Emica Kana is 18 years old. She has always loved writing stories., They were her escape from reality. She always wished that a man would come and save her like they always do in the stories.
Well, she got her wish.
Emica entered a small writing school that was near a river. Her friend had joined her. But, the teacher had an odd vibe around him. Emica became a little scared of him. She especially became scared when the teacher started to pay more attention to her. One day, when she runs from him, she falls into a world of adventure, risk, and abnormalities. 
But, her teacher is what scares her more than this new world. What secrets and schemes did he use to get her here?

just a little creative writing exercise :D

just a little creative writing exercise! i'll work on it when i'm not procrastinating.

Update schedule: Anywhere from a week and a half, to about a year :')

I am very hard ful writer and i am very creative writing skills

Undertale, adalah sebuah game bergenre VRMMORPG yang sangat di gemari para gamers. Seorang pemain peringkat tinggi menerima kontrak dari developer game tersebut untuk membuat demonstrasi dari fungsi baru yang akan di luncurkan oleh developer game.

Sebagai pemimpin Guild Top Circle, Andika memiliki kewajiban untuk memimpin anggotanya untuk melaksanakan kontrak yang telah dia setujui dengan developer game.

Pada awalnya, semuanya berjalan dengan sempurna tanpa hambatan yang signifikan. Namun sebuah insiden yang tidak terduga terjadi ketika Andika akan menerima hadiah dari misi tersebut. Andika secara tiba-tiba dipindahkan ke dunia lain seorang diri, tanpa teman-temannya yang mengikutinya.

(Day 1: Session 1)
Me: My first question is that what makes you want to write? Is it because it is a necessity, is it because of the money, is it because you're passionate about writing, or is it something entirely different? 
Him: Hmm…well, would you like the long answer or the short answer? 
Me: Whichever one you're comfortable with. 
Him: I'll give you the long one; so that, you know…you don't think that I'm lying. 
Me: Why would I think that you're lying? 
Him: Because that is what people usually tend to conclude, don't they? 
Me: How so? 
Him: Well, if you may, it's a stereotypical perspective etched within society. You look at a bunch of writers who have a few bestsellers up their sleeves and are leading a pretty successful and wealthy life, and you ask them if it's all for the money or because they actually like doing it. Now, whatever they may say or comment, the only thing that'll be fluttering in front of your eyes is their wealth and success; indefinitely blinding you to the truth underlying within the person's answer. Therefore, even if the person says that it's because they actually like doing it, that it's because they like writing, your brain – which is only focused on their success and wealth – tells you that they're probably lying and are trying to appear modest and professional in front of the world. Your brain tells you that 'of course it's for the money and the wealth. What else could it be for?' 
It's also because – I think – that society has developed a predisposition regarding successful and wealthy people, so that they tend to generalize or associate anyone with the same caliber into that similar category. 
Me: And you're saying that you surpass them all? That you don't belong to this stereotypical and generic category created by society? 
Him: 'Surpass', no. I'm not saying that I'm better than everyone else. But yes, I am saying that I do not belong to that category, regardless of whether society tends to put me there or not.
Me: That brings me back to my initial question: why do you write?
He took a long pause, looking around at his lavish library for a few seconds. His face gave nothing away but I was convinced that he already had the answer to my question – he was only trying to figure out whether I was worth being answered in the right way or not. 
Then, once I spotted a sense of sudden resolution take over his face, he adjusted himself on the chair so that he was more comfortable – resting his left leg on his right leg and taking a few quick sips of his coffee – and then spoke: 
Him: I remember the first book I ever read called Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher by Bruce Coville. It was the first time I was ever introduced to the 'power of words'. That was the first instance wherein I observed and realized the seductive, magnetic pull words could conjure on me. It was intoxicating. 
By the end of the first book I ever read in my life…I was already an addict. 
You see, the concept of addiction has always been very pure and realistic. It was only disregarded and approached negatively by people when it began to be associated with drugs and substance abuse. In my perspective, every artist is an addict. Not because they're a bunch of druggies who try to grab at inspiration which they presume they'll find entangled within white powder or lying at the end of a bottle. No. They're addicts because they're severely addicted to their art and creative process. They're ferociously attached to it and nothing can separate them from it.  
When I was ten years old I felt that addiction of words induced within me. I could feel it take over my mind and soul as quick as current flowing through your body. Soon enough, I knew that I wanted to feel like that all the time. So I read whatever I could get my hands on. Fiction, non-fiction, mystery, crime, whatever it was I just completely devoured it. 
And then one day I heard voices inside my head. 
Now this may seem very difficult to understand, but it is how it truly is – at least for me. There are these constant voices blabbering inside a writer's head and the only way to get rid of them is to transfer them onto a piece of paper. 
So that's what I did. 
And the voices inside my head kept on increasing and I kept on writing. And by the end of that day, I was addicted to writing. I didn't care if people read it or not, I didn't care if people liked it or not, to be honest I didn't care about anything. I was only aiming to satisfy this burning sensation ignited in me that kept on pushing me to write.   
That's how it started, I guess that's how it still is, and perhaps that's how it'll always be. My entire life has been driven by words and guided by these voices inside my head. When you think of it, it sounds like a sad and lonely life, but it really isn't. 
In some ways I count myself very lucky because at an early age I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to emulate what other writers did. You know, Hemingway, Eliot, Dickens, etc., all of these people were regarded as the 'fathers of writing' – people who paved the way for future writing and writers, who guided writers into becoming as good as them and who explained that writing was much more than just sitting on a chair and producing words on a piece of paper. It has meaning and depth.  
Ever since I was a child I knew, I knew that I wanted to create what they created. I wanted to articulate words in ways that would stun people and lead them from their tiresome and heavily routinized life into an exciting new experience. I wanted my words to melt and mix with reality in a way that no other writer had ever attempted to achieve. I wanted to be deemed as good as Eliot and Hemingway.  
Me: Do you think you've achieved that?
Him: No I haven't. I'm glad that I haven't, and soon enough I realized that I, infact, didn't even want to. 
You see, I realized around the age of sixteen that what made writing so fun and exciting was the sheer experience of sharing your thoughts – your most intimate and philosophical thoughts – with a piece of paper that you know wouldn't lash out at you or curse you or mock you or judge you. And perhaps that's why writing has always been an intimate and a very personal experience for me.     
I write when I'm happy, I write when I'm sad, I write when I'm bored, I write when I'm excited, I write all the time! There hasn't been a single day since I first became a writing addict that I didn't practice this art. So, to answer your question, yes, I write because it's a necessity – because writing for me is now like breathing… I can't survive without it. 
Me: And if you feel so strongly about something then you're obviously just as passionate about it, right? 
Him: Yes, you could say that. 
By the appalled look on my face he obviously knew that I was impressed. I had never met a person who thought so deeply and intimately about writing the way he did.
Me: While we're on the subject, tell me, did your parents approve of you pursuing this field of profession? 
I noticed a sense of uneasiness flash in his eyes and quickly take form through the facial expression overlapping his face. But he recovered from the shock fairly quickly. 
He wasn't comfortable showing his emotions in front of people. He tried regressing them for some reason. Perhaps he was more comfortable writing about them rather than discussing them with another human being. I made a mental note of this – it was something I would have to incorporate within my questions and try to unravel as we spoke.
Him: No, they did not. 
Me: Why not?
He portrayed no sort of reluctance now.
Him: My father was a businessman, my uncle was a businessman, and all of my brothers are businessmen. My family's foundation was based on business. That's all they knew, that's all they ever did, and that was all they ever wanted to do. They were all entrepreneurs. In their eyes, I was the ugly duckling of the family. 
Notice how every parent wants their child to grow up to be a doctor, or an engineer, or a business tycoon, but no parent desires for their children to grow up to become a person who isolates themselves from the rest of the world for years in order to produce a stack of papers which people may or may not read. 
No parent pushes their child to become an artist, or a writer, or a musician when they grow up because these professions aren't deemed as being as lucrative as the rest. According to the rest of the world, these jobs largely depend on luck rather than a person's capability and skills. 
Me: And what do you think? 
Him: I think that they're just like any other job. In any other job you need a little bit of luck, likewise, you need a little bit of luck here as well but it doesn't all revolve around that. Writing, painting, composing, all these are skills and crafts. You need to develop them in order to be the best. And that takes a lot of work. Infact, I would say that jobs which require a particular talent or set of skills are much harder than other uniformed jobs such as being a businessman or a doctor. Yes, it takes a lot of hard work to succeed in that field as well, but not as much as you would need to work in order to become a good writer or a musician.
Me: Why would you say that?
Him: Because writing isn't as easy and simple as subtraction and division. It doesn't have a particular formula which can be used to extrapolate results. It doesn't have a specific process whereby one can succeed if they adhere to that process. Writing is solely based on intuition, passion, an observant mind, the drive to make a difference, and to have enough courage to portray yourself in front of the entire world to be critiqued and judged. That is why some people give up on writing very early on in their life, seeing as it is not something they are brave enough to do, and others just simply never try it because they don't want to expose themselves or be judged and critiqued by others.  
Me: So you're trying to convey this idea that writing takes a lot of courage and persistence, and that not everyone can do it?
Him: Yes, that is exactly what I'm saying. 
Me: And your parents didn't see eye to eye with you on that? 
Him: No they did not. Like I said, they were all businessmen and expected me to join the same line of work. However, I just simply couldn't because I didn't have the mind for it and I knew that from a very young age. I wasn't cut out for business, it didn't excite me, it didn't fascinate me, and to be honest it rather bored me. But my parents weren't convinced. They couldn't fathom how I could possibly make a living through writing books and essays which may or may not be published. Even if they did get published they may or may not sell well. So you see, their problem wasn't with writing, it was with the dilemma that I wasn't opting for a more stable kind of lifestyle. And I guess that's the underscoring issue here. 
Although, I guess another reason could be that they just didn't understand me. 
Me: Didn't understand you? How so?
Him: Well, tell me, do your parents understand you? 
Me: With all due respect, we're not here to talk about me we're here to talk about you. 
Him: And with all due respect, but you just answered my question. So they don't understand you. And I don't blame you for that. I don't blame them either. You're a writer. Writers are never understood by their parents or the rest of the world. It's a simple fact of life.
Me: What are your reasons for thinking so?
He smiled that same playful smile where his eyes bulged out and his lips broadened to an extent that his cheeks curled up into wrinkles. Regardless of how it may sound, the smile was charming and intellectual; as if echoing with the statement: "I know you better than yourself".
Him: How do I put this subtly? Umm…well…writers are weird. They don't think like rational human beings. That's because they aren't really wired as normal and rationally thinking human beings. And it's funny, I figured this out at the age of twenty three through a series of conversations with a group of physicists and mathematicians; all of whom were people of great intellect and vast knowledge. This was when I was researching my third book, by the way. 
Me: You mean 'The Boy Who Talked Too Much'? 
Him: Yes, exactly.
So, back to what I was saying. Writers are weird, right? I would disagree with anyone and everyone who argued differently. This is because, like I mentioned, writers don't process stuff like normal people do, and I realized this through my conversations with people of different professions. In my opinion, normal people look at the world with their eyes closed. 
Now a little disclaimer, I don't want to come out strong here or in any way insinuate anything robust. I'm not looking to offend anyone, I'm merely speaking my mind and what I think is true. Is that ok? 
I nodded.
Him: Alright. Ok, so, normal people look at the world with their eyes closed. This is because they tend to disregard most of what they see. They look at the politics of the world and the unfairness implemented by the politicians, but instead of doing something about it they close their eyes, bow down their heads, and say to themselves: 'Why should I put my life and my job in jeopardy for people who I don't even know?'
Me: And writers don't do that? 
Him: No, they don't. Allow me to give you a few examples. Almost every activist, freedom fighter, or any person with the guts to stand up to society and its principles – whether male or female – was and is a writer. 
Exhibit 'A': Nelson Mandela. He fought against racial discrimination all his life. But he was first and foremost a writer. 
Exhibit 'B': George Orwell. He discussed highly political issues in almost all of his novels, one very prominent example being 'Animal Farm' and his most famous book '1984'. He was one of the most courageous writers I have ever had the pleasure to read who refused to part with his unfinished book while lying on his death bed.  
Exhibit 'C': Charles Dickens. He was and is one of the most influential Victorian writers in the world who discussed important themes such as education, human rights, child labor, politics, and so on in almost all of his books. His only aim in doing so was to make people realize the extent of their actions, its effect on society, and how what they were doing was wrong. Infact, that's what all these other writers were trying to do as well.   
The funny thing is that do you know why people still read Dickens and Orwell? Why they're regarded with such high prestige and stature? Because people know that they were right. They know that what they discussed and influenced through their work resonates throughout the ages – past, present, and future. 
The only reason that writers are associated with this stereotypical view of awkward human beings walking through life with craziness clinged into their heads is because writers have the courage to talk about things that no one else will; and for that they are termed crazy, idiotic, having the tendencies to over-react, and so on and so forth. 
Writers aren't cursed with having a curtain drawn between them and the truth. They see the world for what it truly is and then they try writing about it in their prose in a manner which wouldn't offend anyone's feelings, but at the same time convey their message – or else in the past writers would have similarly been hanged and burned like witches.   
He chuckled at that.
Me: That is a pretty strong view about society and how they treat writers. 
Him: You could say that. I guess in a manner it is strong. Some may even say that it's biased towards writers and then they would probably conclude that it is because I myself am a writer. But in reality that's not what it really is. In reality, it is simply the truth, whether they want to believe it or not.                   
Me: I would like to revert back to what you said about parents dissuading their children from pursuing creative jobs like writing because they aren't very lucrative jobs. Well, don't you think that it's true? Being a writer does mean not having a stable job. You don't get a fixed salary and it purely depends on the audience and what they want to read.  
Him: I would disagree with that. 
Me: And what's your justification? 
Him: Simple. If you're an engineer, or a doctor, or in the field of any other occupation all you're doing is promoting yourself and your skill. A doctor, if unskilled and not proficient enough in his/her skill, could be banned from practicing for life. Similarly a lawyer, if an incompetent one, could be disbarred and refrained from ever practicing law again. 
So tell me, is there a huge difference between all these other jobs and writing? In writing you're also promoting yourself and your skill. Hence, writing is just as much a stable job as every other job. All that depends is how far the person wants to take his skill and craft and whether he/she is willing to stand up. 
Me: Alright, so let me put this into context. You're saying that writing does not have a specific procedure, as in you can't teach someone how to write, I mean in theory you can, but then it depends on the person and how much he/she practices to better themselves. And in that way writing is different from the rest of the jobs in the world. But where it is similar is that in every other job you're promoting your skill and talent, so likewise in writing you're doing the same. Correct? 
Him: Precisely.  
(End of Session1)

Meet Thomas Alexander Linsky, one of the greatest and most influential writers of our time. Mr. Linsky has been on every reader's radar ever since his first book 'Redemption' was published when he was only ninteen years old. Besides the fact that Mr. Linsky is spectacular at what he does, no one knows much about his personal life. 

Until now. 

In my five day interview with Mr. Linsky I attempt to understand the working mechanism of this amazing artist, seeing him for who he truly is and appreciating him more for being such a pleasant human being. In this book I attempt to enumerate the concepts and ideas that were imparted to me by him. These ideas will not only make a profound impact on all writers but on every human being who aspires to be something more.

I didn't want to write this. I really didn't. I'm delighted that my loyal readers gave this book a chance anyway even though it's different from what other novels are like out there. But, I am going to cancel this novel or update slowly. I tried very hard to persist by writing more chapters. But I can't. I lost my direction and creative voice.

It's NOT the reader's fault. It's my own. I love and appreciate all the feedback and comments given. Readers are allowed to offer opinions and critiques. I praise those who do. It's very insightful and thoughtful. 

The reason why I chose to give up is for two reasons. I lost my direction, meaning that it's not coming out the way I initially wanted it. The reason why is because I felt that since my story is different, I took a risk, which all authors do. We take risks. 

But unfortunately, I changed and re-wrote this story twice because I tried to make it good. But I didn't follow my initial instinct because I was afraid of what people may think, which is my fault for overthinking in the first place. 

Now, for the second reason. I am comparing this book to my first one. Now, it's challenging to grasp attention as a novice writer with no experience. But my first book, "Daughters of the Elite," FAILED the first time. It flopped. Badly. I went in and re-wrote it. 

NOW, it has a million views, hundreds of comments, and dozens of reviews. I never thought it would reach that audience since it's not contracted. But it did, and I'm happy and thrilled! 

The second time I wrote it, I received collections and votes quickly. I struggled at first, but my audience multiplied, once the word spread. My synopsis grabbed people, and I didn't enter any competitions because I didn't like the fact that people had to pay spirit stones. UGH. The amount of money I spent on this app because of 1000+ chapter novels. 

I hated the spirit stone system, so when I began writing, I wanted my stories to be good and free, but the issues are none of my works are promoted for that reason. 

I didn't gain a cent writing DOTE, but it's OKAY. I write these books for fun, but in the end, I know when to stop if it's not doing well. This book is not doing well at all. Which, again, I am not hurt by it that much, because I have book three that keeps me going. 

Before publishing this book, I received many requests and comments about how people were excited about book two, and I feel like I failed you guys. It's mysterious for sure, with some intrigue. But it's not what people want. 

Book 3, however, is anticipated. Now, I already began writing the book, and there are no struggles with it so far in terms of plot writing. *Hopefully* but I should drop this one. I persisted with DOTE; I failed on this one. I'm sorry. 

This book is about love that is thought to be lost but regained over time. 

NOW! I might complete this novel!!! However, updates will be unpredictable. It could be once every few days, maybe once a week. I am focused on book three. 

I really do like writing this book. But again, not many people like the idea of this one, of course, as you readers being the wonderful exception. 

I will be deleting this chapter in 24 hours so I can proceed with new chapters. But again will be mainly working on book three:

...

BOOK THREE:

"A SONG FOR A SUMMER'S NIGHT" 
 
[Release will be in one or two weeks]
Tags: Romance; Arranged Marriage; Forbidden Romance

Song Luli is a sharp-tongued, bold, and reserved young woman who unexpectedly becomes the new successor of her father's company—Song Entertainment—right after her older sister abruptly disinherits herself. 

Song Luli, now the heiress of a large company, soon receives word that Song Entertainment is crumbling in the business world, and to secure her position; she must marry Long Jie, a wickedly handsome heir of a conglomerate, who is bound to duty and responsibility. 

Long Jie is a handsome, ruthless, and calculative young man who destroys careers or makes them, and he is known to be frigid by rejecting every offer for a suitable match. 

But he picks Song Luli. 

On the terms of marriage, they agreed to never fall in love, to never think about the possibility as they dedicate their time towards their jobs and families. Marriage benefited both of them for the sake of power and to survive the turmoils of High Society. 

Watch as the budding romance blooms between two stubborn and cynical individuals who share more in common than they want to admit, learning more about what it means to be married, and battle the power struggles that they face, together. 

Meanwhile... 

Song Luli's cousin Su Xiang is an aspiring doctor devoted to her job and inheriting the legacy her mother built. She is the heiress of Song Pharmaceuticals, but when her older adoptive brother returns from four years of Medical school, she must confront the blooming feelings she harbours for him. 

Until next time, and hopefully, I succeed.

What happens if the person you thought you hated the most turned out to be the one who loves you ceaselessly, unconditionally, and passionately? 

Status: Completed

...

Xue Guangli was a young woman who followed her mother’s legacy; she won’t marry to get above her status. She will earn it. 

However, when a tragedy struck her home, she lost sight of the things she wanted. 

To get her life in order, she must regain the classy legacy she left behind, find the real suspect of her mother’s killer, and pave a way through the challenges thrown at her. 

But when it comes to her mother’s murder trial, Xue Guangli is forced to get help from the man she hates the most—Long Huojin. Long Huojin is an achingly handsome and devastatingly perfect successor of a large conglomerate, but the two never got along. 

Xue Guangli hated Long Huojin for most of her life—so much that when he looks at her, she can hardly breathe. 

Long Huojin, on the other hand, secretly pines for Xue Guangli patiently waiting for the day she’ll let him in. 

***Novel Completed at Chapter 70***

——

“Her eyes dropped to the hollow of his throat, to the bob of his Adam's apple. Her gaze lingered and stopped at his mouth, at the seams of his lips. It hadn't occurred to her what it would feel like to taste them.” 


Keywords: Male Lead; Female Lead; Romance; Crime Drama; Strong Female Protagonist; Respectful Male Lead; No Prolonged Misunderstandings; No Sexual Assault; No Evil Sisters; Detailed Smut; 18+ 

——
 

Other Works: 

Daughters of the Elite (4.8)
A Song For a Summer's Night 

Art cover isn't mine. Will remove when asked.

And with that I fully became a hikikomori: no job, no friends, no girlfriend, no nothing except reading and writing.
And I kept that emptiness for five years.
It was pretty simple, though: I just had a bunch of projects I was writing, and a bunch of books I was reading—I even started reading literature, philosophy and art essays—so when I got bored of something, I could easily distract myself with something else.
At that time I bought and read so many books I started to buy bookshelves to fit them all in. They covered all my room walls and windows. And I wrote so much I finished one novel, two editions of a second one, a couple short stories and a lot of unfinished works.
Over two thousand pages of pretentious bs, and the number increased every single day. I kept myself so busy all the time I could barely realize how fragile I really was.
When I thought about my future or about getting a job, I immediately felt really anxious or depressed, so I always came with an excuse of my situation, like: "Jobs are a life sucking threat. I'd rather kill myself than give them the best years of my life for a joke of a salary and a ton of stress and unhappiness." Or: "There's no reason for me to get stressed with that; I just need to polish my writing skill a little bit to become a writer." Or: "It's ok. I know I need a job, but I'm just waiting for the right one. Maybe my favorite library will be hiring again soon, and maybe they'll hire me this time."  
But, weirdly enough, I didn't need an excuse when I thought about all the friends I abandoned. I just felt nothing about them, so I started to wonder if something was really wrong with me, if I was so eager to distance myself from everyone because I was so fragile and lonely that someone else's company will just break me. 
I was sure if someone hugged me at that time I would end up crying.
But no one did, so I could keep that lifestyle for five years, until one weekend I felt a mild pain in my left shoulder. I just ignored it at first—maybe I just slept in a bad position or something—but when the pain expanded to my chest and chin on Monday I panicked: my family has always been prone to heart diseases, and I knew my symptoms were related to that, so I scheduled an appointment with a cardiologist for that same day. He took my blood pressure, and it was like 165/129, so he gave me some medicine to calm me down and stop the pain and schedule an appointment for the next day.
So I went back home and tried to relax, but I couldn't, so I just went to sleep.
The next day, the doctor checked me again and concluded that, indeed, I had hypertension.
Yeah, I was a 28 year old with heart problems.
He then gave me a prescription that I had to take for the rest of my life and ask me to see him again in three months.
I was devastated; the chances of me dying young seemed pretty high, and the idea that I could start having heart attacks terrified me.
That was the first time I felt death as something real.
During my five years of isolation, I kinda knew I was gonna die young and alone, but I didn't really care.
"Death is only natural," I used to scared. "Being scared of it is pointless."
But, despite all my bs, I was scared, and that's when I realized maybe wasting some of the best years of my life with a bunch of hobbies wasn't really worth it, so I decided to stop being a hikikomori.
And for that I made a list:
         Be healthy again;
         Get some friends;
         Get a job;
         Get a girlfriend.
First I started to take better care of myself: I enrolled to a gym and started jogging on a treadmill each day and I tried to eat healthier and heart-friendlier—more oatmeal, pecans, and less sodium.
Sooner than later I started to lose weight, and my blood pressure started to decrease; it even reached got to the point it was so low I got scared of that.
Anyway, three months passed, and the doctor checked me again and told me I was doing so fine I could stop taking the pills in my prescription, but recommended me to keep measuring my blood pressure from time to time.
    ✓  Be healthy again;
         Get some friends;
         Get a job;
         Get a girlfriend.
So, an easy way to start socializing and make some friends was to find people who share my same interest. 
And that's why enrolled in some literature courses like storytelling and creative writing.
It was pretty hard at first: me, sitting with a lot of strangers and sharing with them my work—either some of my new and old short stories or all the activities we did there—dealing with their awkward silences when they had to comment some of my work—which meant it wasn't any good.
After a couple months I started to get to know them—and also I improved my writing skills so they started complimenting my work more often. They there were pretty nice and recommended me a lot of books and writers, and we even hanged out after class a couple times. 
But after a year they started to seem a little snobby; it was kind of annoying how they believed they knew it all and talked about things they didn't understand with an air of superiority and condescendence, or how their prose was trying so hard to be pretentious and complex it ended up as cryptic and illegible bs, or how they were so full of themselves when their works weren't even that good.
And then I realized I was the most worst of them all.
I hated it so much all my writing became simpler and clearer. I stopped focusing on philosophy, anthropology, psychoanalysis, sociology and so on, and I started writing about me, about my fears and concerns—and that's why I mostly write about sad people.
I also started reading simpler novels with a simpler prose. I even started to read light novels, graphic novels and manga.
And I enjoyed them way more than the books I used to read.
I also started watching more movies, series and even anime.
So, everything seemed to be coming my way little by little.
That is until 2020 came.

Becoming a hikikomori has nothing to do with rejecting society or having trouble adapting. It’s about emptiness.

The decision that Scarlet made wasn't an easy one. For an artiste or celebrity whose fame had just begun to grow, taking a hiatus from work was akin to never being able to return to the showbiz world. The lifespan of a celebrity is short and a hiatus could permanently impair future opportunities. Yet, under Alex's convincing, Scarlet still decided to let go what she had built up so far.
"Are you sure about it?" Pamela asked. Jupiter Records was not only losing their biggest source of revenue but also their biggest talent from the decision. While the CEO of the recording company had nothing but gratitude towards Scarlet, Pamela was faced with mixed emotions at Scarlet's decision to leave. The five-year contract was coming to an end and Scarlet decided that she wouldn't renew it.
Orita was overjoyed when she heard that Scarlet was coming home. At the same time, Alex decided to slow down on her work and attend an art school to become an illustrator. The sisters decided to still focus on their luxury brand's business while studying and the butler was more than happy to be of assistance. Orita also offered to help manage it on their behalf so that her daughters could focus on school.
When Wilmer heard about Alex and Scarlet's decision to go back to study for their degree, the CEO asked if Jasper was going to do the same. Unfortunately for him, the young start-up founder wasn't keen.
"Maybe in a few years," he replied and nobody could persuade him otherwise. Jake was also unable to get Jasper to reconsider so they let the matter rest.
The announcement that soon followed after the Golden Pineapple Collaboration announcement caused yet another huge wave. With both Wilde daughters announcing their official hiatus from the entertainment industry, there were many conspiracy theories surfacing on the internet. While some theories were convincing and entertaining, others were absurd and ridiculous. Whichever it was, the internet was set ablaze with both Wilde sisters becoming hot topic searches.
Ming Yang was rather understanding about Scarlet's decision and told the young singer not to worry. He would still continue his investigations and uphold his part of the bargain while Scarlet attended school. Scarlet promised to keep in touch with the CEO and agreed that she would be in frequent contact with him about Golden Frost's collaboration.
There was still some time before the school term and bridging program started for the sisters so after they announced their hiatus, Orita booked a two week trip for mother and daughters to go on a cruise. She trusted her butler to handle the necessary preparations for the university applications and left everything else to the servants.
When Wilmer heard that his wife and daughters were spending some quality mother-daughter bonding time over a two-week cruise trip, he could only cry bitter tears of envy. Orita showed no pity for her husband and chided him over the hologram device. Scarlet and Alex giggled in the background as Wilmer whimpered. Orita then told him to hurry up and finish his work so that they could go on their second honeymoon trip to make up for the lost time.
Wilmer's eyes softened and he sighed with a small smile, knowing full well that it might be impossible again this year. Up till now, the CEO still hasn't found much about Anastasia. With Danny and Elfie's help, they were able to prevent Anastasia's influence from growing any larger but the threat still remained. EZ Express may not be as powerful and rich, unlike the Wilde empire that had grown and expanded over the years. However, Anastasia has been up to some really shady deals. All those government contract jobs that EZ Express won sounded fishy to Wilmer and Danny was currently assisting him to investigate further.
Orita knew that look. Wilmer didn't like lying to her and he wasn't the kind of person who would make false promises just to make her happy. It was one of the things that made her fall for him but also one of the things that frustrated her most about him. Not wanting to put her hardworking and secretive husband in a spot, Orita shifted the conversation to a more cheerful topic.
"Alex and Scarlet are finally going to pursue higher education. Can you guess what courses they are applying for?"
Wilmer looked at Alex who had a mischievous grin and Scarlet who had mastered the art of poker face.
"Alex is going for a design course, right? I heard that you want to be an illustrator?" Wilmer guessed and Alex pouted.
"Someone must have told you! How did you know?"
Wilmer laughed. It's nice to know that his daughter hadn't changed all that much over the years. Alex was still very much an open book and after six years, he was happy that he still hasn't lost touch yet.
"But daddy, I'm not just studying how to be an illustration. To be more precise, I'm going for a double art major in fashion and design."
"Oh?" Wilmer was surprised. "Is it related to Golden Frost?"
Alex smiled. "Of course! I'm actually the lead designer for Golden Frost and I come up with a lot of the concepts for the products produced. Scarlet's more of the business brain for our brand."
Orita and Wilmer were impressed by the detailed plans about Golden Frost and Scarlet turned a riper shade of red with every passing minute as Alex continued to sing her praises. Unable to endure the embarrassment, Scarlet begged her sister to stop much to her parents' amusement.
When it came to guessing what course Scarlet wanted to study, the CEO was surprised to know that the singer wasn't going to learn creative writing or journalism. It wasn't even media-related.
"Could it be business? So that you can run Golden Frost better or help Jasper with Kiwi Cat Studio?"
Scarlet shook her head. "I actually thought about it but eventually decided against it. Like writing, it isn't necessary to study business just to do well in it. I've chosen something more abstract that can help me achieve what I'm looking for in every aspect of my life."
Even with the hint, Wilmer still wasn't able to guess it. He did come close on his fifth guess when he mentioned psychology but Scarlet didn't let her father go so easily. Eventually, Wilmer had to give up much to Orita's amusement.
"Darling, don't be sad. I don't blame you at all. The course Scarlet chose surprised me initially too," Orita tried to cheer her husband up and Scarlet took pity on her father.
"I'm going to study philosophy," she told him with a shy smile.
It was true that Scarlet spent a long time after she decided to pursue her further studies. Although Alex told her a lot about the courses available in universities within New York, Scarlet didn't like any of the courses they offered. They might be useful but for a writer like her whose talent is in researching, none of what the university offered appealed to her.
Business was something that could easily be learnt and picked up from the numerous books that people have already written. Art was subjective. Music wasn't interesting because she was already a professional after working with Lin Lin for so long. Creative writing wasn't interesting because Scarlet's style of writing was unique to her and she'd already learnt from Debbie all the writing techniques that they taught in universities when she was younger. There really wasn't anything new.
Scarlet did think about studying psychology because they had a course called criminology. She wondered if studying that would give her the skills necessary in order to catch Anastasia. However, she soon realised that it wasn't a rosy path. Even if she studied and graduated as the top of her class in psychology, she wasn't going to be offered a position in the international criminal investigation department. Elfie's involvement was a special case and Scarlet knew that even if she was accepted to participate in the raid, Wilmer would never allow it.
Hence, she decided on the one that looked the most interesting that was rather similar to psychology but different in its own way. The singer thought that psychology and philosophy was the same thing at first but after two nights of in-depth research, she now understood that they were complete opposites.
While psychology was backed up by numbers and data, philosophy was built upon expression of thought. Psychology was science but philosophy was art. It was a no-brainer after that discovery and Scarlet quickly made her mind up.
Wilmer was slightly surprised at the choice but after thinking about it, he smiled and praised Scarlet for choosing something that he thought was perfect for her. To study something so abstract was something that they would expect out of Scarlet. Over the years, Wilmer and Orita had learnt to expect the unexpected with the young writer who was vastly different in both mentality and capability when compared to Alex. If Alex was like a steady tractor then Scarlet would be like a robotic vacuum cleaner.
The call ended not long after and Scarlet was excited. In less than a month, she would be going for her bridging program at the university. While not much had changed, she could finally relax a little and be herself now that she was no longer scrutinised by the public.
"I can't wait to go to school and not need to wear make-up and diet all the time," she told Alex who agreed.
"It'll be great to be able to wear a loose hoodie and jeans again. I hate heels!"
Orita sighed at her daughters' conversation with a small loving smile. It was nice to have her family back.


At age 10, Scarlet Liu Xiu Wen was tested with a Mensa IQ of 156.

By age 12, she was publishing books with the pen name Permanent Frost. By age 14, she was a successful vocalist-composer in the band called Britannia. By age 16 Scarlet had a successful career as a model and actress going by the stage name of Liu Xiu Wen.

However, there was a secret that the world didn't know. Away from the limelight, Scarlet took on yet another persona online as Pirate S - the eccentric half-genius. Everyone who lurked in the forums knew her name. Known for her unusual takes on life and mostly popularly for her "Human Observation Diary" blog, Scarlet enjoys the nerd life in secret.

Human Observation Diary has always kept to a very standard format but one day, a reader pointed out that the blog has recently been differing from its usual format. Intrigued by the trigger, Scarlet investigates her latest human observation - an online NEET by the name of Jedd77.

From further interactions, Scarlet finds herself helplessly drawn to him. As their friendship develops into something more, Scarlet has to make a choice.

To give up her secrecy and allow Jedd77 to be a part of her life? Or continue the game of cat and mouse even after the face reveal.

Note: Slow progress. Talks of some darker topics in life eg: Depression, PTSD, adoption and acceptance.

Drama seekers, toxic bitches and overly-sensitive folks who cannot chillax not welcomed. Author also has indemnity to typo, grammar mistakes and English bugs throughout the story.

You have been warned. Proceed with caution and enjoy.

***

Special chapter release on other milestones, check out my discord and patreon for more details, thank you for the support!

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/destinyaitsuji
Kofi: Ko-fi.com/destinyaitsuji
Discord: https://discord.gg/UrtDMXn

Next morning
-5 am

The nightmares haunting me again. *Sigh* I couldn't get a proper sleep these days. I opened my laptop to check any e-mails from my friend, Jace. There is this girl in my Jace's little brother's creative writing named Sophie. Recently, she has been writing some stories which are even starting to creep the teacher out.

I have always been fascinated by these things. I grew up believing in the paranormal. Even after playing many crappy urban legends games, I never encountered any such things since then.

I have been reading these stories for a few weeks now, at first they just started as a normal princess story. It's better than those crappy copies of the latest movie stories by other kids, but it soon took a dark turn.

Cordelia and Ophelia are two Princesses who live in decrepit Castle in a far off land. They spend their days stealing fruits and meats from the town's marketplace, despite being the daughters of the King. In the first story, I read about the Princesses daring exploits; they had been caught trying to steal from the mean old fishmonger, but he'd let them go in a panic after he'd realised she was the King's daughter. The teacher gave Sophie an A on it, it was refreshing to read something with a little imagination for once. 

The next Friday, however, the story took a darker turn; I was introduced to the "Smiling Man". The Smiling Man is never described in detail, he's just this presence in her stories that only Cordelia can see. Sophie would interject him into scenes without much thought, like the story where Cordelia had to find medicine in the town for Ophelia. The Smiling Man is standing by Ophelia's bed when Cordelia leaves and then she sees him in the forest.

The teacher after reading the story became more worried. I asked my friend's brother to find out more this Smiling Man character from Sophie.

"Who is this character?", he asked her.

She just shrugged as if she hadn't thought about it much.

"What does he do? I mean surely you didn't just put a character like him in without a point?"

"He's just always…there. I dunno…"

I received another 3 or 4 stories like this. Cordelia and Ophelia would be off on an adventure while the King was away, the Obsidian Man would always be close by and not interfering. Then I received the story "The Obsidian Man Steps Forward"

The Obsidian Man starts whispering to Princess Cordelia in the night. She tries to ignore him at first but describes how she can't sleep with his voice in her head, a voice that's so low in a tone she can fell it in her stomach.

"I don't want to listen to, but I have to. It must belong to a God" Cordelia says.

I met her myself a few time, I noticed Sophie's paling face and darkening eyes. She wouldn't say much in class, and when she did she'd usually burst into fits of tears. Her hair grew unkempt and her uniform untidier as the days went by. Eventually, I had to say something, so I told Jace; who in turn contacted her father.

Principal and the teacher sat down with the guy one Friday afternoon in Mr.Smith; the teacher's classroom after Sophie's agreed to meet us. I told him of my concerns, that Sophie may be writing these stories to express some troubles that she was suffering.

Mr Stirling told them that Sophie and her little sister had become more and more reclusive since his wife and him and separated. He told that he'd been worried himself, but with 2 kids and 2 jobs he hadn't had much time to talk to her about it.

The principal suggested that Mr Stirling was the "King", Sophie was Cordelia, her sister Ophelia and the Smiling Man was a metaphor for the parents' divorce; a looming presence that Sophie couldn't stop thinking about. He told me to try and encourage Sophie to keep writing about it, that it could be a form of meditation for her. Mr Stirling seemed happy enough with that, but I wasn't convinced. He was just a guy trying to do the best for his family.

"Sophie would never steal!", he almost shouted when the Principal pointed out the stories where the Smiling Man had convinced her to go to the marketplace and take whatever she wanted. 

I am still not convinced about this. The stories got darker and darker as the weeks went on and I started to notice a recurring theme in the stories. The King was never around, he'd always be off fighting battles or getting drunk at these grand feasts. The Obsidian Man would make Cordelia do awful things to her little sister Ophelia; he'd whisper in her ear until she just had to obey him to make him stop. Then she'd force Ophelia to drink soured milk until she was sick. She'd prod her legs with tacks and hold her head under the bathwater until she came back up sputtering and crying. Cordelia wanted to stop but she couldn't, it was as if the Smiling Man was her puppeteer. The King never suspected a thing.

The story would always end with the Smiling Man asking Cordelia to make him a gift to show her love for him. She'd make jewellery from old bottles and paper while he watched on from behind, his dark presence always felt and never seen.

I am gravely concerned for Sophie's little sister, Monica.

*Sigh*

Let's leave it at that. For now...

***********************

-Time skip
-School cafeteria

I looked around at everyone having their lunch, and spotted a handsome brunette tall guy around my age; eating his meal alone. It's Jace. Jace is the captain of the basketball team and is fairly popular, it's just that he doesn't get along with most people. 

"Hey, Jace.", I said as put my lunch tray on the table and sat opposite to him.

"What now?", said Jace rolling his eyes.

I smirked and replied, " The latest story."

Jace: "I'll e-mail it to you. After I get my hands on it."

Me: "I need it as soon as possible."

Jace: "Damn, you are obsessed with this girl. She is ten, dude."

Me: "You know, I don't care about the girl. I care about what's happening with her."

Jace sighed and said, "Fine... Let me contact Mike. She will surely write a new creepy story in today's writing class."

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