the air. My heart dropped when I looked down—I was wearing a school uniform too. Nothing felt familiar. Everything had changed.

Slowly, I raised my head.

Standing before me was the character I had created with my own hands.

Kang Seong-Joon.

He held a baseball bat loosely at his side, its surface stained dark. His friends stood around him, smirking. At their feet lay a wounded student, curled on the floor, blood seeping into the tiles.

And in that moment, I realized with terrifying clarity—

I wasn’t writing the story anymore.

I was inside it.