Inside an Incomplete Novel

Sorrow, agony, torment, torture and all other cynical nouns can be used to describe the current moment of my life.

My teacher used to say," Don't get lost in your pain, know that one day your pain will be your cure.", but you know what? I need that cure now.

My mental state is at a crucial stage, that I need that cure for my survival. No one knew except my teacher that mentally I was twenty-eight.

The same teacher was in a grave in front of me.

Hollow and low-high frequency of thunder booms resounded in the sky, as I was looking at the ground with my hands in my pants pocket.

As the rain started to pour in a man emerged from the shadow a few meters from me on my left.

A telepathic message reached me, "Everyone is waiting for you, my liege. Your teacher also left some of his belongings which he wished for you to see."

I looked up and saw a figure standing a few meters away, with a straight posture and both hands held in a martial arts greeting position.

This world was reminiscent of the one I once lived in. The year was 1993, a time known as the golden era of the '90s.

Although the technology was not advanced, with no Bluetooth, Wi-Fi or touchscreens, the world was still filled with a golden hue.

However, the same demons and negative aspects of human nature still existed.

I acknowledged the figure before me with a nod, taking note of their expressionless eyes, and turned towards the exit.

As I began to walk away, I noticed a figure near the gate holding an umbrella, ready to offer it to me. However, I declined their offer with a shake of my head. I was not concerned about getting wet, as the rain was only a light shower. The figure then vanished into the shadows.

I cast one final glance back, then continued on my way towards the exit of the desolate graveyard.

I had been in seclusion until now, not because of my personality but to study and understand the world I now inhabit.

This task was made easier with the help of my teacher's possessions and my own abilities.

My suspicion that this world was novel was confirmed when I looked into Cypress Academy and found all the characters, including the main character.

The sound of car doors opening interrupted my thoughts. I looked up to see a convoy of three identical 1990 Rolls-Royces, surrounded by nineteen hummers on both sides, a display of immense wealth.

I took a seat in the back of one of the sedans and the doors closed. The vehicles then began to move forward, taking me to my next destination.

Next to me on the seat was an envelope and a black wooden box. I picked up the envelope, opened it, and found a sheet of paper with handwriting on it, along with another smaller envelope.

I grasped the sheet of paper and carefully pulled it out, using my left hand to straighten it.

'Listen, kid. Don't be an introvert after I'm gone, okay? I know you're 28 years old, but to a 52-year-old man like me, you'll always be a kid.

Okay, I'll admit, even though you look young, you can't do anything about that. You have the body of a 14-year-old. But just go to the academy and become an Auror, alright? I know you've been hiding your powers from your teacher all along, trying to figure out what kind of world you're in, but that aside, let's talk about something serious now.

I don't care if this world is novel. I just want to say one thing to you: if you ever feel uncomfortable here, just change it to what you want it to be.'

Well, I was gonna do that anyway. Thinking that I flipped the page backwards,

With a chuckle, I read my late teacher's lengthy will, in which he listed the names of 112 women he wanted me to compensate for any emotional distress caused by his death, despite none of them attending his funeral.

Despite the humour, I felt grateful to my teacher for the guidance he provided, even though he had slept with five of the main heroines' mothers.

Putting the will aside, I examined the smaller envelope with the Cypress Academy logo, which I assumed was my departure date letter. I set it aside and picked up the black wooden box.

*Click*

I had always known that my mother was a skilled weaver, and she had crafted these earrings with great care and love.

It was her way of staying connected with me even when we were apart. But when I arrived in this world, the earrings had been torn, and it was a cruel reminder of the separation I felt from her.

For years, I carried the broken earrings with me, hoping that one day I would be able to get them repaired.

And now, finally, I had succeeded. But as I held them in my hands, I realized that the repairs were not just physical.

They had brought back a flood of emotions that I had been trying to suppress for so long.

I remembered the warmth of my mother's embrace, the sound of her voice, and the way she would always reassure me that everything would be okay.