Tom woke up looking exhausted.Not from lack of sleep.Not from writing.But from life itself.

He stared at the ceiling, eyes hollow. No one was writing him anymore.No narrator to guide his path, no author to hand him purpose.If he wanted to move forward now, he had to do everything himself.

He had power.He had money.He had the things people usually desire.

But what he didn't have was company.No one to talk to about what he'd accomplished.No one to tell how he felt — how good he was, how pathetic, how foolish.His life was so empty that even someone yelling at him would've been enough — at least it would mean if someone saw him.

But he wasn't the only one. There were countless others like him.

Your life being miserable doesn't mean it's meaningless.Even if you only have one small thing you care about — don't ignore it.Someone out there is craving the very thing you take for granted.

Because once it's gone, it's gone.

Life is both beautiful and cruel.It all depends on how you see it.You can't wait for fate to change things.You have to change them yourself.

It's just one life — one chance in four hundred trillion.Don't waste it waiting for divine plans.

Everyone thinks they're the center of the world — the main character.But they're not wrong. Everyone is the main character of their own story.

Even if you don't have power or wealth, it doesn't matter.The life you live is your own story — and you're the one writing it.Like Tom, your story isn't written by someone else anymore.It's in your hands.

So live it properly.Don't drown in nostalgia.Think of today — live like there's no tomorrow.

You're not Tom…But for now, let's see what he does.

After splashing water on his face, Tom sat down on the chair and opened a novel. He wanted to finish reading others' stories — maybe that way, he could find the courage to complete his own.

There was no guarantee when "Mr. Who" would catch him.So until then, he'd keep reading… and keep living.

Hours passed. His eyes ached. His body felt heavy. Finally, Tom collapsed onto the bed, sighing deeply.

"Maybe I should get some ice cream," he muttered.

A little later, he was sitting alone at a quiet café, eating a cone of vanilla ice cream."Nothing beats eating ice cream alone," he said to himself, forcing a smile.

Then a voice behind him said,"It's been a while since we last saw each other."

Tom froze. He turned his head—and his heart nearly stopped.

It was Emilia.

The same girl he'd liked for months.

Of all people… she remembers me?

Trying to play it cool, Tom stammered, "W-what do you want from me?"Then he mentally screamed at himself—That's not how you talk to your crush, idiot!

Emilia giggled softly. "I wanted to ask you something," she said.

"What… something?" Tom asked, his voice uneven.

"I can't show it here," she replied, leaning closer. "Come to my place. I'll show you there."

Tom's face turned red. "W-what?! How can you just say that after meeting me out of nowhere!?"

"The person I'd be least afraid of is you," Emilia said simply. "After all, you're alone. What could you possibly do?"

Her words stung a little, but he swallowed it.I may not be strong or athletic… but this is a golden chance. No way I'm missing it.

"Fine," he said at last. "Lead the way."

They reached Emilia's house — a luxurious villa, shining under the evening light.Tom looked around, impressed. "Figures… her father's a businessman. This much is nothing for him."

Inside, Emilia led him to a private room and locked the door."Keep this a secret," she said seriously. "Don't tell anyone."

Tom nodded, curious. "What is it you wanted to show me?"

Then she slowly lifted her hand — and revealed a pen.

A familiar pen.

Tom froze. His breath stopped.

No way…

He murmured under his breath,"Isn't that… the Author's Reality-Writing Pen?"