One day, an email landed in my inbox. The sender wanted to know if he could remake my novel. At the time, I was dumbfounded. My novel was on hiatus, sure, but it was still in paid serialization. Who asks to remake a story that isn't even finished? Of course, I refused. Or rather, I didn’t even bother to reply. Part of it was the obvious copyright infringement, but mostly, I was just ashamed. Ashamed of being on hiatus in the first place. My novel wasn't a cultural phenomenon, but it was popular enough—the biggest hit of my five-year writing career. But by the time that email arrived, my hiatus had stretched to three months. The reason was simple: the words just wouldn't come. In the beginning, I had written with pure passion. My personal notes on the world-building alone were tens of thousands of words long, and I poured my soul into every single chapter. But after a year of nonstop writing, I fell into a terrible slump. I forced myself to continue for another six months, pushing the story into its mid-to-late stages. But writing through sheer willpower had riddled the plot with holes, and the characters themselves began to break down, their personalities collapsing under the strain. Unsurprisingly, the readers started dropping off, day by day. I became too scared to even look at the comments section. In the end, I chose to go on hiatus. No matter how long I rested, however, I couldn't find a way to continue the story. Not a single sentence would form in my mind. It was while I was wallowing in misery, crushed by the realization of my own lacking skill, that a second email arrived. "Please. This is just for my own satisfaction. I won't show the remade version to anyone. It'll be just between you and me. Who knows? Maybe my version will give you the inspiration you need to continue the story..." It was a fairly long email, six sentences in total, but the request was simple. He wanted to remake my novel purely for himself. Just how much did he have to like my story to send an email like that? Feeling a strange mix of gratitude and shame for my lackluster work, I agreed. Looking back… could that have been what led to this? They say the odds of winning the lottery are one in 8,145,060. The odds of what was happening to me right now had to be closer to one in seven billion. I was standing in what looked like an ordinary family home. But this world wasn't my world, and I was no longer ‘me.’ That might sound philosophical, but it wasn’t. It was the most literal way to describe my situation. I had become an extra in my own novel. An extra I had no memory of ever writing. This character, Hajin, lived in a normal apartment, but he had no parents. As for why, I had no earthly idea. At nine years old, Hajin had been admitted to the ‘Hwarang Akademi,’ an institution that nurtured elites to fight monsters and Magwi. What kind of ability did Hajin possess to pass such a difficult entrance exam? I didn't know a single thing about him. I didn't even know his face. I'm not kidding. When I looked in the mirror… That's what I saw. A blank oval with a question mark floating in the middle. This insane transmigration—or body possession, whatever you want to call it—made no sense at all. I had gone to bed like any other night, but when I woke up, I was here, on the last day of the semester at the Hwarang Akademi. At first, I had two theories. The first was that this was some elaborate prank. That idea lasted all of five seconds. It was so ridiculous I can’t even be bothered to explain why. The second was that I was dreaming. But that theory fell apart on its own. People in dreams rarely suspect they're dreaming, and more importantly, no dream I'd ever had lasted for two weeks with this crushing sense of reality. As a result, I’d spent the last two weeks debating whether to treat this ‘world inside the novel’ as my new reality. Just as I had for the past two weeks, I was lying in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, when my smartphone alarm blared to life. I glanced at the screen. It was time to go to school. “Why the hell do I have to go to school?” The graduation ceremony for the Hwarang Akademi was thirteen days ago. But that was only for the non-combatant cadets, who couldn’t really be called Heroes. The combat cadets had to attend for another three years. Those three years would be spent at a place called [Cheong-un], a proper Yeong-ung Akademi. Unfortunately, this damned Hajin guy was a combat cadet. And again, I had absolutely no memory of him. “Ugh… this is so frustrating.” I had done almost nothing for two weeks. I spent most of my time online, ate when I was hungry, searched for a way out of this world, got sidetracked by surprisingly funny variety shows, ate again when I got hungry… In any case, the only noteworthy thing I'd done was travel to Seoul two days ago for the three-hour ‘Cheong-un Entrance Ceremony’. I hadn’t wanted to go, but I was told I’d be expelled if I didn’t attend, so I had no choice. “I know I probably have to go, but…” I couldn’t begin to guess who put me here, for what reason, or with what kind of power. But after two weeks of idle living, I was starting to reluctantly accept my fate. It seemed I was going to be living this way for a long time. In that case, I at least needed to figure out how to make a living. In the world I'd written, being a ‘Yeong-ung’ was the ultimate dream job. Things got serious later on with the appearance of the Villains, but my hiatus began not long after that point in the story. I just had to survive until then. When the time came, I was sure I’d figure something out. School started in fifty-seven minutes. I dragged myself out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. Standing before the mirror, Mr. Question Mark greeted me again. “…Screw this question mark. Is it ever going to go away?” My face was, without exaggeration, a question mark. I had no idea why. It couldn't be because I hadn't described his face; if that were the reason, then billions of other people in this world shouldn't have faces either. So why was only Hajin’s a question mark? Muttering to myself, I washed my face. I could feel the skin, the texture of my hair. The tactile sensation where a face should be only made it creepier. After cleaning myself up, I changed into the Cheong-un uniform I’d received at the entrance ceremony. I had no other luggage to pack. Anyone else who saw me in this uniform would undoubtedly stare with envy. But I had no idea what I was doing. My face was a literal question mark. How was I supposed to figure anything out when I couldn't even see myself? With my hand on the doorknob, I glanced back one last time. My home for the past two weeks. The apartment I had barely managed to find thanks to the address on my cadet card. It seemed I'd grown attached to it, even in this short time. I had a feeling I would miss it. Cheong-un was an island floating in the middle of the East Sea. Once I left, I probably wouldn’t be coming back. Leaving the spacious apartment I'd been so happy to find, I stepped out into a dark and unfamiliar world.

Chapter 2: My Soul Went Quiet