[The next round shall commence in:]
[27:53:18]
The hospital was silent and as bleak as Reverie had made it sound, thought Oliver as he set foot on the second storey.
A man with silver-rimmed glasses with a silver eyewear retainer and jet-black hair pushed the sleeves of his white button-up up until his elbows.
Then, breathing into his hands because of the chill, he pushed a gurney into an operating room.
He entered the operating room.
Once he left, there was now a person lying on the bed that was meant to transport patients.
Reverie lay motionlessly on the gurney with a bloody cheek wherein there were signs of a sharp puncture.
The arrow that had pierced him was thrown to the ground by the spectacled man was nowhere to be seen.
His name was Oliver Snape.
And he was one of the older readers of Imperfections of a Knight, often commenting under the username: John_is_Doe.
For months after the release of Imperfect Knight, he had kept the novel away from new readers. His methods were as follows: bashing the novel in forums, spreading misinformation of things that never happened in the novel, and not supporting the author at all.
He was afraid it would be taken away from him, for it was his precious and niche book.
Growing up, he only read textbooks that his uncle who took care of him since the death of his parents provided.
He was twelve when he realized there was more to the world.
A chestnut-haired boy of the same age as him, but acted more mature beyond his years, suddenly moved to the apartment next to them.
His uncle, despite Oliver’s wishes, introduced him to the new family next door.
He remembered it as clear as day.
"Oliver," said his uncle, beckoning him to greet them back and introduce himself. "This is Marilyn and Anthony Monroe."
Oliver was a puny child so he had to look up to face the neighbors, unknowing to him that there was a child behind them.
The man named Anthony Monroe was tall and chestnut-haired and had a smooth face with no facial hair. Marilyn Monroe was blonde and shorter than Anthony. She, recalled Oliver, was always seen wearing skimpy clothing.
But, despite their casual appearance, his uncle had told him that they were a family of tycoons. Meaning, it would do some good if Oliver made friends with their child.
The child was around the same age as him, but rather shorter and lanky.
The couple moved to the side so that they could make way for their child, introducing him.
"This is," said Anthony, touching the shoulders of the chestnut-haired boy. He looked very much like his father, "our son, Archie."
Unlike Oliver’s first thought upon meeting Archie, he had actually become quite close friends with him, this Archie.
Archie was clumsy and timid as a child, but as they grew he suddenly had a growth spurt in confidence as well as intelligence.
One day, a few years later, when both of them were at the age of seventeen, Archie hopped from their balcony to Oliver’s.
By then, his uncle got promoted and moved away while Oliver remained in Eisenblad.
"Oliver!" He struck the glass of the balcony’s sliding door.
He was asleep until Archie made a ruckus.
Awakening with a groan, he opened the door for Archie.
In the mild darkness, he glanced at the clock.
"It’s three in the fucking morning, Archie."
"There is no time!" said Archie, dramaturgically and hopping on his own bed, mind you. "At last!"
"What is it?"
"So," he said, putting his fingers on his chin as he feigned being in thought, "you are aware how I am in search of the pinnacle of fiction?"
Archie never consumed fiction before meeting Oliver. Like him, he only read textbooks, before discovering web novels. Because of that, he’d often go to Oliver’s room to borrow his computer before buying one himself.
That was one thing they had in common, Oliver thought.
"Yes, of course."
"I think I may just have found it."
Archie pulled himself into the seat before his desk where a computer was placed.
The thought of inventing portable computers was still nonexistent, at the time. It would only be invented two years afterwards.
Oliver looked from behind Archie.
"’Imperfections of a Knight...’"
He smirked, his teeth like a cat’s.
"Yes, yes, that’s it! Peak fiction, right there!"
Oliver read the synopsis.
«When the whole of The Federation was transmigrated to another world, leaving the citizens of their community confused, Benedict Ian Leyendecker was still on the moon. Once he had returned, he is forced to play a game akin to his former world’s floor levels. Now, he will go through each round in hopes that he may come back home alongside his comrades»
It was a vague blurb. It lacked a hook.
He massaged his temples, and sighed.
"You woke me up for this generic story?"
"Come on, Oliver!" Archie whined, spinning on the wheeled chair to face him. "Don’t judge when you haven’t read it yet!"
"Fine. I’ll read the first few Chapters." He paused. "It can’t be that good anyway."
And Oliver was right.
There were multiple grammatical errors and the wrong tenses came once in a while.
Though there were some minor inconsistencies and the story became incredibly gory at times, explaining the wounds or injuries too clearly, it was decent for an author’s first novel.
The website where it was posted was long demolished and terminated.
What’s more is that most cell towers had been destroyed by the coming of the rounds, so Oliver couldn’t reread or pirate a copy of it to understand what was happening.
He always had a good memory, thus being able to understand the moment it came to life in the 0th round.
But since he had never read further than ten Chapters, he had regretted not listening to Archie.
I wonder what he’s doing right now, thought Oliver as he stitched together the tissues of the skin of Reverie’s cheek.
He looked down at Reverie’s face.
As he slept, he really didn’t look like an angel. More of a delinquent.
So, this was him.
The web novelist, Angel Sick of Their Own Skin.
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I am so so sorry for messing up this month’s privilege!!! I thought that it was just saving it. Please wait for next month’s privilege if you wish to read more. Thank you for supporting my dreams