The Stories I Loved Refused to Choose Me, and That Was My Plan From the Beginning - Chapter 3: Task

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“W-Wait… hold on, Mr. God.”

“Yes?”
He tilted his head, genuinely curious. “Is something the matter?”

“Well… yeah,” I said, rubbing my temple, the headache finally catching up to me now that I wasn’t actively panicking.

“I’m still not over the part where you killed me. So let me get this straight, in your divine understanding, you murdered me because I insulted your work?”

“Indeed,” he replied calmly. “It is a sin to discriminate against the work of a god. Especially one whom I dedicated myself to, pouring my heart, my soul, my very existence into writing.”

As he spoke, he dramatically wiped at his eyes, sniffling far louder than necessary.

“…ISN’T THAT BULLSHIT?!”

The god visibly flinched, actually taking a step back like I’d just thrown a rock at his face.

“Y-Yes? What-?”

“No, no, no,” I interrupted, pointing straight at him. “First of all, Mr. ‘God,’ why is the divine literature of a literal god uploaded on some random website? And second, why on God’s green earth did you kill me over a stupid comment calling your novel trash?!”

He straightened immediately, posture stiffening. “That is an incredibly shallow way to phrase it.”

“Oh?” I crossed my arms. “Do tell me, then.”

He cleared his throat and looked away, coughing awkwardly. “I simply found the human world’s creativity… fascinating. Stories, emotions, love, despair. I was entertained. Inspired, even. So I decided to write one myself.”

“…You got bored.”

“I did not get bored,” he snapped, then hesitated. “…Perhaps a little.”

I sighed deeply, dragging my hand down my face. “And?”

“And do you know how much it hurts,” he continued, voice rising, “to see a comment like yours? To have something I gave my all to be torn apart like it meant nothing? I stayed awake for nights, Yuzu. Nights. Thinking about pacing. Symbolism. Emotional payoff!”

“…You used the word ‘payoff’ and still messed the story up.” I muttered.

“That is beside the point!”

I shook my head slowly. “For the record, I wasn’t the only one, you know. I was practically just another commenter. Your novel’s rating was, like, 3.4 out of 10. That’s not just me.”

His face went pale.

“…T-That can’t be true.”

He waved his hand. A glowing screen materialized in the air. His eyes scanned it rapidly, pupils shrinking with every passing second.

“Three point four…?” he whispered.

I crossed my arms. “See? Even the universe agrees with me.”

“T-There must be a mistake,” he said desperately, scrolling faster. “This reviewer didn’t understand the subtext. This one clearly lacks emotional maturity. And this, this one didn’t even finish chapter three!”

“That’s usually a sign,” I said flatly.

He clenched his fist. The screen shattered into particles of light. “They just didn’t understand it.”

I stared at him for a moment.

“…You know,” I said slowly, “that’s exactly what every bad author says.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

He went silent.

For the first time since I arrived here, wherever here was, the god didn’t look smug or amused. His shoulders slumped slightly, the overwhelming light around him dimming just a bit.

“I tried,” he muttered. “I followed the trends. The tropes humans love. The misunderstandings. The tragic endings. The unresolved feelings…”

“…And you forgot the payoff,” I said, quieter this time.

He looked at me sharply. “So you think I failed.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I do.”

The air shifted.

Not violently. Just heavily.

“And you believe that gives you the right to condemn it so cruelly?” he asked.

I met his gaze. “I believe stories matter. And if you’re going to play with people’s emotions, you should be ready to face the backlash.”

“…Even from a god?”

“Especially from a god.”

Another pause.

Then he laughed.

It wasn’t playful this time. It was low. Almost tired.

“You humans,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re merciless readers.”

“And you,” I shot back, “are a god with a fragile ego.”

That did it.

“So,” he said sharply, stepping closer. The air tightened instantly, invisible pressure crashing down on my chest, forcing the breath out of me. “Tell me, Yuzu. If you were the one inside those stories—if you were forced to face every route, every heroine, every ending you so confidently criticized, would you still be so sure of your judgment?”

“…What?” I frowned. “What are you even talking about?”

He straightened, hands clasped behind his back, pacing slowly like a judge savoring the moment before sentencing.

“You were quite vocal about endings,” he continued. “About wasted emotions. About how characters were treated unfairly. About how certain people were ‘robbed’ simply because they weren’t chosen.”

My brows furrowed. “…So?”

“So,” he stopped right in front of me, eyes glowing faintly, “how about I let you experience that unfairness?”

A chill ran down my spine.

“…Experience what, exactly?”

His lips curled, not cruelly, but knowingly.

“The stories you loved,” he said. “The romance novels you praised. The ones you defended so passionately. The ones you reread late at night, convincing yourself that the pain was ‘beautiful.’”

My heart skipped.

“…Hold on,” I said slowly. “How do you know that?”

He blinked once.

Then laughed.

“Dear Yuzu,” he said gently, almost fondly, “I am a god.”

He leaned closer.

“I know your entire life. Your habits. Your thoughts. Your embarrassing midnight reading sessions.” He snapped his fingers. “Including your top three favorite novels.”

Three glowing book covers appeared in front of me.

My favorites.

My stomach dropped.

“…No.”

“Oh yes,” he said cheerfully. “All romance. Romantic comedy. Slice of life. Fantasy romance. You adore them.”

Images flooded the air, confessions under cherry blossoms, laughter in school corridors, dramatic rain scenes, hands brushing accidentally before pulling away.

“You always sided with the ones who lost,” he continued. “The quiet ones. The childhood friends. The second male leads who stood by the heroine only to watch her choose someone else.”

My fists clenched.

“So,” he said softly, “you will become one of them.”

Silence stretched.

“…You’re joking,” I said.

“You will live inside those stories,” he replied. “Not as the protagonist.”

He met my eyes.

“But as the one who is never chosen.”

Something twisted in my chest.

“That’s insane,” I snapped. “Why would that be a punishment?”

And then I laughed.

It slipped out before I could stop it.

“Isn’t that a blessing?” I said suddenly. “You’re seriously asking me to experience fiction, for real?”

He frowned.

“Illustrations. Words. Feelings that only exist on paper, brought to life,” I continued. “That’s not hell. That’s a miracle.”

I forced a bitter smile outwardly.
Inside, though…

Heartbeat. Breath. Sky I can look at. Even if it hurts… I get to live it.

“I’ve spent my whole life wishing I could step through the screen,” I thought. “And now you’re telling me I can?”

The god tilted his head. “You believe suffering becomes beautiful simply because it is real?”

I swallowed.

“No,” I said quietly. “I think reality is beautiful because it can hurt.”

Something flickered across his face.

Interest.

He stepped closer. “So you truly believe this is a gift,” he said. “Even knowing you will never be chosen.”

My chest tightened.

“…How do you know which novels?” I asked suddenly. “The ones I care about.”

That finally made him smile properly.

A smile that didn’t belong on a human face.

“Dear Yuzu,” he said gently, almost fondly. “I am a god.”

The word echoed like a bell in my skull.

“I know your life from the moment you learned how to read. I know the nights you stayed awake rereading scenes you pretended not to care about. I know which characters you defended in comment sections you never posted.”

My stomach sank.

“I know your secrets,” he continued. “Your habits. Your quiet resentment toward happy endings that only favored one man.”

He leaned in.

“And yes, I know your top three novels.”

My throat went dry.

“All romance,” he said. “All romantic comedies. Slice of life. Soft worlds where the ending is inevitable.”

I clenched my teeth.

“You like them,” he said plainly. “Because they are kind. Predictable. Safe.”

“…And because they always leave someone behind,” I muttered.

The god’s eyes gleamed.

“Exactly.”

He straightened.

“So tell me,” he said. “What do you think of the second leads? The extras? The ones who loved quietly, lost gracefully, and vanished once the confession was complete?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I already knew.

“I intend to let you experience their fate,” he said.
“To stand where they stood. To feel what they felt. To smile while the story moves on without you.”

Silence stretched.

“…What about the ones who were invisible?” I asked quietly. “The extras who never even got a chance.”

The god’s smile widened.

“Oh,” he said softly. “They suffer the most.”

Something hit me then, so i asked curiously.

“Wait,” I said. “The first world, you said it’s one of my favorites.”

“Yes.”

“The childhood friends one,” I continued slowly. “The romcom. Just the male lead and female lead.”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

“There was no rival,” I said. “No second lead. No extra interfering.”

My brows knit together.

“So how do I fit?” I asked. “There’s no place for me, like how would i be involved..?”

The words left my mouth before my brain could stop them.

The moment they did…

Why did I say that?

My heart skipped.

What was i thinking!? should’ve stayed quiet. I could’ve just watched. Observed from afar, been invisible…

Instead me and my curious mouth had to say something..

The god’s expression didn’t change.

But his smile, It deepened. Slow.
Satisfied. Menacingly.

“Thank you,” he said.

“…For what?” I whispered.

“For pointing it out.”

My chest tightened.

“I will simply add a variable.”

The world seemed to tilt.

“A… variable?” I echoed.

“Yes,” he said. “You.”

He raised a hand, fingers snapping lightly.

“When you enter this world, no one will question your existence,” he continued.
“Their memories will adjust. Their pasts will bend.”

He leaned down until we were eye level.

“They will believe you were always there.”

My blood ran cold.

“The childhood friend who arrived too late,” he murmured.
“The presence that feels familiar… yet unnecessary.”

I felt sick.

I did this to myself.

The god stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back like this was all a casual discussion.

“To make things interesting,” he said, “I will give you an objective.”

My heart pounded.

“Each world will demand something from you,” he continued. “A choice. An action. A deviation.”

“And if I refuse?” I asked.

He looked at me.
Still smiling.

“If you fail.” he said calmly, “you will die.”

The word hit harder than any threat.

“Not immediately,” he added. “That would be boring.”

My breath shook.

“You will remain,” he said.
“Conscious. Hopeless. Trapped in the space between worlds.”

He paused.

“Or,” he said lightly, “you may choose the flames.”

I stared at him.

“…You’re insane,” I whispered.

He chuckled.

“No,” he replied. “I am fair.”

He turned away, voice echoing.

“After all, you wanted to know what it felt like.”

The light began to swallow everything.

“And now,” the god said, “you’ll live it.”

A phone dropped into my hands.

[World 1 — Progress: 0%]

“Welcome to your punishment, Yuzu.”

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