when i was in Lincoln High School in Brooklyn New York City. I was the Son of New York and led the Lincoln High School to win the New York State Championship 2 years in a row (2001 and 2002)
In those two years, I got Mr. Basketball of New York 2 times, and the best high school student in the United States and i also got other honors.
Even the Owner of the New York Knicks joke about that once i participated in the draft the knicks will pick me. 
*****
follow me on IG @dunknd0nut

Daniel is now 16 years old.
He's writing his fourth novel.
It's the only novel he's felt good about.
He started it around 3 months ago, but he had the idea around a year ago.
Daniel spent a lot of time planning it out and revising the original draft.
Although, Daniel still had his doubts on how effective he was at getting his message across.
𝘐𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩?
Daniel constantly wanted to get better.
To a certain extent, he would long for the feeling of hopelessness when he wrote something horrible, this would make it a good challenge for him. He loved to mold the junk in to something beautiful, or at the very least something palatable.
It was therapeutic to make something bad he wrote in to to something that he found worthy. It would fill him with glee whenever he improved his writing with his own two hands.
Daniel felt like he could do anything as long as he set out to do it.
He could make countless worlds, as big as the galaxy or as small as a coffin.
He enjoyed making something that no one else could, to explore an idea that no one else had thought of. And he could do this infinitely, there was no shortage of ideas.
********************************************
After about, a month of grueling revisions, Daniel sent in his novel to about 3 publishers.
One of them was the biggest publisher in the country, PolarBear Publishing. The other was McAllister Publishing. The third was a smaller publisher that's a part of PolarBear called Warriors Publishing.
The title of Daniel's novel was called "The Quiet Man." 
The novel starts out with a man on a park bench who is sitting quietly on a bench in front of his apartment. 
the man begin to list everything that is dear to him
Items in his apartment
material things
He talks about their placement in his apartment as he has memorized the position of everything in it.
Not everything is tidy or straight,
He does this is to throw people off, he doesn't want others to know that he likes things orderly
Many people are illustrated or talked about by this man
he talks about the lives of other people who walk by his apartment
he knows about their daily lives
he talk about his co-workers, he talks about what they hate, about what they love
they think that he is a normal man, he keeps to himself.
but he is a murderer
their is a man in his apartment, dead, 
he wants to keep his daily life
he likes his daily life
ever since he was little, he didn't seem to have much emotion, he didnt cry when his mother died, his father dislikes him, sometimes his father would beat him when he was drunk.
his father apoligized when he got older, he forgave him, he was never mad at him
his father lived a fullfiling end of his life, he died very content
he thought about his boss, his boss reminded him of his father, but his boss was not as good of a man.
his boss was a serial rapist, he knew the routes that his boss would take, he would **** women all over new york. 
His boss was very smart, he would make sure to days off to "take care of his mother" who had dementia. And even then he would only go on few occasion to satisfy his lust. One time he even did it during work hours, saying he had business plans.
**************************************************************************************************
There were many clever aspects of Daniel's book, the most interesting was the relationships he had with those that were close to him. 
Often times, the main character would leave hints for people regarding the rapist and his identity, but no one ever catches on. 
One time, he even told his drinking buddy, that it was his boss. 
His friend just laughs it off.
************************************************************************************************
Warrior Publishing
"..."
Carl Jacobs was reading a manuscript sent in by a newbie author. His name was Daniel Hernandez.
"A Quiet Man"
This novel had been in the backburner for 2 weeks. 
The whole office had been backed up with new manuscripts ever since one of their novels blew up all over social media for its crass and less than favorable view of women in the US. 
This was also partly due to the author being a young woman, only 23 years old.
They had been quite excited about its release, but it even blew 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 their expectations. The book, "Caterwauling," even made it on the best sellers list. They were expecting it to get in to the top 10.
But, that's not what took Carl Jacobs attention at the moment. What had Carl glued to his seat was the book he was holding in his hands as it was so unbelievable that he had trouble understanding if it was a newbie author who wrote this.
Every part of it was filled with information, that made you want to understand more about the story. Every single aspect of this novel made you interested. 
Even the details about mundane things, like a comb on top of a desk, was interesting to him. 
He figured that whoever wrote this must have been writing for quite some time.
Immediately, after reading it, he decided to contact the author, rushing to be the first to contact him before his manuscript was snatched up.

Inspired by The Great Storyteller. I wanted to create my own version of this type of genre. There really aren't enough of things to read. A story about a young, up-and-coming author named Daniel. 

Daniel is a 16 year old boy, who likes to write and wants to publish his first book. Although, he didn't grow up with a whole lot of friends, the only thing that worries him is making his writing better.

Although Spielberg looked calm, his heart was already fluttering. It was the end of last year when he came across Michael Crichton's novel that was one of the best-sellers as stated in the 'New York Times'. By just briefly browsing through, he had the thought of making it into a film.
He later sent someone to get in touch with Crichton, but it turned out that the film adaptation rights were already sold. Feeling disappointed, he gave up on the thought. However, he did not expect a young director whom he only met once to be asking him to produce the novel into a film!
"Why do you think that I'm a suitable person to produce this film?" Spielberg was feeling unusually confused at that moment, but he asked calmly after taking a look at the book, "Aren't you a good director too?"
"If this was done 7 or 8 years later, I won't deny that I would be able to produce the film perfectly, but I can't do it now. I can control the plot very well, but I'm helpless in handling big scenes." Adrian shook his head. "I'm sure I don't need to elaborate on why you're the best fit. Your imagination is out of the world, you're able to handle films very well, and you strike a good balance between art and business. I can't think of anyone else who's suitable to do it."
"Many other directors can do it." Spielberg grinned. "I must say that your persuasion was very moving, but unfortunately, I might have to disappoint you, Eddy."
"Can you tell me your concerns?" Adrian raised his eyebrows but did not express his disappointment at all.
'You're good at keeping your composure,' Spielberg said to himself.
"I have many. For instance, how do you plan on operating? What's the budget? On top of that, making lifelike dinosaur models is a difficult problem." He gave a few examples.
Nonetheless, Adrian was clearly well-prepared. "We've done a detailed estimation in advance. The investment will be around 50 to 60 million dollars, my company will contribute around 20 million dollars, I can get 20 million dollars from my friend, Universal will give 20 million dollars if they're willing to join in, or I'll personally fork out 20 million dollars if they're not willing to. For operations, we'll let you have all the power, and my company will only supervise the financial operations. The script will be written by Michael and me, of course, you can use someone from your side too, but Michael must be involved.
"That's a lot of money involved." Even Spielberg was rather shocked about the plan. Although the trend of a huge investment became more obvious since the end of the '70s, there were still not many films with an investment of 50 or 60 million dollars.
Adrian smiled, then added, "For the dinosaur models, I believe that Mr. George Lucas' Industrial Light & Magic will be more than happy to do the job. Besides, don't you think that lifelike dinosaur models made using a computer will attract more attention?"
"Computer production?" Spielberg squinted his eyes and rubbed his chin.
"Yes, computer production." Adrian nodded. "My company is planning to invest in a film at the moment, so I visited their studio yesterday, where they produced a liquid metal cyborg on the computer. It's not perfect, but it's shocking enough. I believe that with enough funds, and Industrial Light & Magic's techniques, it's possible to produce dinosaurs that seem extremely real on screen!"
"A liquid metal cyborg? Did you mean 'Terminator 2' that's being produced by James Cameron?" Spielberg took a deep breath and was forcing himself to remain calm. Honestly, for a few seconds, he really wanted to accept Adrian's offer.
"Yes," Adrian answered firmly. "We looked up a lot of information and interviewed many professionals. Theoretically, CGs (TN: Computer Graphics) that are close to being real is doable, so most of the 60 million dollars invested are going to be spent on that. If you're willing to, I can ask someone to bring related schedule reports for you to take a look at before you decide."
Spielberg fell silent. He put one of his hands on the other and rubbed his thumbs against each other. It could be seen behind Spielberg's oval glasses that he was looking down, and Adrian could not figure out his thoughts.
A few minutes later, Spielberg finally looked up and exhaled. "I'm very sorry, Eddy, my answer won't change."
Adrian frowned. "May I ask why?"
"I've been bothered by some things lately, and I still have a film's post-production to work on, so I don't have time…"
"We can wait."
"That's not it… I'm sorry," Spielberg said, but his rejection was very vague. In actual fact, the reason he rejected the offer was simple. He simply did not like being controlled or being calculated.
It was a subtle feeling and could be considered from another perspective as a form of trust in him, as though everything was prepared for him to lead. The main point was that Spielberg had a contradicting impression of Adrian.
On one hand, Adrian's upbringing, quality, and his interesting thoughts for his previous film gave him a good impression; on the other hand, he felt that the young man considered benefits too much and was impatient. In addition, Spielberg was bothered by many other things such as his failed marriage, thus he did not want to accept the offer even though he was moved.
At last, he decided to reject the offer due to his contradicting thoughts. It was serendipitous as if he threw a paper ball to decide on an answer for a multiple-choice question, but many things in the world were fortuitous anyway.
The office was dead silent for a few minutes before Adrian spoke again, "Actually, there's one more term."
Spielberg was surprised. 'I've already rejected him to his face, how else can he convince me?' He gestured to Adrian to speak.
"Before I say it, I sincerely hope that you don't think that I'm threatening you or forcing you in any way." Adrian looked at Spielberg earnestly. "I wanted to bring this up last after you agree to be the director, and I don't have other intentions."
A short pause later, he mentioned, "If you agree to be the director and the producer, half of the net profit of this film will be invested in the film that you've been wanting to produce."
"Invest in the film that I've been wanting to produce?" Spielberg repeated, then trembled a little.
"Yes." Adrian nodded. "'Schindler's List'!"
…
After leaving Spielberg's office, Adrian sighed a long breath of relief. He finally managed to convince Spielberg, which was terribly difficult. Moreover, he could tell two things from their meeting even though he could not figure out Spielberg's thoughts.
'One, he likes 'Jurassic Park' very much, and is extremely interested in adapting it into a film; two, he seems to have some opinions about me, not many, but enough to affect his decision. Needless to say, it's the aftereffect of my hasty move that night.' Nevertheless, there was nothing he could do because he did not have enough time for his plan.
Fortunately, Adrian's trump card was effective, though he left out a point—Spielberg did not know the box office sales of 'Jurassic Park', thus he was naturally unaware of how much half of the net profit would be. Despite that, he agreed after looking at Adrian seriously for a long time.
"Are you sure?" He asked.
"I'm sure!" Adrian replied solemnly.
Following that was silence for a few more minutes before Spielberg finally nodded. "Alright, I clearly don't have any reason to reject this anymore… But this will only take place in a few months."
Although Adrian left out a point, Spielberg completed it for him by thinking to himself. 'The more the film profits, the more the investment I get!'
Once Spielberg agreed, Adrian realized that there was naturally no need for him to add that point, because it would be beneficial for him. It was worth noting that 'Schindler's List' had a unique spot in the big director's heart, but it meant that Spielberg's impression of Adrian was going to deviate toward a bad one. No matter how sincere Adrian sounded before he brought it up, he was somewhat forcing Spielberg to accept the offer.
'It doesn't matter. When preparations for 'Jurassic Park' officially commences, I'll tell him that even if the film doesn't gross much, I'll guarantee him an investment of 20 million dollars for the shooting of 'Schindler's List',' Adrian thought to himself on his way home. He had only used half of his trump card, and he had plenty of opportunities in the future to use the other half, thus it would not be too late to rope Spielberg in later.
Adrian spared no effort to build a good relationship with the old Jewish man because he wanted to secure a broader network, as he knew that he had connections with Lucas and a few others, and was influential in Hollywood. Especially the Jew network, while there were many anti-Semitic extremists in America, it was undeniable that the Jews were relatively powerful, whereby the upper class in the country was somewhat wary of them. If Adrian knew how to utilize his identity, he could easily achieve success one way or the other.
With that, he settled Spielberg, 'Jurassic Park', 'Schindler's List', and even invested in 'Terminator 2'. Hence, he rested for a few days at home and watched the 63rd Academy Awards on March 25th.
It was not much different from what he remembered. 'Dances with Wolves' was the big winner by winning Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay Based on Material from Another Medium, Best Cinematography, and a few other awards. Unfortunately, Kevin Costner had the same miserable fate as Clint Eastwood, because they would never win Best Actor in their lives.
Adrian was not very interested in the awards ceremony, because he knew that he would be attending it next year. After his break, he would begin preparing for his new film—'The Shawshank Redemption'!


In the ‘90s era, Adrian Cowell was just a rich young man living it up in Los Angeles who had spent years in indulgence and often caused trouble. Unable to allow his behavior to continue, his parents changed their will before their passing and he was no longer able to live as extravagantly as he did before. However, Adrian's fate took a turn one night while trying to fix his bedside lamp which led to Zhang Haoxuan, a man from the future who had time-traveled after being intoxicated, to possess his body.
Assuming his new identity as ‘Adrian’, he utilizes his absurd memory for films in his former life as Zhang Haoxuan, as well as Adrian’s wealth and connections, to replicate films that have been produced in the future — determined to dominate the Hollywood scene.
Watch Adrian as he rises to be the king of Hollywood, a figure who will be envied by many!


William took his routine morning run around the park, with his earphones on and Nike sportswear 6 in the morning. Smiling occasionally with his fellow runners, greeting them good morning. His blond hair was soaked with sweat, and his damped shirt clung to his toned body more as he ran. When in a corner he smelt paint, he jerked immediately, only to find nothing around.
He swore his heart beat even faster, that it rang in his ears, recalling her. William jogged slower till he was walking in a leisure pace and gazing at the empty park, wondering where she was.
Was she merely in vacation? Possibly. Since she didn't have the local English accent, yet she spoke the language fluently.
The thought of her just vacationing gave him dread, if that was the case, it was merely impossible for him to see her again.
His life had been good, imcredibly busy but good. He just finished shooting a 1830's movie and was now preparing for his new role, as a lead to a movie based on a novel by R.E Devlin.  R.E Devlin is a mysterious author, who's person is still unknown to the public. Francine, Robert's wife is the one who invited him to audition for the role, since she is one of the Producers.
William had auditioned for the lead after doing his research on the character by reading the novel itself. After a number of callbacks, he was given the role. However, he felt a hint of doubt with his portrayal, and felt the need to know the character more. During their meeting last week, he asked the director and producers if he could meet R.E Devlin, in hopes that he'll be able to play the role perfectly if he understood the character deeper. The group gave him looks, as though it was a close to impossible request. They barely even managed to get the deal from Devlin's team.
Then they turned to Francine who made it all possible. Francine was the one who fought tooth and nail to secure the film rights of the book, and everyone knew many had tried and failed before. She was the one who was able to get that sweet 'yes' from Devlin's team.
Francine sighed knowing full well, it wont be an easy task. "I'll see what I can do, but I wouldn't get my hopes up." She said.
In privacy, the Francine and William spoke. "I'll try and talk to her Agent Cam, but I wouldn't be able to tell if Devlin would agree to meet you, seeing as he values his privacy. And when I say 'he', I meant as a gender neutral pronoun." Francine explained, careful with her words. This was one for the vows she made when she met the Author. Devlin was not as she initially expected, she'd read many theories on the web of who she actually is, and the revelation had shocked her.
Will noticed all the secrecy she needed to keep. "I consider Devlin a friend, and his identity must be kept a secret--I am literally under contract, Will." Francine revealed and William understood completely.
R.E Devlin was considered one of the best mystery writer of this century, selling more than 700Million copies, and constantly on the International Best Sellers List, R.E Devlin had been a household name and it has a horde of fans from Twitter, Instagram, Facebooks, a number of dedicated websites and Fan Clubs.
Yet, his identity, gender, race or even age is known only by a few people. One of those people is his Agent Cameron, who William only knew of from his strict reputation. Cameron had always gone the extra mile for his clients, protecting them like no tomorrow. He was a former stockbroker in New York, and now he's infamous for his colorful language against the Press. He would sue them left and right, thus, he was both respected and feared by the media, especially with the R.E. Devlin Mystery waiting to be cracked. 
William was in his flat studying the script, anxiously waiting for Francine's promised call regarding his request.
His phone rang around 1 in the afternoon, seeing the name on the screen he answered. 
"Fran."
"Will! Great news! I was able to convince Cameron! He gave me instructions. Follow them carefully after you sign the non disclosure agreement I emailed you!"

Bonafide Hollywood actor William Knightly first met her in unorthodox way, with her strutting inside the Men's Room like she owned it. It was a red flag, right there. 
First thing that came to mind was, 'CRAZY FANGIRL'.
Then she told him to join her in a cubicle, and said: "All you'll do is stand"

This scene was not William's romantic idea of a cute-meet. But what can he do? That was how he met El, the mysterious  woman who has a knack for trouble.

IG:https://www.instagram.com/vanlauredel/

To people of the Netherlands, New York was a bitter city.
New York was originally named New Amsterdam. Dutch people had great business skills that they even bought Manhattan Island at the price of twenty-four dollars from an Indian chief. However, the city was taken away by England and was renamed as New York. It was natural that the Netherlands would feel bitter about the city.
Including Metro New York, it had become a city with more than 20,000,000 living in, but in the mid-seventeenth century, there were only about a thousand people. Interestingly, the population of a thousand people communicated in eighteen different languages. The people of different races, ethnicities, and religions had one thing in common. It was the lucrative land.
 
"So, New Yorkers are wild."
 
Jongil, who tended to understand everything through his own standards, made a strange conclusion.
 
"Where'd you get that idea?"
"It's what everyone knows about. Since I'm going to be busy today, let's separate from here."

Jongil was shut up after Youngho smacked him on his back.
 
 
"We're getting laptops, broadcasting equipment, security cameras, and searchlights. What else is on the list?"
"Okay, okay!"
 
There were a lot of items to be purchased.
Since prices were cheaper than many European cities, Youngho planned to buy various items in bulk. The laptops would be provided to Arirang Farm's school and each immigrant family and the broadcasting equipment and security systems were to be installed at the farm as well.
 
"We should make the sellers pack all of them nicely since they're going to be shipped through air transport."
 
Because the weight limitation of a ship going through the Volga-Don Canal and Volga-Baltic Waterway was 5,000-ton, Youngho had to send all of the things through air transport. Also, because the Volga-Baltic Waterway was frozen, The Arirang could not travel through it.
 
"Don't worry about that. Let's meet back in the afternoon tomorrow."
 
Since he was in America, Youngho wanted to meet Edward who was now staying in Albany, New York. Having to spend the day alone, Jongil was excited.
Youngho worried about what kind of mischief Jongil would put himself into but it seemed that the worst thing he could do was to watch New York women's behinds.
 
Edward, who was badly injured in Colombia, was now recovering in Albany where his family was. When he was fully recovered, he would be working at the CIA's headquarters office. Since he was a regular agent who had been through an elite training course, he was more suitable as an office agent rather than rough a field agent. When he goes to the headquarters, he would probably take a leadership position of a department since he gained experience from being a field agent.
As he received Youngho, Edward teared up.
He would have become a handful of earth by now if it was not for Youngho who came to save him right before his death. A surge of emotion welled up inside him. He was only breathing because of Youngho's meddlesomeness which ignored the business territory of his own department.
 
"Lee. I'm alive all because of you. I haven't been able to say thank you."
"Please, it's between you and me. When a comrade is in danger, it's a right thing to do to help him."
"Come to think of it, I picked the right person."
 
Edward's words were what Youngho wanted to say. It was because of him that Youngho was able to have a stepping stone for his own businesses and successes now.
 
"Are you alright? Do you have any difficulties or inconvenience? If you're in need of financial help…"
"I bought a farm in a rural area with the money you gave me at the time. I can take care of myself even after my retirement."
 
He was talking about the one million dollars that Youngho sent him from Colombia. It could buy an apartment room in Gangnam in Seoul, Korea but it could do a lot in rural towns in the states.
 
"I heard about your achievements these days. You might get promoted from the European chapter soon."
 
As saying that, Edward was proud as if he was talking about his own achievements. It was because the agent he recruited was achieving more than any other experienced agents. Youngho's team in the Caucasus region was a matchless group. There was no other agent like Youngho who had established their position well in the mainstream society of a country.
 
"Well, I only wish to stay in the field. It's not like I took the elite course like you."
 
It was true that Youngho did not want to leave the field taking care of his businesses and people.
 
"I wanted to make time to come previously and finally I could make it. I'm glad to see you recovering well."
"Thank you. I should get better fast since you're worried about me. When I go to the headquarters, I'll have access to exclusive information. If you need anything, I'll help you as much as possible. This is what I can do for you for saving my life."
 
One of the reasons for Youngho's visit today was the information. Since Youngho also treated information, sometimes he had an extreme thirst for information since it was difficult to find out about some key clues although he had many things leading up to conclusions. However, because Youngho was only a field agent without any connections to the headquarters, there was no way for him to get help. Only a few keywords were needed to read the flow but he did have someone who would do that for him but, thankfully, Edward was willing to be that person for Youngho.
 

***
 

"How much is the laptop?"
"It's seven hundred dollars each. Why do you keep asking?"
"Are you sure it's not missing any important parts?"
"You think I'm a fool? I checked its performance. I played the most popular game now and it worked fine!"
 
It was Jongil's way to check a laptop's performance but it was fair enough.
 
"Why is everything so cheap here?"
 
It was natural since the United States did not charge special consumption tax and special purpose tax. Although the Kazakhstan government would charge some tariff, they usually did not charge a lot for the products that were not produced in the country.
Youngho was glad that he could buy the items that he needed immediately at cheap prices. Once the ice started to melt, he would be importing a lot of cutting-edge products and making the town of Arirang Farm the best IT city. His tremendous amount of gold bars would make that possible.
 
 
"It's nice to meet you. My name is Lee Youngho."
 
Youngho greeted a man who was gulping down a kind of vodka. Still sitting down, the man only swung his hand as if he did not care.
 
"Are you Choi Sunkil by any chance?"
 
Youngho now spoke in Korean. The man who did not even look at Youngho was stunned to hear sudden Korean from his mouth. He did not think that there would be a Korean who knew his name in Amsterdam.
 
"How do you know about me?"
"Captain Gilbert told me about you."
 
Choi Sunkil, who was nervous, soon felt relieved to hear the captain's name, and his shoulders relaxed like a deflated balloon.
 
"How do you know that guy?"
"I'm the new shipowner of the cargo ship. Let me introduce myself again. I'm a major shareholder of Arirang Shipping, Lee Youngho."
 
Arirang Shipping was the name for Zeynep Corporation's shipping industry company title that he came up with when he bought the new huge freighter. To look more professional, Youngho intentionally used the word, major shareholder.
 
"A major shareholder?"
"I haven't found a professional executive yet and the position is vacant at the moment."
"…"
"Captain Gilbert told a lot about you. He said you're a master of ships. If you haven't chosen a different company yet, I'd like to recruit you."
 
Youngho's way was a classic way to recruit people but it was an effective method.
 
 
Leaning on the railing of his large ship, Youngho was feeding seagulls some bread crumbs. It was then when Choi Sunkil approached him.
 
"Mr. Lee. I've looked up Batumi in the Black Sea coast and it looks like a famous vacationland. I bet the port fee would be expensive there. It'd be more economical if you moor the ship in an outer port and deliver cargo on small boats to the wharf."
"Mr. Choi, I'll leave the decision to you. I'm just a major shareholder and you're the one in charge of Arirang Shipping."
"It's been several days but I still feel like I'm dreaming."
 
From a successful shipowner, he had to step down almost empty-handed and then suddenly, he was hired as a professional executive and returned to his ship. He was naturally still dazed by all things happening to him. Youngho appeared when he was mentally devastated to the point of death, so in a sense, Youngho saved him.
His family members were also split due to the bond that he could not pay back, but because of Youngho's payment, everyone was on their way to Batumi, Georgia to be reunited.
Youngho thought that a person who experienced failures was whom he needed dearly since he never experienced failure up until now. Choi Sunkil would be a great person whom Youngho could learn through his past unfortunate experience.
 
Zeynep 1 had traveled a seaway. It was only after passing through the Gibraltar Strait, where the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean meet, and through the Aegean Sea, the Marla Sea, and the Bosporus Strait, the freighter had finally arrived in the Black Sea.
The course was not boring but there were too many ships along the route that Youngho thought a sea traffic police was needed. It was allegedly captains' least favorite route since many collision accidents occurred between ships. One good thing about the route was that shippers would pay more delivery fees when ships passed this route.
Choi Sunkil's plan was to mobilize smaller ships along the Black Sea and the Mediterranean coast and the bigger ships around the Atlantic. He expressed his will to concentrate tramp lining business in preparation for the time when the grain would be produced from Arirang Farm, since once there was a regular delivery scheduled, it would be hard for him to arrange ships for irregular cargo shipping requests. Although there were only a few ships, he had found new hope in them.

 
***

 
"Mr. Eriksson, the Azerbaijani government is complaining that the mercenary company you introduced fell short of their expectations. Do you know any other?"
"It's because the Azerbaijani government doesn't have many experiences with mercenary companies. What kind of companies would attack a country as if they're going to war? They usually move in secret and attack at once in the right time."
 
The government had requested the destruction of Armenian military facilities in disguise to a mercenary company, but the government was not satisfied with the company's methods but Eriksson's words were convincing enough.
 
"I'll tell them to stop pressing."
"That's the best mercenary company I know of. You don't need to be concerned. If the government hurts the company's pride, it might side with Armenia and accept requests from it."
 
It was unfortunate but because the government had hired mercenary warriors, the sacrifices of innocent lives had become inevitable. Since the military weapons were disguised as civilian properties, there would be shootouts and explosions in the sites of those properties. Youngho wished that there would not be unnecessary sacrifices but it was an unavoidable choice for him since all of his people could live in peace if Armenia's weapons were destroyed.
If the mercenaries failed, Youngho was willing to do their job himself. It was not because he loved Azerbaijan or he disliked Armenia but because he lived in Baku and all of his living was in Baku. Moreover, the Serbian descendants, who were only reunited with the Archduchess after long waiting, would be sacrificed if he did not act. He would do anything to save them.

Empire of the Ring is a Korean modern fantasy epic adventure novel that sets in the nations of the Caucasus mountain range which separates Europe and Asia. The nations of Caucasus are regions of many conflicts over territories, ethnicities, and religions. The story begins as Lee Youngho, a warm-hearted Korean merchandiser, takes a business trip to a disputed territory of the Caucasus nations to sell Korean unmanned security systems only to get misconstrued as a spy and caught by Armenian militia. Youngho eventually gets involved with the militia and CIA to help out people of the regions from conflicts and works toward a birth of a new empire in Caucasus.

This is an ongoing novel from Korea with more than 750 chapters as of today. The pace can feel a little bit slow in the beginning but as the story unfolds, you will be drawn into the world of Caucasus. If you are a modern fantasy/adventure lover, you will enjoy learning about different regions and cultures in Eurasia and Eastern Europe as Youngho travels around the places. Happy reading! 

*Disclaimer: The following contains depictions of religion and ethnic disputes. We do not support the author's views, we are only translating and editing the novel. This fictional novel is inspired by real-world people, places, and events — the author has taken these people, places, and events and embellished them as characters with conversations and backgrounds as done in fiction.

NARRATIVE of WARD COURIER
September, 2007
SOUTH WALES, NY

I should introduce myself. I'm Trevor Ward Courier, the voice of this book. I usually go by Ward. So you can visualize me, I'm a white guy about about six feet high and one-seventy heavy. I look like someone of my ancestry, a European mutt: Irish, Scottish, German, and English, so far as we know. I have brown hair, blue-green eyes, a sharp nose, and kind of a long skull. I am an English teacher and department chairman at an independent boarding school in rural Western New York.
I experienced a lot of what you are going to read in these pages, and when you see the word "I" or "me" in here and it's not part of a quote, the observations presented should be mine. I have a pretty good handle on the things I didn't see from interviewing some of the other players. Those I can imaginatively recreate for you, and they will be in the third person voice and often the present tense. I write those scenes as if they're happening in a film.
This is going to be two rambling, discursive books, put into one for the purposes of e-publishing. They are not going to have the tightness of the literary masterpieces I admire, ones with that sense of no word out of place and none that should be added or axed. You may even find a few typos. I keep finding them, along with awkwardnesses and blunders. But now that I've decided to write it, I have to get this story out.
This book is going to hop around in a couple of different plot tracks that took place over the span of five years. Things were happening at different times across the Americas, and from the way things came together in the end, I figured the best way to present them was in their rough chronology. A certain portion of this book, too, is comprised of my published writings exactly as they appeared, so you can see what there was in them that drew the official interest that brought me into the action. I will do my best at keeping them clear so you can keep it all straight.
I have a master's degree in British literature and know my way pretty well around European lit in general. I have a side-interest, though, that is my real niche of specialization in life: the paranormal. I'm the authority in my home region, upstate New York, though largely due my handful of books and the lack of any serious competition. I'm a reasonable scholar and interpreter of paranormal subjects and situations in general.
I have the local reputation of being a psychic detective, which I do nothing to encourage. Possibly because it is the handiest thing for people to get their heads around, it is impossible to talk people out of thinking it. I don't like false titles, but the impression certainly helps my research. I get called in on cases I would never have heard about otherwise. Lest you start getting images of the caped Dr. Strange or Dion Fortune's fictional Dr. Taverner, though, I should clarify that I am more of a historian and folklorist. I am no exorcist, either. Wouldn't touch the stuff without a Hell of a lot more training, as in, a career's worth.
There are plenty of ghost hunters in the upstate, some of them reasonably prominent. If you want an expert at running around in the dark with surveillance gadgets, any one of them would be better than I am. The upstate likewise has loads of psychics, at least people who say they are, plus UFO-geeks, exorcists, gurus, mystics, cult-leaders, spiritual healers, and representatives of just about every alternative -ism you can think of. Western New York, after all, was the home of so many alternative religious cults and communities that early in its days of white settlement it was nicknamed things like "the Burned-over District" and "the Spirit Way." It was as if the first observers thought there could have been something special about the territory itself. This is also classic Seneca country, and the insights of one of their prominent young elders is a major factor in the events these pages unfold.
I, however, am none of the above. I'm a profiler. I operate toward the paranormal with an almost Cartesian - "I think, therefore I am" - system of affirming by doubting. I'm like Peter Sellers' Inspector Clouseau: "I believe everything and I believe nothing." I start by presuming that everything I hear is just a report - human testimony. It can't all be true; I can't presume it's all false. I look for parallels in time, place, and tradition, and work back from there toward a consensus of likelihood. While certainty may not await us in any of these subject areas, there is a surprising amount you can learn through these means.
In matters paranormal, I record what people say and interpret what they have written. I try to make my conjecture based on broad patterns, not the testimony of single persons and certainly not on my own feelings or intuitions. I do not discount supernatural explanations for things; I merely save them for the last possibility standing. And I do not project meaning onto incoherent situations, either.
Under the pen name Mason Winfield, I've written a couple books about the supernatural-paranormal history of my home region, Western New York, as well as other books on the War of 1812 and the traditions of the upstate Native American League of Six Nations, the Iroquois/Hodenosaunee. I also have a website and publish many articles in magazines and papers in a typical year. Some people are convinced there really is a Mason Winfield. Hah. Does that sound like a real name? Mason Winfield? Who would name their kid Mason Winfield?
There are other people in upstate New York who write about paranormal subjects. My real niche is my broad base and my historic, objective take on the people, places, and events in the supernatural-paranormal past and present of my home region. If somebody wanted a crash course in the upstate paranormal, I would be the natural person to come to. If somebody wanted help interpreting any regional development that seemed related to any paranormal subject, I would typically get that first call.
One morning in September 2007 I checked my mailbox in the faculty lounge and spotted one of the notorious pink notes used to record messages for the faculty that come in through phone calls. This one was a summons to meet with Prescott Burns, our venerable headmaster, right after lunch in his office. "Prez," we called him, or "PB." There were variants among the faculty, like "Peanut Butter," and, "the Sandwich," and "PB-and-J," which of course evolved into just "and-J," sounding often like "NJ." "Talkin' to the Sandwich," one of us might say about heading to a meeting with him, or even, "Going to lunch," or "Brown-bagging it." My colleagues are inveterate nicknamers. Even people like me who don't pick up nicknames anywhere else get them here. If you're sensitive, don't work here.
Because of my initials - TWC, which I use to sign the countless passes and memos we exchange every day - I'm often referred to as "Cable Guy," after Time Warner Cable. Sometimes it's shortened to "T-Dub," or just "Cable." Sometimes it's "Larry," after the comedian, "Larry the Cable Guy." When I was a kid I went by my first name a lot, and people who have known me for a long time often call me "Trev." My mother has always called me "Trevor."
Sometimes a call to the boss' office is a trouble-sign, but I couldn't think of anything this one could be about. I hadn't skipped a study hall or gym duty, had a major fight with a student or colleague, spoken indiscreetly to a trustee, or shown up massively late for anything. At least not recently. That I could recall. I went in as a blank slate.
It was a bright afternoon about 1:45. I found PB in the little lobby of his spacious office conducting a meeting with the math chairman and the bookstore manager. He had his non-confidential meetings here.
I always liked the way PB dressed, like the classic New England headmaster. That day he had on dark grey pants, a powder blue Oxford shirt, and a brown herringbone tweed that went really well together. I could have done without the bow-tie - I've never once worn one - but that was an occasional given with PB. His full head of impeccably clipped white hair was a living landmark on the campus. It stood out against a crowd of campus walkers like a torch in the darkness. He got up when he saw me and met me at the door.
"Ward, I've got a call in from Ted Bennett. He's the head of the local FBI. He's asked me about you and I told him you're no terrorist. He'd like to speak to you in his office in the city. Can you get in there to see him sometime soon?"
"Well, sure," I said. "Any idea what it's about?"
"I'm pretty sure it's got something to do with one of your books," he said. "Sounds like a research question and he'd like to discuss it in person."
"I'll call him," I said.
"If you can do anything to help Ted out, I hope you'll give it due consideration," said Prescott Burns. "His dad was on the Pennsylvania with me when we were both just a little younger than you. And give him my best. I haven't seen him since he was in Sunday School."




Author:
Author, teacher, storyteller, and supernatural historian Mason Winfield studied English and Classics at Denison University, earned a master’s degree in British literature at Boston College, and studied poetry and fiction at SUNY Buffalo with professor emeritus and MacArthur grant recipient Irving Feldman. He has written or edited fourteen books, including the regional sensation “Shadows of the Western Door” (1997) and “Iroquois Supernatural,” co-authored with Michael Bastine, on the traditions of the Six Longhouse Nations (Inner Traditions International/Bear & Company, 2011). Several of his surveys of upstate folklore and paranormal tradition may be found at the website of Western New York Wares: www.buffalobooks.com. He may be reached at www.masonwinfield.com.

An anatomically perfect human jaw fashioned of diamond-hard quartz crystal is uncovered at an Ohio burial mound and sold on the underground antiquities market. Shortly after, three pothunters are found dead.

A mysterious new drug suspected of South American origin surfaces in Buffalo, NY. Its unprecedented psycho-tropic effects include the momentary activation of ESP. 

Blind, speechless, emaciated street people start appearing in many parts of the world. An urban legend-cycle forms around them, and the name of a murderous old cult, “the Whistlers” attaches to them.

An archaeological team at a Mayan site reports finding a bizarre artifact and vanishes. 

An upstate schoolteacher’s book of New York legends and folklore foreshadows these developments and more. 

   These are the threads – plus his affair with a maddening woman – that draw narrator Ward Courier into the international adventure of occultism, terror, Native American tradition and onrushing prophecy that is Mason Winfield’s anticipated new novel THE WHISTLERS. By the time the picture of THE WHISTLERS becomes clear, we are ready to believe in a sinister conspiracy that could predate Atlantis and even hail from another world.

Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-Exp-EXP-

"Well, Eric, would you let my publishing house take care of your book ?" Michael Klaus didn't try to hide his intentions, as he very bluntly said.
 
Eric looked at the already printed and bounded manuscript that the black girl gave him, and said to Michael Klaus: "I'm sorry, Michael, though I appreciate your recognition, but you know, I want to try my luck with some of the larger publishing houses. Parents hope for their children to make it to the Ivy League, don't they ?"
 
Michael did not have the slightest expression of contempt or displeasure as he smiled and said: "Eric, you don't seem to have a full understanding of those large publishing companies, maybe we could find a place to talk, I know a cafe not far from here, my treat, how about it ?"
 
Eric took back the manuscript, and put it into his bag as he straightforwardly replied: "I'm sorry, Michael, I'm late for work, if in the future my manuscript gets rejected by those publishers, I will contact you."
 
Eric carried his backpack and got out of the printing shop, he started his car and drove towards the restaurant.
Michael hesitated a little, before immediately rushing out of the shop, getting into his car and following him. He had a feeling that if he missed this opportunity, he might regret it forever. This feeling he got was 30% because the Jurassic Park novel and 70% because of that young man called Eric.
 
Although he had only read the top half of the novel, Michael was surprised by the lad's knowledge. It had to be known that teens his age may have never heard of genetic engineering, chaos theory, nanotechnology and other high-tech factors. But not only was this kid well documented, he also used that vocabulary in a way that didn't actually make you lose interest in the novel, and instead added to the fascinating twists of the plot.
 
He had seen many types of sci-fi novels, but most of them used those scientific terms in a very boring way, that type of fiction was obviously not for all types of readers.
 
Eric parked his car on the parking lot and turned around to find a black car stopping not far away. Michael Klaus got out, he had apparently followed him. This served to satisfy Eric's vanity. His favourable impression of Michael was seriously growing.
 
"Hey, Eric-"  Michael waved his hand and was about to speak when Eric pointed at his watch and said: "That, Michael, you see, it's nine and I work in this Italian restaurant as a waiter, if you don't mind ordering breakfast, the bar and restaurant are basically deserted before 10 o'clock." Michael nodded knowingly and followed Eric as he walked into a restaurant.
 
Eric changed his clothes and came out, Michael had been sitting at a window seat, an empty breakfast plate in front of him.
 
"I explained the situation to Mr. Jeff, but you have to hurry." Eric sat across Michael, smiled and said: "I might be young, but I'm not that easily persuaded."
 
Michael laughed: "I believe after you hear my explanation you will certainly give it to me to publish. As I just said, you probably don't know those big publishers, but, I have worked at Simon & Schuster for eleven years, I did everything, from the most basic things to editing. Because I failed in the competition for the department manager position, I left and founded my own The Night Elves publishing house."
 
"What does that have to do with me ?" Because of his past life as a loser, Eric feared hearing about other people struggle stories, and couldn't help but interrupt.
 
"Relax, young man, I  just want to make you understand that I'm not kidding around and that my words are the truth. You know, I was originally editing reviews at first, every day I reviewed tens of thousands or even hundreds of thousands of words from drafts, although there were a lot of, ehm, bad manuscripts, there were also a lot of works that got published. At least 2000 different kinds of books make it each year. Even if you got published, they already have thousands of ongoing publications, how much promotional marketing resources do you think they'll use on a newbie ?"
 
Michael finished, stopped and took a sip of water, leaving Eric some room to process. Eric already got the idea but did not say anything, he kept staring at Michael, indicating him to keep going.
 
Michael followed:  "My publishing house might be small, but with my years of experience and knowledge on publishing and marketing, it has always been doing well. Science fiction, adventure, and horror novels, although we only publish about a dozen novels each year, we still have a certain amount of reputation in the industry. If you give Jurassic Park to me, I promise to put in all the resources we have towards promoting your novel in the shortest time possible and help Jurassic Park  build some fame. With my help, and under my guidance, your novel will have higher chances to make it into the bestseller list."
 
Michael laid all his cards on the table, then quietly waited for Eric's decision.
 
After hearing Michael's rant, Eric was still somewhat concerned. Even if a small publishing house put in all their resources, how much could that possibly be ?
 
His mind was still that of a middle-aged man, he had experienced a lot in his past life and had seen all kinds of people. So of course he wouldn't be so hot-blooded as to change his mind with only a few words. However, there were two points that Michael mentioned that kept hitting his sensitive strings:  in the shortest time possible,  and, help Jurassic Park build some fame.
 
No matter the era, fame had always been an intangible but incredibly useful asset. From Eric's point of view, the only obstacle to the implementation of his plan was his young age that would prevent him from receiving other's full trust and support.
 
But with enough fame, this shortcoming disappears. If an eighteen-year-old freshly graduated high school student were to become a movie director, people would just laugh in contempt. But if an eighteen-year-old talented writer becomes one, the results would definitely not be the same. Sure, there would still be criticism, but there would also be some who would think along the lines of: Damn, that genius kid is quite fierce.
 
Eric said: "I have to admit, Michael, you kinda moved me there. However, these are only promises, I still know nothing about your publishing house."
 
"It's very easy to change that," Michael calmly said: "One of the authors my publishing house is in charge of made it into the recent New York Times best-sellers list. Although he only made it into the last place, it didn't stop Twentieth Century Fox from purchasing the movie rights. It'll probably be made into a film in the following years."
 
Eric didn't doubt Michael's words, those kinds of things could be easily looked up. He said: "So, when do we start talking about this cooperation ?"
 
Michael was stunned for a second before stammering: "Y-you, you'll agree ?"
 
"Yes," Eric nodded and smiled, "To be honest, I just can't wait to see my novel hit the shelves."
 
"Alright so how about tonight ? I think you may need to work now." Michael pointed at the restaurant's entrance where guests were gradually increasing.
 
After the two men agreed on the meeting place, Michael left the restaurant satisfied.
 
"Eric, what did you talk about with that man ? You look unusually happy." Jeff asked. Eric had just told him that he had to discuss something important with a friend, so he was a bit curious.
 
Eric handed the menus over to the guests and then their orders to his colleagues in the kitchen, before replying: "Oh yeah, awesome news Jeff, that man is the owner of a publishing house, I will soon be published."
 
Jeff was a little confused, and asked as he looked at Eric strangely: "Publish a novel ? Didn't you tell me yesterday that you wanted to become a director, that you had written a script ? Are you going to give up on your dream so quickly to become a writer instead ?"
 
Eric said: "Of course not, my goal hasn't changed, writing won't prevent me from becoming a director now, will it ? The manuscript is in my backpack in the locker room, Jeff do you mind taking a look and giving me your opinion ?"
 
Jeff made his way to the locker room in puzzlement, he thought that Eric's novel would probably only be a thousand words short story, so when he saw the thick stack of paper that made up the manuscript, Jeff's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. There was definitely more than 150,000 words, in his entire life he probably hadn't even written so much !
 
He spent the lunch period busiest hours in leisure. The restaurant's staff was taken aback when they realized their boss seemed to have disappeared for several hours. For that old man who always hanged around to suddenly go AWOL, it was definitely weird.
 
When they were discussing if they should go look for him, Jeff came out from the locker room, patted Eric's shoulder and said: "Brilliant novel, you'll probably resign soon." With these words, Jeff left. Once their boss' figure disappeared, a group of people surrounded Eric to inquire about what happened.
 
And that's how, for the whole afternoon, from time to time waiters and kitchen staff members would take turns to go into the locker room to read Eric's work. A beautiful waitress even coyly asked him if she could take a it home.
 
Although Eric wasn't indifferent to the beautiful girl's flirtatious winks, he could only decline such a request. He had a few copies of the novel, and lending her one was not a problem, but before the book was published, he didn't want any untoward accidents to happen.

An advertising director is reborn in 1988 Hollywood as an eighteen-year-old blond-haired westerner named Eric Williams.

From then on, he starts writing movie scripts and television songs, becomes skilled in directing every kind of film, wins over all kinds of female celebrities, and takes the road to become a Hollywood legend.

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

ATTENTION!

This is not an original novel, all rights in this story belong to JUST DO.

The translation of most chapters is done by: Elawn, Nano4bots and Sissy That Walk.

My translation will start where they have left it, my translation may not be as good as theirs but I would like it much more people to know more about this story that I liked so much.

I WANT THAT I LIKE THIS HISTORY A LOT, BUT I DO NOT AGREE TO A LOT OF THE BEHAVIORS BOTH OF THE PROTAGONIST AND SOME CHARACTERS. IN THIS HISTORY CHARACTERS OF REAL LIFE APPEAR AND I DO NOT ASSURE THAT THE DATA PROVIDED IN THIS HISTORY WILL BE TRUE.

Charles, a film critic who was passing by, was intrigued by the long queue outside the Sunshine Cinema. He bought a second-hand ticket from a Chinese old lady at the high price of 10 dollars and followed the line of Chinese people into the crowded hall.
He fixed his eyes on the screen right away.
Despite all the noise around him, as well as the poor projecting conditions, Charles was totally absorbed into the shooting skills of the director, the story and the main actor.
The film was a Triton among minnows compared to other messy independent films.
When the film ended, ignoring the strange looks other people were giving him, he ran along the streets as fast as possible. He wanted to express his feelings by writing a brilliant article.
At the last minute, the editor of "The New York Times" received a film review from Charles about an independent minority film. Luckily, it was a short one. The editor decided to add a paragraph to his column.
On the fourth day, thanks to the surging box office success of the film in New York, all 107 cinemas of the US paid attention to the film. There was also an article published in The New York Times.
"Review by Charles, a famous film critic: Without the main actor and the final climax, the film would have been a boring one. The shooting skills and narrative approach of the director added novelty to it though..."
That could be considered a direct approval of an indie film. Vivian forwarded the link to OMG without trouble, as well as the statistics of the rising box office success of "Elephant".
"I’m getting more and more interested in this film. I’m pleased to see it playing in my city."
"Qin Guan looked like an immortal on NYLON. The big screen is a decisive test for handsome men. I’ll go watch it."
It was strange. Generally speaking, the box office of the first day tended to be the highest. This was not true about "Elephant" though. The cinemas playing it increased from two to 107, and on the third day, the box office was double as much as on the first day.
...
Strange things were going on.
Han Zhujiu and his guys were sitting at the front row of a cinema. People from Chinatown had booked the entire theater. He had decided to help his lifesaver. What f*cking story does the film tell us though?
"F*ck! You bastards! Wake up!"
"Oh? Is it finished?"
"What a shame! I shouldn't have brought you guys. You are insulting art! Art!"
An elegant old couple came out of another hall, talking about the film, and saw the Chinese gangsters leaving the hall solemnly in a formidable, orderly array.
"China sure is a country with a long history and a splendid culture. Those boys watched a private screening."
"Yes. Education in America is very concerning. Even Chinese gangsters get together to watch an indie film."
As a result, the Chinese people in Chinatown were labeled as "art lovers".
A week later, the ranking box office list in North America was released. "Elephant" was 10th on the list of indie films with a total box office of 270,000 dollars.
Director Gus heard the news in Cannes. He was attending a publicity conference for his movie. When he was told, he thought something was wrong with his ears.
Actually, he had directed the movie only because it was his dream. He had wanted to realize his dream before his savings ran out. What was happening now?
He had gotten all his investment back without even getting any publicity. From the next week onwards, half of the box office would pour right into his pocket. According to the statistics, the box office was supposed to be rising.
His lips were quivering slightly. Judging by the Chinese audience, he knew that his lucky star was Qin Guan.
As he looked at the application form for best actor, he laughed happily. Being accepted by a mainstream audience was his lifelong goal. He was no longer fixated on the Cannes festival.
 He didn't care whether he would win the award or not. He would rather be an independent director. His assistant noticed that he seemed to be relieved from all his burdens. He looked refreshed and confident.
Qu Xuemei had just finished a half-hour video call with the elegant Italian old man. From then on, Qin Guan would become one of the three exclusive models of Armani.
Not all Haute Couture of famous brands was accepted by fashion experts though. Firstly, couture had to be high-end. Secondly, the designer had to be well-known. Thirdly, one should have enough handwork masters working for their studio. Finally, the show and representative models were also important.
Billionaires did not like to wear the same clothes as a nobody.
Thanks to the popularity of "Elephant", the clever old man had selected Qin Guan as their exclusive model during the board meeting.
Qu let out a long breath of relief. Qin Guan had set one foot on the stage of top fashion. Whether he would also set the other foot would depend on his ability.


Qin Guan was reborn and sent back to his final semester in High School 18 years ago. Getting a second chance at life, he works hard to turn things around and eventually become a Prince Charming. What will his life be like the second time around? What will he have to go through? How will he succeed in turning from a loser into a Prince Charming? Read this story carefully and find out!


If you want to read up to 12 chaps ahead or read other novels on the work go and check https://www.patreón.com/cornbringer





https://discord.gg/847423B join the discord server if you want to talk and stuff.



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After returning to the sewer I became aware of something very troubling, what if the God I stole the weapon from was able to track where I used said weapon, that would be… less than ideal, "Okay, time to move," I sighed knowing full well that was the right call, as I grabbed my only valuable possession, my magic book, before leaving, I looked at the place that had been my home for months and taking a deep breath I went over the list of reasons to why I was running away from here, for one I had no idea if the god I stole the weapon from would actually be okay with my mistake and forgive me, and even if they were, they would probably just take to that camp, and I did not want to go to that camp… well, now I did, but not for the same reasons most go, and two… who am I kidding, there is no two, I just want to travel, you can't blame the ex sick guy that has been living on a sewer for that.













"Alright, but before I go… let me put some glitter bombs in here," I laughed like I had become the Joker just there, was I playing with fire? Maybe, if the gods were actually chasing me… they would surely encounter my magical glitter bombs, and while harmless, this would surely anger then, but… if they were coming for me in the first place, they were already angry…. So I might as well go out with the satisfaction of pranking deities.













"Alright the place is full of magical glitter bombs," I laughed, "Time to skedaddle,"














As I ran through the sewage system, I began to think about where I would reside now that I had lost my home, and immediately New York sounded like an obvious choice for me right now to pursue my current goals, stealing from the camp, so considering that the camp was located somewhere near that state, it was the best option.















"I wonder if the sewages in New York are comfy, I do have so standard I must keep," I laughed, wondering along the way if I could find a way to hide my godly smell with magic, if so… things would severely improve for me, maybe I could enchant myself to smell like shit? No…. but it's a start, I'm sure I will figure it out, right now, I have to somehow get to New York on foot…. Or, "Maybe magic is once again the answer, I did make a random bow appear… which is technically teletransportation, and there is no indicator, I can't do the same with myself…" Meh, it's worth a shot, "Tropelet… em… ot… Wen… Kroy!"











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A funny thing about made up spells is that they can backfire terribly depending on how much of an idiot you are… allow me to illuminate your minds, see… when casting a spell with Mnemonic Incantation, a single thought can change the result of the spell… for example, when I made the spell to teleport me to New York, I had singular thought in my mind, going to the sewages in New York, now… here is where it lies the problem… I have not seen the sewages of New York, ever… so instead of teleporting to where I wanted, or in a better case… exploding in my face, I was in the middle of a kitchen… with a very familiar woman, Sally Jackson.











Now, many might be wondering… how in the fuck… is this possible, well with my luck, I doubt anyone is wondering, but anywho, allow me to explain… when a spell can't form the first thought you have because you either lack information about something in particular or something else to well… cast the damn spell, the motherfucker uses the next best thing in your mind, in the case the Jackson's Apartment, which in contrast to the sewers of New York, I knew how it looked, and where it was located.













But Adam, how is that possible… if that was the case you would've teleported inside the demi-god camp, right? I mean, after all, the information you have about this universe is from the books, and most of the time the characters are in there.












If you said that or thought about it, well right you are, I probably know more about the demigod camp and its layout than what I know about this apartment, buuuuuuuut the spell also takes into consideration things as I would rather watch the terminator in french ten times, than go there, so this was the next best place inside my head.









Anywho… back to the real world.











"I know what you're thinking… and the answer might surprise you," I smiled at the shocked woman, "Please do not pray to any god about this… I will give you a cookie…" Yes, yesss fall for the cookie.











"Who are you?" Sally inquired, not moving an inch.











"A dream?" I answered with a shrug, getting a look that said really? From Sally, "Fine, I'm like your son," 












"It's not his time is it?" Sally asked, feeling sad… wait, how in the fuck do I know how this lady is feeling.














"No, no, no," I shook my head, "I was just running from going there, so don't worry, I don't plan on taking the living sushi roll to the camp,"

















*Happy* "Sushi roll," Sally snorted, once again I could tell how she felt, great some get the power to throw literal lightning, and I get the power of two human eyes, oh well, "Why are you running from the camp, it's supposed to be the safest place in the world for kids like you," *Worried*














"I know, but I enjoy my freedom…" I chuckled, "Living in the sewers can be quite comfy, once you kill all the rats… and roaches, but after that, is just a place that smells like shit, like any college dorm,"













*Worried* "I can't let you live in the sewage... I think I can fix you up a bed with my son…" Such a nice lady, but why would I ever, ever, stay in a place where one of the big three has eyes on, haha, nope, this place is a one way ticket to camp.
















"Llaf peels won…" I said, putting the nice lady to sleep,it was sweet of her to try and help me, but I'm okay, "Alright… let's see if I can find something to erase her memory in my book,"



One moment I was dying on a really uncomfortable hospital bed and the next... well, I’m alive... though this time, I'm not even human anymore... but who cares.







If you want to read ahead!                                    https://w w w.patreón.com/cornbringer

list of new york times best sellers novel

The Extraordinary Z

Writing is my Passion

King of Hollywood

Woman of Letters

Empire of the Ring

The Whistlers

Exp Grind

I am in Hollywood

Rebirth: How A Loser Became A Prince Charming

Percy Jackson: The God of Magic

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