Luna blinked at the sun like it owed her money.
Her curtain was open just a crack, and even that tiny sliver of light felt aggressive. The room smelled like instant noodles and overdue responsibility. Her fan spun weakly in the corner, wheezing like it was about to retire.
She hadn't left the house in three days. Or maybe four.
Time got weird when all your meals came from the microwave and your only social interaction was with fictional characters who defeated gods with friendship and a conveniently timed power-up.
She flopped back on her bed.
The phone was under her pillow, exactly where she'd left it last night. Luna dragged it out like it was Excalibur. Her lock screen was a cursed screenshot from a manhwa she hate-read out of spite. It made her laugh every time.
7:13 AM.
What kind of psycho hour was that?
She hadn't even meant to stay up that late, but there was something evil about webnovels. Every time you promised yourself, "one more chapter," you woke up in the apocalypse with no job, no sleep, and eye bags you could carry groceries in.
Her notification bar looked like a war zone:
3 missed calls from her mom
6 unread messages from a group chat called "Weirdos Who Still Read Trash"
And a fresh update from that one series she swore she'd drop three arcs ago.
[New Chapter Available] "I Got Reincarnated as a Vending Machine in a Cultivator World (and Accidentally Became the Sect Master's Wife)."
She stared at it for five solid seconds.
"…why am I still here?" she whispered.
And yet—tap.
One hour later, she was still in bed, curled in the exact same position, hair a chaotic halo around her head, phone at 7% battery.
The MC had now gained three wives, absorbed two forbidden techniques, and was apparently the long-lost reincarnation of a popsicle from the God Era.
Luna closed the app.
She needed a break.
From the internet. From fiction. From herself.
She sat up. Groaned. Something in her spine cracked like a stuck door.
She shuffled to the mirror. Big mistake.
She looked like the physical manifestation of sleep paralysis. Hoodie: wrinkled. Hair: probably sentient. Glasses: askew. Face: tragic.
She sighed, then grabbed the hoodie's hood and dragged it over her head like she was trying to disappear.
Her stomach made a threatening noise.
She opened the fridge. Instant regret. One slice of questionable pizza, two half-empty water bottles, and a Tupperware of... something.
Her gaze drifted to her wallet. Then to the door.
Then back to her hoodie.
Going outside was illegal, right?
It took 27 minutes to mentally prepare. She brushed her teeth. Washed her face. Tied her hair back. Argued with herself in the mirror.
Then finally stepped out.
The sun was evil. The air was sticky. And she had forgotten what it felt like to wear real pants.
But here she was.
Alive. Outside. Probably regretting it.
She made a beeline for the 7-Eleven down the street, sunglasses on like a hungover celebrity, earbuds in with no music playing, just to avoid interaction.
Inside, glorious cold air wrapped around her like a hug from God.
She took her time. Browsed the instant noodles like she was judging Michelin stars. Grabbed her go-to brand, a soda, and some seaweed chips she always hated but kept buying because the packaging looked aesthetic.
At the counter, the cashier didn't even blink.
Just scanned. Beep. Beep. Total.
Luna paid in coins.
"Thanks," she mumbled.
"Mm."
Social interaction: complete.
She sat outside on the curb. The pavement was warm, but not unbearably so. She sipped her soda and watched a crow steal someone's leftover hotdog bun.
The sky was kind of nice.
Pinkish. Like a screensaver.
She took a deep breath.
Regretted it. Someone nearby was smoking.
She coughed once for dramatic effect and stood up.
That was enough nature for the day.
Back in her room, the silence was loud.
She put the snacks away. Sat at her desk. Opened her laptop.
It took ten minutes to boot. She stared at the empty desktop like it owed her money.
There was a folder labeled "Resume 2023 FINAL FINAL (Really This Time)" but she ignored it.
Instead, she opened Chrome.
Typed: "Top 10 trash webnovels you'll hate yourself for loving."
Clicked the first link.
Scrolled.
Stopped.
#4: "I Was Reincarnated As a Toilet Seat in a Girls' Academy."
"…I give up."
She found it on the app in less than 30 seconds.
She wasn't proud.
But pride was a luxury she'd thrown away a long time ago—right around the time she binge-read 700 chapters of a system novel where the MC's only skill was "Talking to Furniture."
Midnight came faster than expected.
She was back in bed. Phone now at 4%. Noodles uneaten. Laptop still open to an untouched Google Doc.
She stared at the blank screen. The cursor blinked. Mocking her.
She didn't want to write. Or apply for jobs. Or clean. Or sleep.
But she also didn't want to not do those things.
So she just lay there.
Phone on her chest. Screen dimming.
She scrolled one last time.
Found a new update:
Chapter 1039 – "The Demon King Proposed to Me (Again)"
She tapped it.
Then whispered to no one:
"This is peak fiction."
And kept reading.