Chapter 1: Tutorial (1)

“I’m dropping this.”

I wrote exactly that on the fifth chapter of a newly launched webnovel. The reason was simple: Clichéd regression, clichéd status window, clichéd fortuitous encounter, and clichéd development.

I only read the five free chapters, but the unfolding plot was painfully predictable.

The protagonist would get stronger, meet the heroine, have some cute moments, and then, like chugging a carbonated drink, slice and dice the villains and final boss.

I hated it, so I left a comment. Of course, I know comments like this can be a nuisance to authors.

Negative comments early in a launch can be especially troublesome, particularly for new authors.

However, I had my reasons for leaving this comment.

First, this author was a veteran with nine published works. Each one easily exceeded 400 chapters, marking them a veteran of long-form novels.

My second reason was that I was a genuine fan.

When I first read this author’s debut novel, I was so moved and touched that I clutched my balls and wailed to the heavens.

The same went for their second and third works. So, I naturally assumed the fourth would be just as captivating.

However, after the sudden hiatus of the fourth novel, the author seemed to lose their unique touch starting with the fifth.

Somewhere along the line, the protagonist forgot how to introspect, and the vibrant storytelling and prose faded.

High expectations lead to great disappointment, as they say. This author used to write amazing novels.

That’s why I persevered and read the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth novels to the end, even though they were nothing more than generic stories.

I held onto the hope that with gained popularity and experience, they might rediscover their original flair.

And the result? Sir Alex Ferguson and the coaching staff secured another victory.
This guy hadn’t just compromised with current trends—he’d been completely consumed by them.

I couldn’t bring myself to read any further after five chapters dedicated solely to regression and showing off the protagonist’s status window.

My three-word comment on the fifth chapter was my own way of declaring a breakup. We had a time together, let’s never meet again.

With that resolve, I prowled the platform looking for something interesting to read.

That’s when it happened.

Ding.

A notification popped up shortly after, informing me of a reply to my comment. Shockingly, the reply was from none other than the author.

‘What’s gotten into this guy?’

It was truly unexpected. This author had never replied to a reader’s comment before.

Charitable interpretation: Taciturn. Uncharitable interpretation: Pretentious

In any case, the pretentious
had replied to me.

– “Dropping the novel is fine, but could you at least tell me why?”

Asking for feedback now? The audacity was astounding. I had left thoughtful reviews at the end of every single one of this author’s works.

From the debut novel that had me clutching my balls and wailing, to the bland and uninspired eighth novel.

I had written eight reviews, each time expressing anticipation for the next work. If a novel was good, I hoped for an even better sequel. If it was subpar, I waited for improvements.

But this was the result. I craved a craft beer of a novel, with a balanced blend of fizz and flavor. Instead, I got a mass-produced soda spiked with citric acid, the fourth one in a row.

– “I’ve given you plenty of feedback already. It’s enough. I’m dropping this.”

– “But the feedback you’ve given is unusable.”

– “If it’s unusable, then maybe that’s where we stand.”

It felt like we were talking in circles.

A reader yearning for the author’s past brilliance, and an author refusing to return to their roots.

If we couldn’t find common ground, those three words, “I’m dropping this,” would remain etched in the comment section.

– “That kind of comment isn’t helpful. It seems like you’re just taking your frustration out on me.”

Well, maybe it was frustration. I felt betrayed by the unmet expectations I had placed on the author. From their perspective, it might have seemed like I was venting.

So, I figured I might as well be a little more blunt.

– “You’ve lost your touch. That’s why I’m dropping this.”

The author’s debut novel was a masterpiece, deeply moving and resonant. The second and third novels, influenced by the first, clearly showed meticulous effort.

The fourth novel, the one that went on hiatus, demonstrated a clear attempt to blend current trends with the author’s unique style.

But after the fifth novel, the author changed.

As if their original vision was a shackle, they discarded their beliefs and values like worn-out shoes. Meaningless emptiness filled the void left by their once-sparkling passion.

“No reply?”

Perhaps I had struck a nerve, because the author, who had been replying with lightning speed, remained silent. So, I moved on.

There’s no point dwelling on a relationship that has run its course. As bedtime approached, a belated reply finally arrived.

– “Are you so sure you haven’t lost your touch?”

A provocative question. But as a seasoned veteran of internet arguments, it was a predictable development.

– “Why? If I say yes, are you going to transport me into your novel world or something?”

Silence again. Another bullseye, it seemed. I decided to ignore it.

I started reading another novel and eventually fell asleep.

“Son of a b*tch.”

My first words upon waking were a string of curses. I had opened my eyes not in my bed, but in a plaza.

“Where am I?”

“Hey! Stop messing around!”

“I have an important meeting today!”

I wasn’t the only one dragged here in the middle of the night. Others were also raising their voices, their faces etched with anger.

“Sigh…”

The plaza quickly erupted in commotion. Listening to their predictable complaints, I felt a headache coming on, anticipating the equally predictable events about to unfold.

Whenever a crowd of people found themselves inexplicably gathered in a mysterious plaza, brimming with discontent, one thing was certain to follow.

“Hello everyone!”

A childlike voice echoed across the plaza. The peculiar thing was that it seemed to originate from somewhere above.

“…A fairy?”

“Hey! Change us back!”

“Send us home!”

The source of the voice was a staple of tower-climbing narratives: the
Tutorial Fairy.

Or, for short, the Tutorial.

It looked like Tinkerbell from Peter Pan, but if it truly possessed Tinkerbell’s temperament, it wouldn’t have earned such a derogatory nickname.

I would bet my left that from this point forward, the events would unfold with the predictable monotony of a copy-paste sequence.

First, Extra #1 would appear, challenging the fairy.

“God! Send me back where I belong!”

Extra #1 would pick up a rock and hurl it at the fairy, resorting to violence.

“You little insect.”

The enraged fairy, like Garrosh after a brawl with Thrall, would then turn Extra #1 into a crispy, barbecued chicken.

“Take this!”

“Aaaaagh!”

“The fairy killed him!”

Sure enough, with a mere point of the fairy’s finger, a bolt of lightning descended from the clear sky, striking Extra #1.

“Quiet! Everyone be quiet! Anyone else want a taste of electricity, speak up!”

The plaza was instantly silenced, filled with a mixture of fear and awe. They finally realized that the fairy was not only more powerful but also far from friendly.

“Good. Now that everyone understands their place, isn’t this much better? From now on, I’ll explain everything for those of you who are confused about being dragged to this strange place.”

It was time for the fairy’s exposition dump. It would explain where we were, how screwed we were, and that we had to conquer this place to escape, laying out the basic premise before telling us what to do next.

“This is the Tower of Proof! And all of you, summoned from different dimensions, are climbers who must conquer this tower!”

The Tower of Proof. The name was first mentioned in the third of the five free chapters I had read. I knew three things about it.

First, as the fairy had just explained, people from all sorts of dimensions were brought to the Tower of Proof.

Right now, there were only Koreans around, but as the story progressed, the chances of encountering foreigners, otherworlders, or even aliens were high.

“I know, it might seem daunting right now. But here’s some good news! Anyone who conquers the tower up to the 100th floor can have any wish granted! No matter how
or difficult it gets, just keep that wish in mind and keep struggling!”

That was the second thing I knew. Those who conquered the tower could have their wishes fulfilled. Another common cliché in tower-climbing narratives.

Once inside the Tower of Proof, there was no returning to normal life. So, people would climb and climb, striving to reach the 100th floor.

And in that process, countless elbow drops and ladder kicks would undoubtedly occur.

Which brings me to the third thing I knew: The protagonist and regressor of this novel, Lee Han-seong, had already conquered 99 floors of the Tower of Proof.

And now, in his second life, he would exploit his foreknowledge of the tower to ruthlessly employ those elbow drops and ladder kicks.

Having reached that point in my thoughts, I had a general idea of what to do. The best bus to ride was the regressor bus, after all. So, connecting with the regressor was key.

“Now, I’ll explain the status window! The status window visually displays your ability parameters and skill proficiency, making it easy to manage!”

While I was lost in thought, the fairy began explaining the status window.

Right, the status window. Crucial. In extreme situations like this, having a means to quickly gain power was a relief.

“So, how do you access the status window? Simple! Just call out ‘Status Window!’ with all your heart!”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Did we really have to shout it out loud? This was humiliation on a whole new level. But if it meant survival, I was willing to do anything.

“Status Window!”

“Status Window?”

Following the fairy’s instructions, voices calling out “Status Window” echoed throughout the plaza.

Some shouted with fervent anticipation, while others uttered the words hesitantly, filled with doubt.

“Status Window.”

Many people called out, each with their own unique hopes and desires. And I was one of them.

With a flicker of anticipation, I quietly murmured the two words. As if in response, a blue window appeared before me.

[Status window access denied due to ‘Curse: Proof of Beginner’s Mind’.]

…

I’m f*cked!