# Chapter 21
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## Reader Ⅰ
### Sinnua
**1**
Having dealt with a somewhat serious story, it was now time to lighten the mood again.
In the first place, during the very early stages of regression—that is, before the 20th iteration—I was overly serious. This was entirely because I believed that "if I just get my act together and put in the effort, I can definitely save the world."
I have no intention of disparaging that effort. But it was somewhat arrogant. Who was I to treat the weight of the world as equal to my own weight?
Infinite regression? That's just an awakening ability.
People need to know how to put themselves down. The weight you set down creates margin to accept others in its place.
Anyway, my "method of letting go" was "hobbies."
I can confidently say there is no regressor with as many diverse hobbies as me.
After all, the most important thing in a regressor's life is mental management, and hobbies are like diligent housekeepers that clean the mansion called one's mind.
A regressor's inner world, measured in floor space, is a super-luxury grand palace exclusively for great nobles, spanning thousands of pyeong. Naturally, the number of "maids" needed for "cleaning" had to be quite large.
If I were to list the positions of the maids I hired—in other words, the types of hobbies—it would go like this:
[Gaming, browsing SG Net, barista work, metalworking, teasing fairies, tormenting Seo Gyu, cooking, walking, listening to music, making music, stealing Tang Seo-rin's pointed hat and secretly hiding it under the bed, guitar, tormenting Seo Gyu, violin, piano, painting, sculpture, pottery, collecting radios, stealing and listening to Old Man Sho's phone recordings, running a ranch, tormenting Seo Gyu, picking any random profession and living as that profession for a while...]
But I had no intention of mentioning all those maids individually. There could be nothing more boring than rambling about hobbies others cannot relate to.
Therefore, the maid I selected today was named "Reading."
And to be more specific—"Reading Web Novels."
**2**
Originally, I knew nothing about web novels.
I had only read a few martial arts novels as a child. It was around the 555th iteration that I discovered the genre of web novels.
It was during the 555th iteration that I was introduced to web novels by someone I became acquainted with.
This person was an Awakened named Oh Dok-seo. I'll have a chance to talk about them in the very next episode.
What matters now is simply that I gained a new hobby and became happier because of it.
What I liked most about web novels was that each work had a large volume. They say reading is food for the soul. And I was the type who valued quantity over quality when it came to meals.
At least in this restaurant called the web novel genre, it seemed I wouldn't have to worry about running out of feed to consume.
Of course, that was a dog-like delusion.
"There's nothing... left to read?"
I was in shock.
The binge-reading and banquets lasted only until the 556th iteration. In other words, in just 1 to 2 iterations, all the feed I had to eat ran out completely. In fact, web novels were a relatively new culture, and the quantity was unexpectedly small.
"Hmm. Well. Should I start exploring other genres...?"
A thirsty person doesn't choose their well.
Starting with only fantasy novels, I eventually consumed anything and everything written in King Sejong's invention—academy novels, ghost stories, romance fantasy, martial arts, otherworld stories, specialist novels, parodies, TS works, yuri, and more. I devoured anything with text. I even grew so desperate that I accepted the alphabet and Japanese.
A new world opened.
I was happy.
The 558th iteration ended.
The new world was destroyed.
"There's nothing... left to read?"
I fell into shock again.
Now I had truly scraped the bottom clean—there was nothing left to eat.
My tastes were not picky at all.
I happily consumed postmodernist novels that boldly replaced quotation marks ("") with reverse quotation marks ("").
I consumed minimalist masterpieces that omitted periods within dialogue, and I consumed the masterpieces of new-generation phoneticians who attempted to express characters' distinctive voices with tildes (~) or their silences with ellipses (..).
I even devoured satirical novels that sharply criticized modern selfishness, where an original character who didn't exist in the source material would pop up in a parody, hog all the opportunities that should have gone to the protagonist, then have the gall to say "Why is that guy so weak compared to the original? (tilts head)"—and I ate those too.
I also consumed the works of an infectious disease researcher whose novels had all characters infected with the "hoho syndrome" because laughter in the story was fixed as "hoho."
In other words.
"Hmm~ That's strange.. Was the protagonist always.. this weak? Ho! Ho! Ho"
Even such bizarre documents written like this, I willingly accepted as my daily bread.
Ah——.
From now on, you may call me not the Awakened Funeral Director, but the Diver of the web novel world. Because it's true.
This was my bottom, my deep sea, my Mariana Trench. If I descended to depths lower than this, before I could even talk about finding food, I simply wouldn't be able to breathe at all.
A demonic realm where even I, a regressor with thick skin from experience, could hardly guarantee survival!
Therefore, I could say with confidence:
"There's nothing... left to read."
Countless readers besides me would eventually face this exact same situation.
At this point, the reader's choices typically divided into two paths: either decide to take a break from web novels for a while, or transition into becoming an author who produces feed themselves.
As it happened, I was not a "normal" reader.
I was an infinite regressor.
For a regressor, there was a third path.
"I'll kidnap all the authors and turn them into machines that only excrete writing."
I opened my chest wide.
The path no one had taken.
And yet, the path every reader must have dreamed of at least once.
Toward that path, I, Funeral Director, boldly took my first step.
**3**
I spent one iteration collecting the personal information and data of web novel authors, and as soon as the next iteration began, I traveled across the country collecting authors.
Of course, authors weren't strange creatures that would be caught just because you threw red and white balls at them, so a process of manually adding them to my collection one by one was necessary.
Those sensitive to authors' dignity might have raised minor objections, asking "Isn't that kidnapping, not collecting?"
However, around the 560th iteration, I was somewhat strong. Wouldn't it be happier to be kept under my protection as a regressor rather than surviving in that treacherous world?
Finally, I succeeded in collecting over three hundred authors. I ascended to become a master of Author-mon. The authors probably didn't know who took them, why, or where they were being dragged.
"Where is this?"
"Um... excuse me..."
"Oh, are you WritingSkillJunkie? Are you WritingSkillJunkie?"
"Ah, I knew it. It's WritingSlave-nim. We met briefly at that wedding last time, right?"
"YuriIntruderBug! You're here too!"
"Gasp, HaremPureLove hyung!"
Buzz buzz—
When I gathered hundreds of authors in a hotel lobby at once, naturally many people recognized each other. They couldn't hide their terror, yet they struggled to grasp the situation.
"But why exactly were we dragged here?"
"Did anyone hear an explanation?"
"Sorry. I suddenly passed out too, and when I woke up, I was here... I've already been here three days."
"Three days?"
"Oh, I've been here four days."
"Wow. That must have been so hard."
"Huh? Oh no? They serve nutritionally balanced meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the bedding is comfortable, and I don't even have to serialize daily, so it's actually really nice."
"......?"
"......?"
It was about time to explain.
"Ah, ah. Can you hear me—?"
I grabbed a microphone and stood on the check-in counter. Hundreds of gazes gathered toward me.
Actually, I just used an amplification spell to raise my voice—the microphone was purely decorative. Even so, standing before all these authors somehow made me feel like I should be polite.
After all, the 335 people kidnapped to this hotel were elites I had selected and selected again. Regardless of genre, regardless of age or gender, only authors who had made my heart race even once were gathered here.
"Hello. I am an Awakened with the alias Funeral Director. Some of you may have already guessed, but everyone gathered here is an author with a foot in the web novel industry."
Murmur murmur.
"Only authors?"
"Where is this place?"
"If there are only authors, this must be hell."
"Hey, you there holding the microphone! What exactly are you!"
I spoke gravely.
"As I mentioned, I am an Awakened with the alias Funeral Director. This is a hotel near Incheon. An incident occurred in Seoul and all the existing staff fled, but do not worry. I have already hired new staff, and they are all highly trained professionals."
I pointed to the far side of the lobby.
Twenty fairies wearing Che Guevara T-shirts snapped to attention and saluted. I returned the salute.
I had once been enemies with the fairies, but around the 560th iteration, I had established a very good relationship with the [Fairy Revolution Club]. I knew well what these creatures really were too.
"Given the circumstances, please rest assured."
"Crazy! They're fairies!"
"Kyaaaah! Someone help!"
The authors were not at all reassured.
There was a slight commotion and disturbance, but I suppressed it without any issue. 99% of the authors were existences far too small to cause physical events in the macroscopic world.
I grabbed the microphone again.
"Ah, ah. Microphone test. Unfortunately, you cannot escape. The hotel's main entrance is sealed. You can open the windows in each room and look outside, but you cannot cross over. Just like our lives, you see."
"Let us go!"
"You will not be released. The highly trained Fairy Revolution operatives will monitor you 24 hours a day."
"Crazy..."
"Who is that person? So scary..."
"Everyone. Let me ask you this first. Even if you could be released, do you truly intend to leave this place?"
Question marks seemed to float above the authors' heads. I decided to resolve their doubts immediately.
"As you may have seen on the news, the world is being destroyed to great acclaim. Monsters have appeared across the globe and Gates have formed. That's right. You are all thoroughly screwed."
"Uh..."
"The novel platforms that are your lifelines have become difficult to access. Even if you can connect, readers cannot purchase your writing. The banking system is collapsing. Soon the internet network will start being cut off entirely. In this situation, your writing skills are completely useless."
The truth always hits home.
The authors' complexions began to turn pale in earnest. After all, there were very many people here who started as authors with the mindset "I can make money just writing by myself without doing physical labor? Jackpot." Now all that jackpot had vanished.
"Even if you continue writing and publishing, there's still a problem. From now on, there's a 0.06% chance that a [Reincarnation Truck] will appear before readers of your work. In this era, novels are practically weapons themselves."
"Reincarnation Truck...?"
"He seems a bit mentally unstable."
The authors murmured, thinking I was spouting nonsense.
Hmm. No. The 'Reincarnation Truck' was a real anomaly.
It was first discovered in the 119th iteration, and sighting frequency had rapidly increased since.
Well, with the protective barrier I had applied to this hotel, even thousands of trucks couldn't break through, so it didn't matter either way.
"Then... why did you bring us here...?"
"Because I am your devoted reader."
I pointed at an author in the front row with my finger.
"You there."
"Y-yes?"
"You're BadEndingLover-nim, right? The one who only writes yuri on Novel Campus."
The author I pointed to was startled.
"H-how do you... know me...?"
"Didn't I tell you I'm a fan?"
"No, well. Thank you for saying that. But. Um. There's no way you could have read my novels... Even my most popular work has only 2,000 favorites and barely 100 views on the latest chapter..."
"Your first work's protagonist was a depression-fest where they suffered every possible misfortune in the world. But starting from your next work, you began incorporating no-romance elements, and recently you've succeeded in balancing the appeal of depressive works with the solidity of no-romance. Of course, in the very late stages, a supporting character suddenly spirals and becomes a couple with the protagonist in a pure love ending—but even that roughness, I think, is part of BadEndingLover-nim's charm."
"You really did read it...?"
The authors were horrified.
I pointed to the next people in turn.
"HeavenlyDemonIsOrthodoxMartialArts-nim. Someone who writes orthodox martial arts with a serious writing style in this day and age. In an era where the Heavenly Demon has become a cheap joke, the justice and honor you discuss always moves my heart."
"YellowDogTable-nim. In the romance fantasy market where every conceivable subject matter is being exhausted, you always attempt new approaches..."
"ILoveRiceCakes-nim. I know you rendered great service in expanding the horizons of the substitution genre, once called a stale genre. A novel where the protagonist is born as a Hungarian noble during World War I, becomes the last cavalry commander, and is praised as a loyal retainer of the Habsburg family. Immensely rare while simultaneously not sacrificing entertainment..."
When I had listed about thirty people.
The authors whose works I mentioned one by one wore moved expressions. Though for being moved, their faces turned quite red each time their pen names were called—regardless, by now no one in the hotel lobby doubted my sincerity.
"Wait a minute."
However, suspicion flowed in an unexpected direction.
The authors whispered. Their voices were as small as mosquitoes, but to my hearing, enhanced beyond human limits, I heard everything.
"So that reader eats yuri and TS works and pure love and harem and orthodox martial arts and fusion martial arts and depression and light depression and completed works and Mary Sue and all sorts of other genres too embarrassing to mention..."
"Eek, a monster..."
"Good heavens. How can such an indiscriminate palate exist?"
"Not Kim Reader, but Kim YellowDog..."
Hey now. These authors are smearing a precious reader's reputation.
I simply avoided snacks to maintain my mental health as a regressor. My tastes were very wholesome.
"I would like to express my feelings to everyone here, but due to time constraints, I'll omit that today."
"'Today'...?"
"Above all, there may be some authors here who don't want their preferred genres exposed in such a public place."
Several authors flinched.
"I'll invite those people separately sometime. Anyway, authors. Please think carefully. I am of course the perpetrator who kidnapped and imprisoned you here, but the world outside these blankets is dangerous. Do you have confidence you can survive in a world that is being destroyed in real time?"
The lobby grew quiet.
In reality, in iterations where I didn't bring them, half of them didn't survive even six months. The other half died within a year. At best, only about two survived relatively long.
"Here, you don't need to worry about survival. Food, clothing, shelter—I will provide everything. Even the fairies you so fear are merely staff at this hotel. There is only one thing you need to do. That is to write novels."
"......"
"You may continue serializing your existing works, or you may write your next project. Just write. In exchange, I will give you everything else."
At those words, the authors stirred.
"That's actually true. The country really did seem like it was going to collapse."
"I was originally planning to flee overseas, but I heard it's the same there and gave up. The language barrier too..."
"The food comes out as a buffet every day. It's not bad here!"
"Actually, thinking about other people who couldn't come here, maybe we're lucky..."
"Right. I wonder what happened to the other authors."
A positive atmosphere was flowing.
Then, suddenly, someone muttered to themselves:
"Wait, fuck. This is just canned goods, isn't it...?"
Hmm. There was someone quick to notice, but with the tide already determined, nothing would change.
From that day on, the group training camp miserable life of 335 people began being filmed.
An infinite regressor telling stories.