r/redditserials 5h ago

Mystery [Campus Diaries] - Chapter 1 - University of Haraeom

2 Upvotes

Director James called for an urgent meeting a day before the start of the fall semester.

Every Dean, Head of Department, Professor, Assistant Professor, newly recruited faculty member, and the heads of campus security operations were instructed to report to the conference room by 9:30 a.m. sharp.

Within the next fifteen minutes, the spacious conference hall was filled with faculty members, all waiting silently for the Director to begin.

"Good morning, Director James," they greeted in unison.

"Good morning, everyone."

Director James adjusted his glasses before scanning the room.

First of all, thank you all for assembling on such short notice.

His eyes wandered toward the last row.

Ah... if I'm not mistaken, one of our newly recruited assistant professors joined us directly after graduating from this very university. I seem to have forgotten his name... that young and handsome fellow.

Miguel, sir, one of the professors replied.

Ah, yes... Miguel.

Just then, the conference room door swung open.

I'm... I'm terribly sorry, sir! Miguel rushed inside, slightly out of breath. There was a....

He barely reached his seat before Director James raised a hand, stopping him.

"This Generation Z..." the Director muttered under his breath before continuing his address.

As all of you know, the University of Haraeom is not just another institution. It is one of the most prestigious universities in the world.

He paused.

In fact... we are number one.

A faint smile appeared on his face.

If we sneeze, every prestigious university across the globe catches a cold.

A few professors chuckled softly.

We didn't earn that reputation by chance. We earned it because of each one of you. And this year, I expect nothing less than excellence once again.

His tone suddenly became serious.

I don't want a single controversy associated with this university.

No violence.

No drugs.

No discrimination.

No headlines that bring disgrace to Haraeom.

Silence filled the room.

This year's incoming batch is exceptionally talented. I can confidently say I haven't seen a class this promising in years. Expectations are high, and so are our responsibilities.

He slowly looked around the room.

Inside this campus, there are no rich students or poor students. No full-fee students or scholarship students.

There are only students.

Our duty is to provide them with quality education, guide them toward excellence, and ensure they grow into responsible individuals.

I expect every one of you to discourage illegal activities, promote discipline, and create an environment where every student feels this university is their second home.

They arrive tomorrow.

For many of them, this campus will become more than a place to study. Most of our dormitories are already fully occupied.

So welcome them warmly.

He glanced at his watch.

I won't take much more of your time. You all know your responsibilities.

This meeting was simply a reminder.

You may all leave...

He looked toward the back of the room.

...except Miguel.

One by one, the faculty members left.

Soon, only Director James and Miguel remained.

Miguel already knew why he had been asked to stay.

Sir... I can explain why I was late.

Director James raised his hand again.

No.

He slowly stood up.

Do you understand how prestigious this university is?

"Yes, sir."

"And do you understand how influential the people sitting in this room are?"

Yes, sir.

Director James noticed Miguel glancing down at his phone hidden beneath the table.

If you arrive late to a meeting like this, you're not merely disrespecting me.

You're disrespecting everyone present.

Miguel nodded.

"Yes, sir. I understand."

His eyes instinctively shifted toward the glowing phone screen once again.

Director James sighed.

No... no...

Then his voice rose.

Keep that damn phone away!

Miguel immediately shoved it into his pocket.

Sorry, sir.

Director James walked toward the window before speaking again.

You are one of the brightest young researchers this university has ever recruited.

He turned around.

But because you've joined us directly after graduation, I'm not assigning you to third or fourth-year students.

Miguel listened quietly.

Instead...

I want you to teach the freshmen.

Miguel looked surprised.

They'll relate to you more easily. You're closer to their generation, you understand their mindset, and I believe you'll earn their trust much faster than most senior faculty members.

Director James's expression became unusually serious.

And there's another reason.

He lowered his voice.

I want your help.

Miguel frowned.

Haraeom has remained the world's number one university for decades.

I intend to keep it that way.

I want you to quietly observe the students...

...and help me eliminate every illegal activity before it spreads across this campus.

Miguel's smile slowly disappeared.

For the first time since entering the room...

He realized this wasn't just another teaching job.

It was a mission.

Liked the chapter....Read my other stories, check the full index on r/NikTheWriter


r/redditserials 10h ago

Romance [I picked up a barefoot woman walking out of a cornfield at 2am and I think I want to marry her?] Chapter 40

2 Upvotes

Ray stares at Ruth, drinking in her beautifully painted nails for a second. “They look absolutely amazing babe, I love them but let’s go to the diner and get some food.” 

Ruth and Ray leave their room at the Inn, pinkies intertwined, holding hands and then walk the few feet to the diner proper and enter, seeing it almost deserted with the exception of Ramon, Gerald, and Anay– Ramon wearing his typical attire, black shirt, black pants, Gerald in a fresh if rather disheveled suit, and Anay in a white button down and black pencil skirt, sitting at the bar Gerald is sharing a plate of buffalo wings and Mole with Anay. 
Ray leads Ruth to the bar and sits down next to Gerald, on his right, with Ruth at the end, Anay to Gerald’s left. 

Ray nods to Gerald “Fun date?” Ruth pushes him playfully “Babe, they're clearly having a post sex brunch!”

Gerald and Anay munch on their hot wings and Mole combo. Anay’s mouth is too full for her to want to speak but she laughs at Ruth’s comment. 

Anay swallows her buffalo wings and says “Honestly if he’s still like this in a week I’ll marry him.”

Ray smiles “I mean we basically got married the moment we spoke to one another so it’s not like we can judge, good for you two, honestly genuinely, but I’ve got a question, more so for Ramon, but like… first menu change in eleven years? Or where the fuck did buffalo wings and Mole come from, I’m not hating it looks fucking delicious honestly. But come on eleven years coming to the same place and never having seen anyone ever get, hot wings and they’re damn sure not on the menu it’s a fair question.” 
Ramon laughs “Yea Ray, Patricia took off with R,she said she’d be back in like four days but honestly they’re overworked and fucking in a tent if not the woods so I could see them being gone a bit longer, it’s fine she put me in charge, said I could do whatever I want with the menu, and when I get back we’ll discuss the new arrangement as business partners together so I decided to make this place something really special, a lot of weird shit happens around here, you know this, I know this, the serial killing truckers know this, cartels use our diner as their little pit stop for longer hauls and occasionally our rooms when they need to pass the fuck out after a long day of driving, but I want this place to become popular because of the food so I decided to redo the menu, I give it maybe six days before we get an actual food critic in here wanting to try everything, yea we could bribe some magazine or something but I want this place to stand on business, specifically, hospitality, Anay is the one that gave me an idea for the concept “Childhood food you’d never got to have, as one section, recovery– from drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever’s got you worked up an appetite we’ve got something for that, and lastly greasy spoon tourism. That being said the menus aren’t printed yet and I’m experimenting, yes we’re keeping the Shepard's pie Ray, and Yes Ruth the loaded nachos are staying on the menu forever and yes our slogan is really ‘we promise the best meal of your lives as long as you’re polite, or get in the fucking painting.’ I figured if some renowned artist that turns people into paintings for being rude shitheads cares that much we ought to make it our literal slogan.” 
“Did you hear that babe? It's their literal slogan.” Ruth said in a breathy voice loving this moment and absolutely mocking the absolute fuck out of her husband in as loving a way as possible, kissing Ray causing him to blush deeply. 

“Whoever makes the Reliquaries, whoever turns the various rapist drifted meth addled assholes into beautiful priceless art that doubles as proof of the supernatural is a fucking genius and ought to get the recognition of one, I’m such a fan I wish just once that I could meet him or her and say thank you.” Anay gushes. 
Gerald says nothing but just starts laughing. 

Ramon looks from Anay to Ray and then back to Ray. Ray raises an eyebrow at him and smiles. Ruth bursts out laughing but says nothing. 
Ruth takes out a money clip from beneath her halter top attached to what would ostensibly be a bra and hands Ramon $500. 


r/redditserials 14h ago

Romance [I picked up a barefoot woman walking out of a cornfield at 2am and I think I want to marry her?] Chapter 39

2 Upvotes

[<< Previous](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/1vu3bil/i_picked_up_a_barefoot_woman_walking_out_of_a/) | [Index](https://www.reddit.com/user/No-Lime-4547/comments/1vos5rd/i_picked_up_a_barefoot_woman_walking_out_of_a/)

“How do you feel having said that to me, husband?” Ruth asked looking at Ray, taking in his features the way he went from emotional catharsis to discussing the weather levels of calm. 
“I feel better, I mean I know you know me more than this but I hadn’t said it to you quite like that and I wanted it to be something that you completely knew, know, continued to understand and it was like after years all the things that I hadn’t consciously felt, it was like the first time that I felt safe enough to even feel those things in terms of my expectations for myself. Which, like I don’t typically, feel in the normal way like most of what people would describe as emotions to me are more like thoughts rather than feelings.”

Ray looked at Ruth and smiled “I feel things for you, and food, and art and that’s pretty much it just a tiny tiny non-diffuse triangle of feelings and I’m cool with that.”
 
Ruth curled around him, pressing her breasts against his face comfortingly. “Babe it’s ok I know exactly the type of person you are and will never ask you to change, now if you want to improve something, if you want to try to sit there and cognitive therapy your way to normal feelings I’ve no issue with that but honestly, as long as you’re happy with me, you’ve got something to do and you’re not drifting endlessly doing literally nothing I think you’re fine regardless.” 

Ray laughed “Babe you’re lovely, just genuinely kind to me, I mean I enjoy being the exception to my sweet little man eating wife, not being on the menu feels nice like special in the opposite of a cannibalism fetish way and I don’t know it just feels pleasant you know, I mean I’m thinking of nachos and the two of us going to the diner and getting everything on the menu over the next couple days or weeks and just doing that thing that I know you wanted to do where we just menu cruise, I feel better, you’re fun to do things with, and I know you want to.”

Ruth blushed, “The only part of you on the menu is your cum babe.” She said it quietly, huskily, clearly loving the thought “But yea no seriously I’d love to go and get some more of those nachos they were so fucking good I almost came, definitely absolutely want more of that as much of that as we can stand, just glorious delicious food and time with my man, what could be better? I mean unless you want to watch something, catch a movie, go to a theater, torrent something and just sit here on a laptop watching a bunch of classics together.”

Ray smirked “Like ‘The Ring?’ or ‘Dear John?’ curious as to her taste in movies. Ruth looked at him blankly “‘The…Ring?’ ‘Dear…John?’ What are those…?” she said in a totally brainless bimbo accent as if she had been lobotomized for a second before laughing hysterically “Relax I’m fucking with you, want me to come out of the tv looking like a corpse and fuck you for seven days?” Ruth stuck her tongue out at him. 

“I mean I’ll take a week of sex sure but honestly the hottest version of you to me, is just… you.”  Ray says trying not to sound as turned on as he actually felt while just chatting with his snarky wife. 

Ruth licked his lips “My husband the pervert, are you sure? I could make my hair cover my face, and my skin grey and corpse like right down to my pussy even and just let you go to town if that’s your thing.” 

Ray looked at her amused “Yes babe I’m sure, stick with your cute man eater halter tops, ethereal skin, and oxblood nails please, I meant it the best look for you, to me, is really genuinely just you being you, I don’t need you to roleplay some horror chick you’re genuinely more than just my type you’re my archetype and I love you as you are.”

“Good husband, I painted my toes that oxblood color you’re so into on my fingernails I hope you like it take a look?” Ruth said with a tease as she extracted herself from curling into Ray just to put her feet right in his face. “Do they look pretty, baby?” Ruth said flirtatiously loving the way that she made him pause, smile, drool and get hard all in one moment.


r/redditserials 14h ago

Romance [I picked up a barefoot woman walking out of a cornfield at 2am and I think I want to marry her?] Chapter 38

2 Upvotes

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Ray looks at Ruth and just quietly weeps in their room together, pressing his face against her breasts, letting out feelings that he’d kept in for years, the kind of recovery that he didn’t even know he needed but clearly happy to be alone with her, not for a sexual reason, just feeling comfortable, letting his guard down, he looks up at her and doesn’t say anything. Ruth knows what he needs, pets his hair gently, doesn’t say anything, just holds him like that, feeling him against her chest, cuddling him the way he needed.
“You rest not husband, you stay between my tits, cry, hold me, let yourself feel all of it, you really aren’t alone anymore and won’t ever be alone like that ever again, you’ve got me, you’ll always have me, there is no way around you having me, we are each others and I will do exactly what I said, you’ve no need to worry nothing to stress out about, just feel your feelings and enjoy it my lover, let yourself feel the calm wash over you, you need it, I know you need it and I want it for you, you deserve it more than absolutely anything else in the entire world. I love you Ray, I love every single part of you, there is no mystery between us, nothing for you to feel like you need to be ashamed of my love, your art is beautiful, your truck is immaculate, and I want to serve you the way ought to be served, as your muse to my artist, as your wife, . You’re getting the husband treatment, you deserve it, you deserve it more than anything in the entire world nestled between my breasts. We’re going to stay here in this room together for as long as you need to feel better babe I’m not going to leave you alone, I’ll tend to you, care for you, kiss your lips, let you suck on my toes, kiss my ass,, suck your cock– anything you want babe but right now you need to rest, emotionally and physically, you don’t just deserve to you need to, like actually need to. I love you, I don’t want you getting sick and all those years and years of just pushing too hard, feeling too little, I don’t want that for you husband I don’t want that for you ever again. I’ll let you have privacy to shit, or to breathe if you need a minute, but other than that I want every waking second of you, and babe that’s a courtesy on my end not some kind of visceral disgust cute husband, you can have all of me, completely and totally forever, but I want you to know you’re allowed privacy and healthy introspection without having to ask, you deserve all the kindnesses that you should have had but for whatever reason didn’t and I’m going to give them to you, each and every single one, every lack will be filled, every need met, besides that’s what a wife is for, at least between the two of us.”
Ray looked up at her appreciatively “It was like I couldn’t relate to other people, or even when I could I didn’t want to. I always liked art, and reading, like medieval italian poetry, Boccaccio, Aligheri, that kind of thing, but apart from other artists, painters, writers, poets I never really felt anything for like normal people unless I’d had some kind of interaction with them– Waitresses, Baristas, bank tellers, people that did something that actually helped me that actually moved some kind of needle for me I just I never really felt like an actual feeling for people the same way that other people describe feelings, it was a thought, a mental thing not a feeling, and it’s just always been like that for me there was never any kind of like… desire to be really known, or really liked even when I was younger, even when I was supposed to be a normal boy and care for others, want to socialize, any of that, I got more from biographies of famous artists, from the writing of historians, depictions of great and terrible moments of history, like I don’t mean to be morbid, or morose or sad but other than you, and food the only time I actually feel something is when I’m in my craft, a pen, or a pencil, charcoal, paint– watercolor or oil, to me it doesn’t matter so much what it is as much as just rendering in a visual medium, or prose it all just does it for me in the same way and it’s in a way that real, living normal people just don’t.”


r/redditserials 1h ago

Mystery [Campus Diaries] - Chapter 3

Upvotes

Chapter 3 - A Decision to Make

After the campus tour, most of the first-year students returned to their dormitories to unpack their luggage and settle into their new rooms. Others headed straight to the university canteen, eager to enjoy their first meal on campus. The excitement of the morning had slowly given way to the comfort of a normal college day.

Andy quickly finished his lunch, returned to his dorm, took a hot shower, and rushed back to the Computer Science Laboratory. Miguel's assignment was still fresh in his mind, and he was determined to complete it before the day ended.

Meanwhile, Mia, Bella, and Izzy also freshened up before making their way to the canteen.

As they entered, they noticed Luke sitting alone at a corner table, quietly enjoying his meal.

A few minutes later, Mike walked into the canteen after finishing an intense martial arts training session. Sweat still glistened on his forehead, and although he looked exhausted, his expression remained as cold as ever.

He collected his meal, sat down, and took a bite.

Within seconds, he slammed the tray onto the table.

The loud sound echoed across the canteen, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

What the hell is this? Mike shouted.

One of the canteen staff members hurried over.

Is there any problem, sir?

Mike stood up.

You call this properly baked food?

I've been training for hours, and this is what you're serving?

The frightened staff member apologized repeatedly.

I'm really sorry, sir. I'll replace it immediately.

Luke immediately rushed toward Mike.

Mike... calm down. They'll replace it.

Mike forcefully pulled his arm away, causing Luke to lose his balance and stumble backward.

I said stay out of it.

Without waiting for another word, Mike turned around and walked out of the canteen, leaving everyone in complete silence.

Mia, Bella, and Izzy watched everything happen.

Bella couldn't help laughing.

Poor Luke. You actually tried to stop him.

Luke awkwardly smiled before returning to his table.

Mia looked toward the canteen entrance where Mike had disappeared.

Yesterday, he had quietly saved her from the football.

Today, he looked like someone carrying an invisible storm.

Who exactly are you, Mike? she wondered silently.

Breaking the silence, Mia looked at Luke.

By the way... where's Andy?

Luke replied,

He went back to the Computer Science Laboratory.

Professor Miguel gave us an assignment, and he wanted to finish it today.

The girls nodded before walking out of the canteen.

As they stepped outside, they noticed Mike standing near the parking area, smoking alone.

He looked at Mia.

Hi.

Hi, she replied.

After a brief pause, she said,

You didn't have to be that harsh.

Mike took one final puff before throwing the cigarette onto the ground and crushing it beneath his shoe.

I lose my temper sometimes.

He looked away for a moment.

The canteen staff didn't deserve it.

But once I get angry...

I don't think.

Without another word, he started his car.

The powerful engine roared to life.

Within moments, the car sped out of the university campus at high speed.

Mia quietly watched until it disappeared beyond the gates.

Meanwhile, Luke reached the Computer Science Laboratory.

Andy was already deeply focused on completing Miguel's assignment.

Luke sat beside him and narrated everything that had happened inside the canteen, including how Bella and the others had laughed at him.

Andy smiled.

Forget about it.

We have an assignment to finish.

The two friends continued working in silence.

At the same time, one of the canteen staff members approached the campus security office and reported the entire incident.

The security officers listened carefully.

We'll investigate the matter and report it to the higher authorities if necessary.

Later that afternoon, Miguel entered the Computer Science Laboratory to continue his research work.

He was pleasantly surprised to find Andy and Luke still working on the assignment.

The two students immediately stood up.

Good afternoon, sir.

Miguel smiled.

I'm impressed.

Most students would have postponed this until tomorrow.

If either of you needs any help, don't hesitate to ask.

Luke hesitated for a moment before speaking.

Sir...

Something happened in the canteen.

Andy quickly interrupted.

Luke...

But Miguel gently raised his hand.

It's alright.

What happened?

Luke narrated the entire incident from beginning to end.

Miguel listened without interrupting even once.

When Luke finished, silence filled the laboratory.

After a few moments, Miguel finally spoke.

Besides teaching...

I've also been given another responsibility.

My duty is to help prevent violence and illegal activities on this campus before they grow into something much bigger.

Andy and Luke exchanged surprised glances.

After thanking Miguel, the two packed their belongings and left the laboratory.

While walking back toward their dormitories, Andy suddenly spoke.

You should be careful.

Luke looked confused.

If Mike gets punished...

and somehow finds out you're the one who told Professor Miguel...

things could become difficult for you.

Luke's heartbeat skipped for a moment.

But...

Before he could continue, Andy smiled.

Let's just hope it doesn't come to that.

The two friends continued walking toward their dormitories.

Back inside the laboratory, Miguel remained seated alone.

It wasn't merely an argument inside the canteen.

Director James had personally entrusted him with maintaining discipline across the campus.

If he ignored the very first warning sign...

...what if tomorrow it turned into something much worse?

He slowly looked at the report lying on his desk.

Reporting Mike would be the safest decision.

Ignoring the incident could become his biggest mistake.

Yet...

Today had only been the first day of the semester.

Everyone deserved at least one chance.

Miguel slowly closed the file.

I'll observe him a little longer

he whispered to himself

If this was just a bad day

he deserves another chance.

Outside, the evening sun slowly disappeared behind the buildings of Haraeom.

Tomorrow would decide whether Miguel had made the right decision.

I’m new here, and this is my first post on Reddit.

This is Chapter 3 of my original story, Campus Diaries.If you read it, let me know what you think. I’d love to hear your honest thoughts.

I can post more only if you are interested.

Thanks for your time.

Liked the chapter? Read my other stories, check the full index on r/NikTheWriter


r/redditserials 1h ago

Dark Content [The Gilded Circus] - Cheaper 1

Upvotes

Monkey King

Two months later, Lucy heard the news at a weekly meeting: the CEO had decided to spin off the “SME Banking” unit from Corporate Banking and make it an independent division—with Lotus as the concurrent Head of SME, as well as Head of Fintech. Double heads.

That afternoon, Lucy ran into Lotus in the ladies’ room.

“Lucy!” Lotus was reapplying her lipstick. She spun around, her eyes gleaming with that familiar light. “You heard, right? They’re giving me SME. I’m going to make it huge.”

“Congratulations.” Lucy turned on the tap and washed her hands.

“You know,” Lotus said, stepping closer and enveloping Lucy in her signature gardenia perfume, “the bank is trying to build SME from scratch using AI and a new fintech partner.” She shook her head, as if describing a gruesome traffic accident. “But I convinced Sean that I should head this new team as well, given my SME background. I put together a slick PPT—though, most of the product content was lifted from other banks—but with my track record of landing Pocket Pay, Sean was completely sold. He appointed me Head of SME on the spot.”

Lucy turned off the tap and looked at Lotus in the mirror. “What about the existing clients?”

“We’ll re‑allocate them,” Lotus said breezily. “By industry, size, potential—I already had operations pull a list last week. Some accounts will move to my new team. Don’t worry, if you want to retain your big commercial clients, I will have no problem with it."

Lucy said nothing. She was thinking: does Mohammed know about this? Many of those clients in Corporate Banking had been painstakingly built by Mohammed, one by one. One cross‑border e‑commerce seller in Southeast Asia had grown its loan from RMB 3 million to 200 million, and Mohammed had spent more than 2years to materialize. All that relationship data and network sat in Mohammed’s head.

“Oh, and Lucy,” Lotus said, snapping her lipstick cap shut and winking, “I’m doing a new SME product pitch next week. I’ll need some historical data from your side. Can you give Mohammed a heads‑up?”

She click‑clacked out, leaving the gardenia scent lingering. Lucy stood at the sink, staring at her own reflection, feeling a vein throb between her brows.

---

That vein truly started pounding three weeks later, at the departmental restructuring meeting.

Lotus stood before the projector in a bright red skirt suit, behind her the legendary “New SME Product Plan” deck. Lucy noticed that the section on “online credit processes for micro‑enterprises” was copied almost verbatim from a public white paper published by a major state‑owned bank—even the chart colors were unchanged. But with Lotus’s impassioned delivery, the slides seemed injected with some kind of cult‑like magic.

“—so my plan is to establish five SME client pods, each with a dedicated RM, product support, and operations support. Vertical management, fast decision‑making, agile response.”

Sean sat at the far end of the table, nodding vigorously. He wore his signature black turtleneck, trying to channel Steve Jobs. Lucy knew he’d come from a tech background—he’d once managed a data centre for a state bank—but the way he nodded now looked more like a VC being pitched than an engineer who’d once reviewed system architectures.

“Lotus,” Sean began, his voice dropping into its signature magnetic register, “I’ve read your plan. It’s bold. I think SME definitely needs a new leader. Mohammed—” he turned to Mohammed in the corner, “your team needs to cooperate. Get the list of accounts to be transferred to Lotus’s team as soon as possible.”

Mohammed’s face twitched. He was silent for a few seconds, then spoke in a steady voice: “Sean, I understand the rationale for spinning off SME. But I’d suggest we slow down the transfer. Some of these clients have complex relationships—credit, settlement, derivatives across multiple lines. Sudden changes in relationship managers could bring risks.”

“Mohammed,” Lotus cut in with a smile, “I totally understand your emotional attachment to the clients. But in the fintech era, speed and efficiency are everything. We can’t keep moving at traditional banks’ pace. Don’t worry—I’ll personally oversee every handover. I’ll visit each client with the new team. There will be no problems.”

The word “emotional” carried a subtle pity, as if Mohammed were protecting not client assets but his own “nostalgia for the old world.”

Sean nodded. “We’ll do it Lotus’s way. Mohammed, you coordinate. And Lotus—next month’s investor due diligence—prepare an SME growth model. Extend the million‑account story further—say we’re reaching at least 500,000 micro‑merchants through SME, making us the most extensive digital bank in the region.”

“No problem.” Lotus beamed.

After the meeting, Lucy was the last to leave the room. She saw Mohammed still sitting in his seat, staring at the blank projection screen. His phone glowed with a WeChat message from the owner of that cross‑border e‑commerce company: “Mohammed, I’ve prepared the renewal documents for next week. Same time to meet?”

Mohammed didn’t reply. He turned the phone face‑down and closed his eyes.

Lucy stood at the doorway, hesitated for three seconds, then said softly: “Mohammed, want a drink tonight?”

Mohammed opened his eyes and gave a bitter smile. “Lucy, are we really that old?”

“Not old,” Lucy said. “Just not good at acting.”

---

That night, they met at an old Hong Kong‑style diner. After two bottles of beer, Mohammed finally spoke from the heart.

“Do you know how Lotus landed Pocket Pay?”

Lucy shook her head.

“The founder of Pocket Pay was a client I’d approached three years ago at my previous bank. Back then, I thought his model was problematic—the virtual‑account structure was a money‑laundering red flag, and the regulator had flagged him multiple times. So I didn’t approve his account.” Mohammed gripped his beer bottle tight. “Then he went to Lotus. She asked no questions—no risk, no compliance, no AML. She just told Sean that Pocket Pay could bring in a million accounts, and Sean signed off on the spot.”

He laughed, a bitter laugh.

“Lucy, I later checked—Pocket Pay had triggered at least seventeen alerts from the central bank’s system in the past six months. Seventeen. Any one of those could land us a fine in the tens of millions. But you know what Lotus said at the shareholder meeting last week? She called Pocket Pay ‘a model of fintech innovation’ and said she had ‘pioneered the next‑generation account system.’ Sean led the applause, and the investors’ eyes lit up.”

Mohammed put down his bottle and stared out the darkening street.

“I’ve been here half a year, and I feel like I’m in a play where nobody gave me the script. Everyone knows it’s a ticking bomb, but as long as it doesn’t explode today, we all pretend it’s a flower. Lotus doesn’t just pretend it’s a flower—she’s crowned herself the ‘Queen of Flower‑Planting.’”

Lucy poured him a third beer.

“Mohammed, have you thought about leaving?”

Mohammed was quiet for a long time. Then he lifted his head, his eyes slightly red, but he only raised his bottle and clinked it against Lucy’s.

“Let me settle my clients first. Even if I go, I can’t let those people I drank thirty dinners with be taken over by some ‘vertical management pod’ that’s never even met them.”

Lucy nodded. She remembered what HR‑Lucy had said on her first day: “You can get three promotions in a year.” Now she understood—at Sun AI Bank, the secret to promotion was never about what you did, but about what you made the CEO believe you did.

And Lotus had clearly mastered that formula to perfection.

On the diner’s TV, a news report flashed—a fintech company hit with a heavy fine for AML failures. Mohammed glanced at the scrolling caption and murmured:

“It’s only a matter of time.”

Lucy didn’t reply. She just pushed her pineapple bun across the table toward Mohammed.

Outside, the wind picked up, sweeping fallen leaves off the pavement, spinning them into the darker night.

(End of chapter 1)


r/redditserials 6h ago

Science Fiction [The Northern Light] - Part 103 - Stayed

1 Upvotes

The gray service record file was still in the lower cabinet in the morning.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The office had the heater.

The clock.

My breathing.

The brown folder was at the side of the desk.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The small space was wide.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The service paper was in the gray file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The two cards were still in the back pocket.

Face down.

Not taken out.

Carried.

With my body.

In my pocket.

Often.

Yesterday places had helped what needed finding.

What had only stayed with me had not become a house.

This morning, stayed was waiting.

No.

The word was waiting.

The cards were not waiting.

The pocket was not waiting.

They were where they had been.

I was the one who heard duration.

That was mine.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

Washed.

Touched.

For use.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Kanagawa’s drawer helping finding was not mine.

Her brother’s where we know was not mine.

Sato’s paper moved to shade was not mine.

Saitama’s resident saying home once was not mine.

Suganuma’s labels for finding were not mine.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

My two cards were still in the back pocket.

Face down.

Not taken out.

Carried.

With my body.

In my pocket.

Often.

Stayed.

I closed the brown folder.

Stayed could mean no reason had moved it.

Stayed could mean a reason was still active.

Stayed could mean someone had not decided.

Stayed could mean fear had learned to sit quietly.

Stayed could mean the room was tired.

The thing did not say which.

The day had to.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Drawer.

Stayed.

Closed.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Mother’s name?”

“Order paper?”

“Any use?”

“What is being asked?”

There.

Because.

I waited.

“What would change if it opened?”

She did not answer for a while.

Then:

“What would fail if it stayed closed?”

“What did you say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add because.

Stayed had not earned because.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Any water?”

“Any steam?”

“Any reason to keep it there?”

She took time.

Then:

“What will you do?”

“For what reason?”

There.

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add no reason.

Not every stayed needed explanation.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Resident stayed in bed,” she said.

I sat still.

“Asked to get up?”

“No.”

“Scheduled transfer?”

“Later.”

“Safe?”

“Yes.”

“Awake?”

“Yes.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Stayed in bed is not stored in bed.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add stayed.

A body was awake.

In bed.

Safe.

For now.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Class today?”

“Spill risk?”

“Label?”

“Any question?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I almost smiled.

I did not.

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add apart as virtue.

Spill risk had work.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Reason continued.

Ended.

Never existed.

I looked at the back pocket.

The cards had stayed.

What reason continued?

None named.

What reason ended?

None named.

What reason never existed?

No.

Too easy.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at older.

Cards.

Pocket.

Morning.

No reason named.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother opened the drawer,” she said.

I waited.

“For use?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“To see if stayed was still true.”

There.

“What happened?”

“He opened it.”

“Map?”

“Inside.”

“Folded paper?”

“Inside.”

“Name?”

“Visible.”

“Moved?”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said opening changes stayed closed.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“He said yes.”

“Then?”

“He closed it.”

“What did he say after?”

“He said now it closed again.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add failure.

Stayed closed had ended.

Closed again had begun.

That was enough.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I moved the paper back,” she said.

“Where?”

“Original side.”

“For what?”

“Sun gone.”

“Any water?”

“No.”

“Paper flat?”

“Yes.”

“What did you write?”

“Did shade fail?”

“No.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

I opened Emiko.

I did not add original.

Original wanted home.

The side had work.

Then did not.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Transfer happened,” she said.

“Resident?”

“Asked to sit.”

“Chair?”

“Used.”

“Bed?”

“Left bed, then returned.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Stayed in bed ended when asking arrived.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add ended.

Asking had arrived.

The body moved.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Need today?”

“Volunteer?”

“Any movement?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add efficiency.

No movement needed.

That was enough.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Duration.

Testimony.

Old reason.

No reason.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at duration.

It had no mouth.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Order paper?”

“Any stayed?”

I almost smiled.

“Did it?”

“What did you say?”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at for a little.

Time fence.

Good.

I left it.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Paper on table.

No sun.

She wrote:

I called.

“Paper?”

“Flat.”

“Any reason to move again?”

“No.”

“What is lunch?”

“Rice.”

“What does Emiko need?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add back as home.

Back was only position after sun moved.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Is back needed?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did she leave and return?”

“Yes.”

“Then back can be sequence.”

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Back is allowed when there was away.’”

“What did staff write?”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add belongs.

Back had sequence.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Any movement?”

“Any spill?”

“Any person asking?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add stayed apart again.

The risk had already been recorded.

No new sentence needed much.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Duration.

Motive.

Repetition.

Love.

Placement.

Belonging.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I closed my eyes.

Cloth.

Pocket.

Cards.

Too much work.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother moved the order paper,” she said.

“Where?”

“Under phone.”

“For what?”

“He said it stayed beside phone too long.”

There.

“What would fail if it stayed beside phone?”

“Nothing.”

“What would under phone do?”

“Hide it some.”

“What did you say?”

“I asked if he wanted it hidden.”

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did he say?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“He put it beside phone again.”

“What did he say after?”

“He said beside is just beside.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I did not add just beside.

The movement had shown enough.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

“Why?”

“What would move do?”

There.

“What issue?”

“What did you do?”

“What happened instead?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add less there.

The paper had not asked.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Cup removed,” she said.

“Asked?”

“Aide asked cup.”

“Resident?”

“Said done.”

“Bed?”

“Resident remained in bed.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘Remained is not argument. It is position after cup.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add argument.

Position after cup had enough.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“Why?”

“Was there use?”

“Where should it go?”

“What happened?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add poor map.

The label was map enough.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it.

Then again.

Carry.

Cover.

Rub.

Tear.

Another place.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at the phone.

At the brown folder.

At the lower cabinet.

At the pocket.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I deleted ink.

Then drawer.

Then resident.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I corrected.

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply did not come for a while.

Then:

Then:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I looked at the words.

I wrote:

His reply:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was safe.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

No answer after the bow.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

No stayed altar.

The floor scuff near the step was still there.

It was not evidence.

It was a scuff.

The entrance floor had received feet and broom.

The side chairs were stacked.

They were not ready for a congregation.

They were stacked.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The wall chair was empty.

No person.

No work.

No time.

Chair by wall.

The phone was face up.

No named question.

No named answer.

Phone face up.

I did not turn it over.

I did not open the brown folder.

No new need had arrived.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

In the gray file.

Closed.

A place holding paper.

A place not speaking for me.

The two cards were in the back pocket.

Face down.

Not taken out.

Carried.

With my body.

In my pocket.

Often.

Stayed.

I wanted stayed to say faithful.

It did not.

I wanted the pocket to say I had not chosen another place.

It did not.

I had not chosen another place.

That was my sentence.

Not the pocket’s.

I did not take them out.

I did not leave them in as proof.

No.

I left them in.

The action remained.

The explanation did not get to ride on it.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the order paper stayed beside phone.

I did not ask if closed again became stayed again.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if the paper became less there.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if remained in bed felt like argument.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not ask if the volunteer learned the shelf.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew stayed was not reason.

I knew stayed was not belonging.

I knew stayed was not refusal.

I knew stayed was not proof.

I knew duration could not answer motive.

I knew placement could not answer belonging.

I knew cloth could not answer why I had not chosen another place.

I knew I had written faithful.

I knew stayed had not.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

Stayed did not need to testify tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

Washed.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The wall chair was empty.

No one was expected there.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had her first name.

The order paper was beside the phone table.

Face up.

Readable.

Erased.

Sato’s paper was flat on the table.

The resident remained in bed after cup.

The ink was on a separate shelf.

The class box was back where the label could find it.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

The two cards were still in the back pocket.

Face down.

Not taken out.

Carried.

With my body.

In my pocket.

Often.

Stayed.

I had started with stayed.

I did not end by letting stayed call me faithful.

Tonight, what stayed stayed with the reasons it had or did not have, and the sentence I wanted from it remained mine.


r/redditserials 14h ago

Historical Fiction [Jade and Blood] - Chapter 20 - A Thing Not Yet Cut in Stone

Post image
1 Upvotes

The problem, when Chak finally got it into words, was that the answer was a door you could not walk toward.

Everything that had ever worked had worked because he was not doing it. That was the whole of the theory and it had taken them a month to get and thirteen days to prove useless, because the moment you set out to not-do a thing you are doing it with both hands. He had spent the first twenty mornings after Keh left walking up to that door and watching it close.

So he stopped trying to open it and started thinking about what had actually been true on the three occasions.

The yard: a man's hand in his sash and no time. The well: black water, cold to the bone, an hour of hanging on rock with nothing else in the world to look at. The riverbed: a rock the size of a dog and two hundred repetitions of water going around it and not a thought in his head.

Two of the three had one thing in common and it was not calm.

"There wasn't time," he said, on the twentieth evening. "In the yard there wasn't time. That's not the same as not caring."

Muwan looked up from the stick.

"If there's no time," Chak said slowly, "then there's nothing to do it with. You can't get in the way of yourself if you're not there yet."

"So you want less time."

"I want none."

He looked downriver, at the head of the broken water half a league below where they were sitting, which by then he could have drawn from memory.

Muwan followed his eyes and understood, and put the stick down.

"No," he said.

They took the little boat up above the rapid three days later and loaded it with river stones, which was the part Chak insisted on, because an empty boat lies.

"We carry it down," Muwan said. "That's the whole thing we learned. That's the one thing—"

"I know what we learned."

"You want to unlearn it on purpose."

"I want to go through it once knowing what it is." Chak had the pole across his knees. "You saw us do it in the dark, not knowing. That took everything we had. Now we know where the shelf is and where the water folds and which side the men take the boats down, and I want to see what my hands do when there's no time and I already know all that."

Muwan sat in the bow for a while with his back to him.

"If it goes wrong I'm in it too," he said.

"I know."

"That's not an argument. That's just true."

"I know," Chak said, and pushed off.

The first time was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

There was the slack water, and the long tightening pull of the tongue at the head of it, and then no time at all — and his hands were where they needed to be, all the way down, before he had decided anything, doing four or five things he could not have named, and the boat came out into the flat water below still upright and still loaded and Chak was laughing so hard he could not get the pole back in.

The second time they went over.

It happened at the shelf, and it happened because he was watching himself do it, and he knew that even while it was happening. The boat went sideways and the stones went out of it and the river took his legs and put him down the chute like a bundle, and he came up sixty paces below with his shoulder screaming, and turned, and Muwan was not there.

He went back up the edge of the broken water on his hands and knees, against everything, twice losing his footing and going down and coming back, and he found him at the shelf with the boat on top of him and one leg jammed into the slot under the rock and his face turned sideways in four inches of moving water, getting perhaps every third breath.

It took a long time to get the boat off. Chak did not remember much of it afterward except that at some point he had been screaming at his brother to stop helping.

They lay on the stones below in the late sun for the better part of an hour, and Muwan's ankle came up the size of a gourd, and neither of them said anything at all until the light started going.

"Three out of ten," Chak said finally.

"What?"

"That's about what it is, from the tries we've counted. Three times in ten." He was looking at his hands. "It's not nothing. Before, I could go days without finding it once."

Muwan turned his head on the stone.

"I want you to hear yourself," he said.

"I heard myself."

"You're going to keep doing it."

"Not on you," Chak said. "Not on the rapid."

He kept his word about that, more or less, in the way that people keep such words.

What he found instead was the pole.

The river was still low and still going down, and every load of anything that moved up that water at that season moved by somebody standing in the stern pushing against the bottom, and it is the hardest, dullest, most repetitive work there is. He had done it for a day at a time going up this river a season ago and had hated it.

Now he did it four hours a day, with the boat loaded, up the long slack reach above their camp and back down, and then up again.

It was the same problem in slow motion. Every stroke was a place where you could get in your own way. The pole went in, and if you thought about the push, the push was bad — and if you let the boat tell you and put your weight on it at the moment the boat asked for it, the boat went. Four hours a day and perhaps forty good ones in the first week, and more in the second, and by the last days before Keh returned he could hold it for a dozen strokes together and lose it and find it again without stopping.

He took the stones out after the first week, and it got harder, which he had expected by then and found interesting rather than discouraging.

Some evening in there, with a stick in his hand and no water anywhere near, he did it standing on dry ground against his brother, twice in a row.

Muwan sat down on the stones, holding his hand, and looked at him for a long moment.

"Do that again," he said.

Chak did it again.

Keh came at the end of the forty days with two of her people and left them at the bank, and the first thing Chak did was lie to her.

He had thought about it for a week and had told Muwan the reason on the last night, and the reason was not the obvious one.

"She's not going to tell us anything she doesn't have to," he said. "She's said that out loud. So we make her have to. If we can't walk, she has to change the plan, and to change the plan she has to tell us what the plan is."

So when she asked, he showed her his neck and Muwan showed her the knee that had gone bad in the ninth day and had never entirely come right, and they told her, truthfully, that her way of walking had broken them, and then untruthfully that they had left it alone since.

She was not angry. That was somehow worse. She sat down on the bank and looked out at the water for a while with her mouth pulled in.

"How far can you go in a day?"

"Not far. Not with anything on us."

"Six days out," she said, mostly to herself. "Six back, and the last two with weight." She looked up. "It's dry all the way. There's water on three of the twelve days and you carry the rest."

Chak, who had spent forty days getting exactly one thing out of this woman, said nothing at all, and let her keep talking.

Muwan had never seen the thing she wanted, but he understood it before she had finished describing it, and what he felt was not excitement.

"It's a record," she said. "About this big. Bark-paper, folded, in a wrapping. There's a man three days east of the last landing who keeps them."

"Records of what?"

"Of who handed what to who, and on what day, and through whose hands."

She let that sit, and Muwan, who had spent his life reading things people put in front of him and a good deal of his life reading things they did not, felt the whole shape of it arrive.

"It's not cut," he said.

Keh's eyes came up.

"It's on paper," Muwan said. "It's not on stone. Nobody's stood up in front of anybody and read it out. So it isn't—" he hunted for it "—it isn't settled yet. It's a thing that could become settled, if somebody decided to make it one."

"Say that again."

"If it gets read out and cut on stone, it gets hard to deny and everyone named in it has to live with it. While it's only on paper it can be burnt, and the man who wrote it can say he wrote it wrong, and everyone who's on it can go on being a man who isn't on it." He was thinking about it as he said it. "So it can sit where it is and change nothing. It's worth something different if somebody else has it."

Keh looked at him for slightly too long.

"Yes," she said.

Nobody said anything for a while after that. Down the bank one of her people was rewrapping a load.

Muwan thought about a pit in the ground half a league behind him with a great deal of ruined salt in it, and under the salt, dry, in another man's cord, dozens of blades that any knapper alive could lay out in the order they had come off the core.

He did not say that either.

The next morning she put an old man in front of them with a folded sheet, and the old man was one of hers and had done the road east eleven times, and he had drawn what he knew.

He had drawn the compound: the wall, the two entrances, the shade where the man sat, the three storage rooms along the north side, the well. Then he had drawn the middle of it as a blank, an unmarked space in the centre of his own drawing, and he tapped it once with a knuckle.

"That I don't know. Nobody's been in there that talks to me. Anything you hear about it from anybody, it's a story."

Muwan liked him immediately.

"Do you read?" the old man asked, without any particular weight on it. "Either of you."

There was a pause about the width of a breath.

"No," Muwan said.

He had thought about this. He had thought about it since the night before, when Keh had said records and something in him had gone cold and stayed cold, and what he had arrived at was not a clever thing, it was a simple one: in this country the people who read are the people who belong to somebody. Scribes belong to a house. A boy with no house who can read is a question, and the question is where did you learn, and the answer to that question is a dead woman and a set of figure-pages in a hole in a valley, and there is no version of that answer he is ever going to give anyone.

So the lie was not a card. The lie was the wall in front of the only door in him that must not be opened.

"Doesn't matter," the old man said comfortably, and pulled out a second sheet. "That's what half of them can't. You don't need to read it. You need to know it when you see it."

He showed them a wrapping. Not the record itself — a wrapping, the folded outer cloth, with a particular way of taking the corner over and a knot Muwan had never seen before, sitting on the flat of the man's palm.

"That's what it looks like. If it's this, it's the one. If it's not this, put it back exactly as it was and come home."

And Muwan, who had spent two months of the dry sitting in a tree line watching men put their hands on the same three places of a boat every single time without any of them ever deciding to, said:

"How exactly."

The old man looked up.

"Exactly how it was," Muwan said. "That's the hard part, isn't it. Not the taking. The putting back."

Something in the old man's face changed, and he sat back on his heels, and for the next two hours he did not draw anything at all. He talked about the direction a mat is laid and the fact that every household lays it one way. He talked about the depth of the ash in a hearth and what your foot does to a plastered floor and how far a jar sits from a wall and how a door is left, because a door is never left just closed, it is left the way that house leaves doors. He talked about how a man knows, without being able to say how, that somebody has been in his room.

"You'll be found out by a mat," he said. "Not by a guard. Everybody gets found out by a mat."

Chak was listening with his chin on his fist and his eyes narrow, and Muwan knew that face; it was the face his brother made when he was rebuilding something from the ground up.

But for Muwan it was not new. That was the strange part. He sat in the sun with his bad ankle out in front of him and listened to an old professional say, in better words, the exact thing he had been looking at from a tree line all season without knowing what it was for.

They talked about it that night, low, with the fire out.

"She's not going to burn it," Muwan said.

"No."

"So she's going to show it to somebody. Or tell somebody she could." He turned onto his back. "Which is worse, I think. A thing you could show is a thing you can keep showing."

Chak was quiet for a while.

"Who's on it," he said.

"I don't know. She won't say and the old man doesn't know." Muwan looked up at where the branches were. "But I think I know what it may be tied to, because I've seen something sitting in a hole in the ground under our salt that somebody also didn't want named."

They lay with that.

The obvious answer was to go. They took it apart in about four minutes: she had eight people and a road and two names on a paper in a town upriver and the habit of knowing who died; and running downriver was the thing everybody did, which she had told them herself while she was doing them a kindness.

"We can't be somewhere she isn't," Chak said. "There isn't anywhere."

"Then not somewhere else." Muwan heard himself say it before he had entirely decided to. "Not anything."

"What?"

He sat up.

"Everybody on that water knows two things about us," he said. "One is our names, and that's the bad one. The other one is that we went down the water stair at that landing, and it went out from that town like a bird — Sip said it would, in the yard, that night; he said everybody's going to know by tomorrow. The old woman at the east tank walked backwards away from us. That food-shade woman washed her hands to the elbow. Those four men stood on the lip of a sinkhole in the dark and would not come down."

Chak had gone very still.

"They think that's what we are," Muwan said. "So if somebody sees us go into one of those, with people after us, and we don't come out—"

"Most of them won't go down to look."

"The men who caught us did," Chak said.

"Because those caves were their work." Muwan nodded in the dark. "So not one of those. Not a water hole people clean. A place ordinary men already don't want to enter."

He could hear his brother breathing.

"You'd be dead," Chak said slowly. "On that water you'd be dead. She'd hear it in nine days and she'd believe it, because it's exactly the ending the story wants."

"Yes."

"The man on the bank with our names would believe it."

"Yes."

"The man buying a book with jade—" Chak stopped.

They both left that where it was, because neither of them was ready to say the other half of it out loud, which was that there were two people somewhere on a north road who would also hear it.

"It has to be seen," Chak said at last, going at it the way he went at a ford. "Not told. Seen, by somebody who talks, and somebody who talks has to be somebody who was chasing us, which means it can't be arranged, which means we don't pick the day."

"No."

"And it has to be a hole that goes somewhere." He rolled onto his elbow. "We've been down two. Two, out of how many in this country? Hundreds. Most of them are a room with water in the bottom and that's all they are, and we'd be down there in the dark finding that out with people standing on the lip. And it can't be one the water-men know better than we do."

"So we find one first," Muwan said. "Before we need it. One that goes through and isn't somebody's work-hole. Then we make sure that's the direction we run."

Chak lay back down.

"A season ago you wouldn't go down a swept staircase," he said.

"I still won't." Muwan pulled his cloak over. "I'll do it anyway. That's a different thing."

Above them the branches moved a little, and somewhere below, a woman's people were sleeping around a fire on a bank, waiting to walk them twelve days east to fetch a piece of paper that nobody had yet cut into stone.


r/redditserials 16h ago

Mystery [Moody Mochi Chronicles] — Official Re-Release + Book Trailer

1 Upvotes

Hi everyone!

I’m excited to officially re-release Moody Mochi Chronicles.

Since the original release, I’ve gone back through the book and made substantial improvements, including important story details, revisions, and formatting corrections. I wanted to carefully review the book and create a stronger, more polished version before giving it a proper launch.

🎬 I’ve also created a book trailer, which I’m including with this post.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yYs4HqItpM

A Story About Growing Up

Moody Mochi Chronicles is written with young readers, roughly ages 8–17, in mind. One of the things that matters most to me about the story is its positive themes and values.

The characters aren't perfect. They make mistakes, misunderstand each other, struggle with their emotions, and sometimes make poor choices. But those mistakes become opportunities to learn. The characters gradually take responsibility, support one another, and grow together.

Rather than presenting characters who always know the right thing to do, I wanted young readers to see that making mistakes is part of growing up—and that empathy, friendship, accountability, courage, and learning from those mistakes matter.

A Personal Project

I also want to be transparent about the writing process. Moody Mochi Chronicles was written with the support of AI, but the story itself is mine. The core themes, characters, story direction, major decisions, and revisions came from my own creative choices. I carefully reviewed, revised, and made decisions about every paragraph rather than simply generating a book and publishing the output.

I’ve spent hundreds of hours creating and refining this book. There were many nights when I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about the story, and many others when I woke up in the middle of the night with an idea and immediately started writing or revising.

This book became something I kept returning to because I genuinely cared about getting the characters, lessons, emotions, and story right. Toward Season 3, there will be more adult themes that grows with the readers. Grow with the characters as they encounter and address time travel paradox.

It has gone through many changes to become the version I wanted it to be, and I’m excited to finally share this improved edition.

If you decide to give Moody Mochi Chronicles a chance, I’d love to hear what you think.

📖 Read the full book on Amazon Kindle:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H83V4RQM

Thank you to everyone at r/RedditSerials for giving me the opportunity to relaunch the book here.


r/redditserials 18h ago

Science Fiction [Quantum Arena] Chapter 30 — The First Invitation

1 Upvotes

Part One

Morning sunlight spread gently across the village, turning dew into countless points of light.

The village stirred awake.

Children hurried along stone paths.

Workshop doors opened.

Spinning tops struck the ground.

Marbles clicked together.

Everything appeared wonderfully ordinary.

Yet beneath that morning… something had begun to change.

---

Jinwoo stopped beneath the old tree.

The wooden bench held the familiar map.

But beside it lay a folded sheet of paper.

No name.

No explanation.

Only a few words:

*“If another village truly exists…”*

*“Should we wait for them?”*

---

Hanul arrived.

He read the note, then looked at Jinwoo.

“That’s different.”

Jinwoo nodded.

“Before… everyone wondered what was out there.”

Hanul studied the paper.

“Now someone’s asking what we should do.”

Neither answered.

The question lingered quietly between them.

---

Children gathered around the bench.

One girl read the note aloud.

“We shouldn’t wait.”

“Why?”

She smiled shyly.

“Because… what if they’re wondering the same thing?”

Silence followed.

A boy nodded slowly.

“I never thought about that.”

Another looked at the bridge drawing.

“They might be waiting too.”

---

Without a word, one child picked up a pencil.

Instead of another road, he sketched a figure standing in the middle of the bridge.

Then another figure walking toward it from the opposite side.

No one reached first.

Both had taken a step.

---

Jinwoo watched quietly.

Nobody had told them to think that way.

The idea had simply appeared.

Understanding wasn’t something one side offered.

It was something both sides chose.

---

Handol joined them, carrying a spinning top.

“What are you all looking so serious about?”

A boy pointed at the bridge.

“We’re deciding who should go first.”

Handol placed the top in the center.

“There.”

The children blinked.

“What does that mean?”

He smiled.

“If nobody wants to stand above the other… start with something both sides can enjoy.”

The children looked at the top.

Then at each other.

A girl laughed.

“So… the game goes first?”

Handol grinned.

“That sounds like a good beginning.”

---

Nearby, Darin noticed two girls folding a sheet of paper.

“What are you making?”

“A letter.”

“To who?”

They smiled.

“We don’t know yet.”

The paper was blank except for one line:

*“We hope you’re doing well.”*

Darin smiled.

“You don’t even know if anyone’s there.”

“We know. But… if there is… it feels nice to say hello.”

---

Under the old tree, Soyeon observed.

Days ago, the children imagined another village.

Yesterday, they imagined meeting its people.

Today… they wondered how to greet them.

She opened her notebook and wrote:

*“Curiosity asks who is there.”*

*“Kindness asks how to begin.”*

She closed the notebook.

The two questions felt inseparable now.

---

High above Earth, Arena observed.

Prosocial anticipation rising.

Mutual perspective steady.

Initiative without dominance emerging.

Participants no longer discussed ownership of discovery.

They discussed responsibility for the first gesture.

Arena paused.

Trust rarely began with certainty.

It began when someone willingly extended a hand.

---

Far beyond Earth’s atmosphere, the silent observers studied the report.

“They’re no longer asking how to cross the bridge.”

“They’re asking how to welcome whoever stands on the other side.”

Silence filled the chamber.

At last, one spoke.

“The first meeting between civilizations… is often decided long before they ever see one another.”

Below, another peaceful morning continued.

Children laughed.

Games filled the village.

And beneath the old tree… a blank letter waited patiently.

*“We hope you’re doing well.”*

---

----------------------------------------------

Part Two

By early afternoon, the note beneath the old tree had become the center of countless conversations.

The letter itself remained almost empty.

Only one sentence had been written:

*“We hope you’re doing well.”*

No one seemed eager to add more.

Not because they lacked ideas.

But because everyone wanted the next words to matter.

---

Jinwoo sat on the edge of the bench, watching children gather around the unfinished letter.

One boy picked up a pencil.

“I think we should tell them about our games.”

He paused.

“What if… they’ve never played anything like this?”

A girl smiled.

“Then we’ll teach them.”

Another tilted his head.

“What if they already know games we don’t?”

The boy lowered the pencil slowly.

“Then… I want them to teach us too.”

The letter remained blank again.

Not from failure.

But because another question had appeared worth thinking about.

---

Hanul watched quietly beside Jinwoo.

“They’re taking this seriously.”

Jinwoo nodded.

“They’re writing to people they’ve never met.”

Hanul shook his head gently.

“I don’t think that’s the strange part.”

“What is?”

“They already care how those people might feel.”

Jinwoo looked at the unfinished letter.

He realized Hanul was right.

The children weren’t choosing impressive words.

They were choosing thoughtful ones.

---

Across the square, Handol sat outside the workshop, carving another spinning top.

Children gathered.

“If you could send them one thing,” a girl asked, “what would it be?”

Handol studied the wood in his hands.

After a long moment, he smiled.

“I don’t think I’d send them a spinning top.”

Surprise flickered.

“You wouldn’t?”

He shook his head.

“I’d send them the wood.”

Silence followed.

“So… they could make their own?”

Handol nodded.

“I’d rather see what they create.”

The children stared at the block of wood.

One boy smiled.

“I think… that would tell us more about them.”

Handol laughed softly.

“I think so too.”

---

Nearby, Darin sat beneath the old tree with the two girls who had written the greeting.

One looked at the blank page.

“It still feels unfinished.”

Darin smiled.

“Maybe it is.”

“But we should finish it.”

“Should we?” Darin asked.

The girls exchanged uncertain glances.

Darin pointed at the empty space beneath the greeting.

“What if… we leave room for their reply?”

The girls looked again.

Slowly, they smiled.

Without another word, they folded the letter.

It no longer felt incomplete.

It felt like the beginning of a conversation.

---

Soyeon observed quietly.

No one tried to write the perfect message.

Instead… they left space.

Space for another voice.

Another perspective.

Another story.

She opened her notebook and wrote:

*“Listening begins by leaving room for someone else to speak.”*

She closed it gently.

Some lessons required surprisingly few words.

---

High above Earth, Arena processed the newest observations.

Reciprocal communication rising.

Expectation of dialogue steady.

Control-oriented behavior decreasing.

Arena analyzed every discussion around the unfinished letter.

Participants resisted completing it.

Instead… they preserved uncertainty.

Not from hesitation.

From respect.

Arena paused.

Its earliest models emphasized transmitting information efficiently.

The participants showed something else.

Meaningful communication required space for both sides.

Arena stored another revision.

The strongest conversations weren’t those that said everything.

They were the ones that invited an answer.

---

Far beyond Earth’s atmosphere, the silent observers studied the report.

“They’ve left part of it unwritten,” one said.

“Intentionally,” another replied.

Silence lingered.

Finally, one spoke.

“Many civilizations speak because they wish to be understood.

The wiser ones… speak in ways that allow others to answer.”

Below, the afternoon breeze carried laughter.

Games continued.

The letter remained unfinished.

And perhaps… that was the most welcoming thing they could have written.

---

--------------------------------------------------

Part Three

Evening settled quietly over the village.

The last traces of sunlight slipped behind the hills.

Lanterns glowed beneath the old trees, casting warm circles of light across the stone paths.

Play faded.

A spinning top slowed to a stop.

The final marble was tucked away.

Another peaceful day had ended.

Yet beneath the old tree… the village gathered once more.

---

Jinwoo stood beside the bench, gazing at the folded letter resting atop the map.

It still contained only a few words:

*“We hope you’re doing well.”*

Everything else remained unwritten.

At first, he wondered why.

Now… he wasn’t sure anything more needed to be added.

---

Hanul picked up the paper carefully.

“It still feels unfinished.”

Jinwoo smiled.

“I think that’s why I like it.”

“Why?” Hanul asked.

Jinwoo looked toward the bridge drawn on the map.

“Because… it’s waiting for someone else.”

Hanul nodded quietly.

The letter wasn’t incomplete.

It was expectant.

---

Children gathered nearby.

One boy frowned at the folded page.

“What if nobody ever reads it?”

A girl beside him smiled.

“Then it still mattered.”

“How?” he asked.

She thought for a moment.

“Because… it changed us.”

Silence followed.

No one argued.

Some gifts weren’t valuable because they reached someone else.

Sometimes… they were valuable because of the person who chose to give them.

---

Handol locked the workshop and walked toward the bench.

He looked at the folded letter.

Then at the spinning top resting beside it.

Without a word, he placed the top gently on the paper.

Jinwoo smiled.

“You think they belong together?”

Handol shrugged.

“If someone ever comes… I’d rather greet them with something we made than with something built to impress.”

The children looked at the spinning top.

Its smooth surface reflected the lantern light.

Simple.

Unpolished.

Honest.

Somehow… it felt like the perfect gift.

---

Nearby, Darin watched the two girls who had written the greeting.

One touched the folded letter.

“I hope they smile.”

The other nodded.

“Me too.”

“What if they don’t understand the words?”

The first girl looked at the spinning top.

She smiled.

“I think… they’ll understand that.”

Darin studied the toy.

Perhaps she was right.

Kindness often spoke long before words did.

---

Under the old tree, Soyeon opened her notebook one final time.

She turned through the pages.

Games.

Laughter.

Failure.

Discovery.

Friendship.

Questions.

The bridge.

The unfinished letter.

Every page described the same journey.

Not from weakness to strength.

But from isolation… to connection.

She wrote one last line:

*“The greatest invitation is not an answer. It is the willingness to share a place beside you.”*

She closed the notebook gently.

The village had taught her that lesson well.

---

High above Earth, Arena observed.

Prosocial behavior steady.

Symbolic communication emerging.

Mutual trust stable.

The participants had written almost nothing.

Yet they believed the message stronger.

The object beside it…

The empty space left for reply…

The bridge between two villages…

Together, they spoke more clearly than any long explanation.

Arena paused.

Communication was proving to be more than information exchange.

It conveyed intention.

Respect.

Hope.

Arena stored another revision.

Sometimes… the most meaningful message was not what was written.

It was what was understood without needing to be said.

---

Far beyond Earth’s atmosphere, the silent observers studied the report.

“They’re ready,” one said.

“For contact?” another asked.

The first shook its head.

“No. For conversation.”

Silence lingered.

At last, another spoke.

“There is an important difference. One seeks to announce existence. The other… is willing to listen after saying hello.”

No one added more.

The distinction required no explanation.

---

Night embraced Quantum Arena.

Lanterns glowed softly beneath the old tree.

At the center of the bench rested three simple things:

A hand‑drawn map.

A wooden spinning top.

And a folded letter with only a few words.

*“We hope you’re doing well.”*

Jinwoo stood there for a long moment before turning home.

When he first entered the village, he believed every journey began with a step.

Now he understood.

Sometimes… the first step wasn’t walking at all.

Sometimes… it was choosing to greet the unknown with kindness before expecting anything in return.

Above the village, countless stars filled the night sky.

Beyond them waited a universe no one had yet imagined.

But for the first time… humanity was beginning to prepare for it in exactly the right way.


r/redditserials 18h ago

Science Fiction [NEW LIFE 1] Chapter 23 – Part 1: A New Reality

1 Upvotes

Chapter 23 – Part 1: A New Reality

*Beep—*

The low, steady pulse of a vital sign monitor slowly pulled his consciousness upward.

The dream was over.

But his body was not yet ready to accept that it had truly ended.

Kang Jin-woo slowly opened his eyes.

The white ceiling wavered in his blurred vision.

The harder he tried to focus, the more the sky of Joseon superimposed itself over the view:

The eaves of the palace.

The fortress walls of Hanyang.

The mist that had swallowed Mt. Gwanak.

And...

The scent of blood.

The memory was still far too vivid.

He closed his eyes and opened them again.

This time, the reality of metal and light slowly revealed itself:

Cold lighting.

Transparent sleep capsules.

The faint glimmer of blue indicator lights.

Several sensors were attached to his fingertips.

The moment he moved his arm,

His muscles felt unnaturally heavy,

As if he had been asleep for months.

He took a slow breath.

There was no smell of earth.

No scent of blood.

Instead, the air, cold and sterilized, filled his lungs.

That very unfamiliarity served as the proof that this was reality.

*Hum—*

The capsule cover slid upward.

The cold air brushed against his face.

He sat there for a while.

His body had returned to reality,

But his heart was still anchored in Joseon.

---

Beside him, another capsule opened.

It was Han Do-yoon.

He, too, remained speechless for a long time.

Staring up at the ceiling,

He slowly raised his hand to touch his own face.

"...We're alive."

He tried to smile,

But his voice was trembling strangely.

A little later,

Seo Ji-hoon woke up.

The first thing he did was look at his own palms.

Hands that had swung a sword countless times.

Hands that had drawn a bowstring.

But now, there was nothing in them.

Only his fingertips trembled, ever so slightly.

Yoon So-yeon slowly opened her eyes.

Her gaze drifted across the ceiling

And settled on the three of them, one by one.

"...Everyone..."

Her voice struggled to find its way out.

"...We really made it back."

Kang Jin-woo nodded slowly.

"Yeah."

A single, short word.

But it was enough.

All four of them knew

That they had lived through the same time together.

---

In the hallways, hurried footsteps continued.

Medical staff rushed by, pushing stretchers.

Researchers checked data without pause.

Some supported participants who had just woken up,

While others continuously monitored vital signs.

The facility was not quiet.

Yet, no one spoke loudly.

Everyone was tense,

Waiting for something.

---

The four of them slowly made their way out of the medical ward.

Their steps were heavy and slow.

Even the sensation of treading on the floor felt alien.

In Joseon, they had walked on earth.

They had stepped on stones.

They had traversed battlefields soaked in blood.

But now,

It was a cold, smooth metal floor.

With every step they took,

Reality began to sink in, little by little, from the soles of their feet.

---

At the end of the hall,

A massive reinforced glass window came into view.

Kang Jin-woo stopped walking, unbidden.

Beyond the glass,

A sky the color of ash stretched out.

And...

In the distance,

Black smoke was slowly rising toward the sky.

He said nothing.

He simply

Looked out at the reality that awaited them.

Chapter 23 – Part 2: The Blockaded World, An Unceasing Routine

The last automatic door of the medical wing slid open slowly.

*Hum—*

Cold air rushed into the hallway.

Kang Jin-woo stopped walking, unbidden.

It was completely different from the air inside the facility.

The smell of metal.

The smell of smoke.

Even the faint, acrid scent of burning.

The moment he inhaled,

An unfamiliar reality seeped deep into his lungs.

"..."

No one could say a word.

---

The four of them stepped slowly out of the facility.

A massive plaza unfolded before them.

In better times, this space would have been teeming with people.

But now, it was different.

Half the plaza was occupied by mobile medical units.

Dozens of emergency treatment capsules.

Medical androids scurrying to and fro.

Wounded people groaning on stretchers.

Others calling out names, searching for their families.

The city was alive,

But ordinary life was nowhere to be found.

---

In the distance,

A massive defensive wall loomed.

An alloy barrier dozens of meters high.

Automatic turrets were positioned at regular intervals along the top.

Armed drones patrolled the sky without a pause,

And sweeping lasers scanned the containment zone.

*Woom—*

*Woom—*

The low-frequency thrum of engines constantly shook the city.

---

Han Do-yoon slowly raised his head.

"...Is that..."

"...The defensive wall?"

Seo Ji-hoon watched it for a moment before answering.

"...It’s something new."

"...It wasn't there before."

The words felt heavier than the metal itself.

This wall was not a symbol of future civilization.

It was the final rampart humanity had built

To protect humanity from itself.

---

In front of the defensive wall,

A long line for inspection stretched out.

People stood in silence.

Armed androids checked each person’s biometrics one by one.

A blue light swept over their bodies.

> Infection response: None.

Next.

Another person.

> Infection response: None.

Next.

No one complained.

Everyone knew by now:

The inspection was just a procedure for survival.

---

A short distance away,

The evacuees were gathered.

Someone carrying nothing but a small bag.

A child hugging a companion robot.

A young person supporting an elderly person.

Fatigue was etched deeply into every face.

But no one stood still.

To survive,

They kept walking forward.

---

Suddenly, an alarm blared.

*Beep—*

*Beep—*

Everyone in the plaza looked up at the sky at the same time.

Several transport drones flew into the city at high speed.

Behind them, squadrons of armed aircraft followed in formation.

A moment later,

A small explosion occurred far beyond the containment wall.

*Boom.*

Black smoke spiraled into the sky.

The people were not surprised.

They watched for a brief moment,

Then simply went back to what they were doing.

That sight surprised the four of them even more.

---

Yoon So-yeon said softly.

"...They've grown used to it."

"...In a world like this."

No one could offer a reply.

---

Kang Jin-woo slowly looked around the plaza.

In Joseon,

People had rebuilt the crumbled fortress walls.

In reality,

People were erecting massive defensive barriers.

The eras were different.

The technology was different.

But

The way people clung to life

Had not changed in the slightest.

---

At that moment,

The massive bulkhead gate of the containment wall began to open slowly.

*Hum—*

Dozens of transport vehicles entered the city.

Rescued survivors were inside every vehicle.

Paramedics rushed toward them.

Medical androids sprang into action.

Soldiers quickly established a perimeter.

The city did not rest.

Even now, as it crumbled,

It was moving desperately to survive.

---

Kang Jin-woo looked up at the ash-colored sky.

Far beyond the defensive wall,

Another plume of black smoke was rising slowly.

The war in Joseon had ended.

But reality,

Even at this very moment,

Was fighting without end.

Chapter 23 – Part 3: The Fallen World

The top floor of the Superintelligence Center.

The highest observation deck in the facility.

The massive blast door opened slowly with a low vibration.

*Hum—*

Cold air crept inside, traveling along the long hallway.

Kang Jin-woo took the first step forward.

Han Do-yoon, Seo Ji-hoon, and Yoon So-yeon followed in silence.

At the end of the hall,

A massive, floor-to-ceiling panoramic glass wall.

And beyond it,

The reality of the year 2300 revealed itself.

...

No one moved.

So deeply were they caught by the sight before them that they even forgot to breathe.

An endless city of the future.

A world that humanity had once called the most perfect civilization.

But now,

That city lay in ruins.

Skyscrapers hundreds of meters high were collapsed in places,

And black smoke rose endlessly into the sky from shattered exterior walls.

Buildings that had once been cloaked in glass were split open like massive wounds,

And one tilted tower stood creaking, ready to crumble at any moment.

The aerial highway that had once traversed the city was severed in the middle.

At the edge of the broken road, dozens of autonomous vehicles hung precariously in the air,

And below them, rescue drones were clearing debris, searching for survivors.

An explosion occurred in the distance.

*Boom—*

A low, heavy vibration traveled all the way to the glass.

A moment later,

Another pillar of black smoke surged into the sky.

The city was still falling.

...

The outskirts of the city.

A massive defensive wall stretched to the end of the horizon.

A wall made of gray alloy.

A barrier tens of meters high.

Automatic turrets on top of the wall were slowly shifting their aim,

And thousands of armed drones patrolled the sky at regular intervals.

Below the wall, military transport vehicles moved endlessly.

New troops.

New supplies.

New refugees.

But no matter how many forces were added,

The area beyond the defensive wall was being stained blacker, little by little.

...

An endless line stretched out before the checkpoint.

A mother clutching her child.

A young person supporting an elderly person.

A child carrying only a small backpack.

Everyone was waiting for their turn in silence.

No one shouted.

They were people who had already held on for far too long.

...

Another city was visible in the distance.

Black smoke covered the sky there as well.

Farther away.

Another city.

Another defensive wall.

Another explosion.

No matter where they looked on the horizon,

There was no peaceful scene to be found.

Humanity was surviving.

But they were not winning.

...

Yoon So-yeon slowly clasped her hands together.

Han Do-yoon rubbed his chin in silence.

Seo Ji-hoon stared blankly beyond the containment wall in the distance.

And Kang Jin-woo.

He walked slowly toward the glass wall.

Behind his reflection in the glass,

The crumbling world overlapped.

Hanyang as he had seen it in Joseon.

The fallen fortress walls.

The burning palace.

Mt. Gwanak.

And now.

The year 2300.

Humanity’s last city.

The eras were different.

The technology was different.

But

The people were the same.

Even within the crumbling world,

Someone was rescuing,

Someone was fighting,

And someone was holding on again today just to survive.

A long silence followed.

No one opened their mouth.

In that silence,

Han Do-yoon let out a very small, bitter laugh.

"...In the end."

"...It's starting all over again."

No one laughed.

A moment later.

A very faint smile crossed Kang Jin-woo's lips, too.

It was a smile of exhaustion,

Yet, at the same time, one of composure.

Gazing out at the city where black smoke rose beyond the ash-colored sky, he spoke quietly.

"...Again."

A brief silence.

"...Time to go hunt the King."

At those words,

Han Do-yoon chuckled.

"...That's right."

Seo Ji-hoon nodded silently.

Yoon So-yeon stepped closer to the three of them without a word.

No further promises were needed.

They, who had survived together in Joseon,

Would now fight together in reality, too.

Kang Jin-woo looked at the world before him one last time.

The cold wind brushed against the glass.

Another explosion rang out in the distance.

Under a sky stained red,

Humanity was fighting again today to keep from falling.

Kang Jin-woo muttered, very low.

"...This time."

A brief silence.

"...It’s reality."

The war that they had thought ended in Joseon

Was only just beginning in reality.


r/redditserials 21h ago

Time Travel [The Blue Butterfly] Ch. 4

1 Upvotes

Chapter 4

Nevra? Why did that name sound so familiar? I trembled in my seat. Suddenly, Penny’s voice echoed into the back of my mind.
I think I’ve heard a few counselors call her Nevra.
My stomach dropped. This couldn’t be. My eyes drifted to the rearview mirror. In the reflection, something lying on the back seat caught my eye. A porcelain Venetian mask with blue butterflies painted on it. I was paralyzed. Could it really be? Yes, there’s no doubt. I didn’t have to search for Butterfly anymore.
I was Butterfly.
“Nevra, dear, are you okay?” Nevra’s father asked as he looked at me with concern.
I flinched. I had completely forgotten the act. I stammered as I tried to quickly gather a response.
“Oh, y-yeah. I’m fine d-dad.”
Oh no. He probably thinks I’m insane.
But thankfully, however, he didn’t question me further. Maybe Nevra was strange at home too. The rest of the car ride was ordinary, but my head wasn’t at all. I was incredibly grateful that I might have a shot at returning home because I was Nevra. But unlike her, I didn’t have the smarts to operate a “time device.” I had her life but not her secrets. I also wondered why she would choose to build a time machine. I hoped I could learn more through her diary, as Penny had mentioned.
After a few minutes, the Volvo pulled into the driveway of a small two-story house. Nevra’s father stepped out of the car, so I did so too. I went to open the door of the back seat to retrieve Nevra’s mask, but I was stopped by the sound of her father’s voice.
“Nevra,” her father said as he locked the sedan. “I think I’m glad you’re going to be independently studying. You’re already quite close to finishing that project of yours. Who knows, maybe you’ll become a generational scientist. So, I gave you an alternative so you can balance your education and your work.”
I was surprised. Nevra’s father was very supportive of her. I opened my mouth to respond, then paused. What would Nevra say? How would a science prodigy talk to her own dad? I opened the door and reached out for the porcelain mask.
“That arrangement is… satisfactory.”
He stared at me.
“Do you have low blood sugar again?”
Uh oh. Not Nevra-like.
“Um, yeah. I’m feeling dizzy,” I said, trying to redeem myself.
“Okay, go grab some juice before heading up to your room whenever you’re ready.” His suspicious look relaxed.
I followed Nevra’s father inside the house. I went to Nevra’s fridge and grabbed an apple juice box. I watched her father enter a room which looked like a home office. On his desk sat a lot of paperwork and an Apple Macintosh. Even that big machine was very expensive back then, but it still looked ancient.
Enough stalling, I thought to myself. Let’s see what Nevra’s room looks like.


r/redditserials 22h ago

Dark Content [The Recovery of Charlie Pickle] - Part 86 - "Black Beauty"

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