Elias Graves learned long ago that being silent and mediocre was safer than explanation.
The office was loud, but none of that noise belonged to him. Keyboards clacked in uneven rhythms, phones rang in the entire office room, printers keep moving, and somewhere behind him, two colleagues whispered just loudly enough for him to hear.
He sat at his desk a little sleepy and tired with a cup of coffee in his hand. His eyes lowered toward the document open on his screen, even though he had already read it five times.
"Elias."
His supervisor's voice cut through the air like a blade. Elias stood immediately. "Yes, sir."
Mr. Carter slapped a stack of papers onto the desk with unnecessary force. "Explain this."
Elias leaned forward, eyes scanning the documents. He recognized them instantly—project reports, revised schedules, email approvals. His name was there, highlighted in yellow, circled in red ink like a crime scene.
"There was a delay because the data from the finance department arrived late," Elias said calmly. "I sent a follow-up email on Tuesday and—"
"So now you're blaming other departments?" Mr. Carter snapped.
Elias paused. "No, sir. I'm explaining the process."
A scoff answered him.
"Excuses," Mr. Carter said, loud enough for the entire open office to hear. "You young people always have excuses. Do you know how bad this makes the team look? Do you know how much trouble I got because of this?"
Elias swallowed. Around him, people pretended not to listen. Some stared at their screens with sudden interest.
Others watched openly, curiosity mixed with relief that it wasn't them standing there.
"I take responsibility," Elias said. "If you want, I can work overtime to—"
"That's not the point," Mr. Carter interrupted. "The point is, you're unreliable."
The word landed heavier than the others. Unreliable but Elias nodded slowly. "Understood."
Mr. Carter sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples as if Elias had personally shortened his lifespan. "Just fix it. And next time, think before you act. You're not as clever as you think you are."
When the supervisor finally walked away, the tension lingered. Someone snorted quietly. Another whispered, "Poor guy. Again."
Elias sat back down.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unmoving. He stared at the screen until the words blurred together, then minimized the document and opened a blank page instead. His reflection stared back faintly from the dark surface of the monitor—tired eyes, neat hair, expression carefully neutral.
He did not look angry.
That was a skill he had learned early. To hide your emotions.
By the time work ended, the sky outside the office building had already darkened. Elias packed his bag methodically, checked that his desk was clean, and left without saying goodbye to anyone.
No one noticed.
The train ride home was crowded and quiet. Elias stood near the door, one hand gripping the overhead strap, the other holding his phone. Advertisements flashed past the windows like fleeting thoughts.
He got off three stops later and walked the familiar route home, passing convenience stores, dimly lit cafes, and apartment blocks that all looked the same after a while.
His apartment building was old, the kind that smelled faintly of dust and damp concrete. The elevator was broken again, so he took the stairs.
Fourth floor.
His door creaked when he unlocked it. Inside, the apartment was small but clean. A narrow kitchen, a modest living area, a bedroom just big enough for a bed and a desk. Elias placed his bag down, removed his shoes, and loosened his tie with a quiet sigh.
He cooked instant noodles for dinner. While the water boiled, he leaned against the counter and stared at nothing in particular.
The day replayed itself in fragments—Mr. Carter's voice, the whispers, the word unreliable. None of it surprised him.
After eating, Elias washed his bowl, dried it, and placed it carefully back into the cabinet. He checked his phone. No new messages. No missed calls.
As expected. Compared to his surgeon brother, his parents barely acknowledge him.
He changed into comfortable clothes and sat on his bed, picking up his tablet from the nightstand. The screen lit up immediately, revealing the cover of a web novel he had been reading obsessively for years.
A horror-fantasy series.
Elias liked stories where the world was cruel but realistic about it. Where monsters looked like monsters, and survival meant something. It was easier to accept fear on the page than disappointment in real life. He opened the latest chapter.
At first, he frowned.
Then his brows drew together.
"What…?" Elias murmured.
The protagonist—the character he had followed through hundreds of chapters—was losing. That alone wasn't strange. Struggle was part of the story. But this time, the writing felt rushed. The pacing was wrong. Allies died off-screen. The final battle was messy, desperate, and unfair in the worst way.
"No, no, wait," Elias whispered, scrolling faster.
The protagonist fell.
The chapter ended.
That was it.
No resolution.
No meaning.
Just death.
Elias stared at the screen for a long time.
"…You're kidding me."
He refreshed the page. Nothing changed.
His chest felt tight. "After all that?" he muttered. "That's how you end it?"
Anger bubbled up, sharp and sudden. Not the loud kind—the quiet kind that burned deeper.
Elias opened the comment section and typed furiously.
Are you serious? You build him up for hundreds of chapters just to kill him like this? Do you even know what you're writing anymore?
He deleted it.
Typed again.
This ending is trash. Absolute trash. The protagonist deserved better. You ruined your own story.
He hesitated.
Then added one last line.
I swear, if I ever end up in your world, I'd do a better job than you.
He sent it. Immediately, he regretted it."…Tch."
Elias put the tablet aside and rubbed his face. The anger drained away, leaving behind a familiar hollowness. It was just a story. Getting this worked up over fiction was stupid yet, he felt betrayed.
His stomach growled. He glanced at the clock. "…I'm still hungry."
Grabbing his wallet and phone, Elias slipped on his shoes again and left the apartment. The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of rain and street food. The convenience store was only a short walk away, just across the main road. The convenience store's automatic doors slid open with a soft chime.
Elias stepped inside, greeted by fluorescent lights that were a little too bright and a little too cold. The store smelled faintly of instant food, coffee, and disinfectant—clean, artificial, familiar. It was quiet at this hour, only one or two customers wandering the aisles, their footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.
He walked straight toward the refrigerated section, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly slumped. After a moment's thought, he grabbed a sandwich, a bottle of tea, and a pack of onigiri. His stomach growled again, impatient.
At the counter, the cashier looked up. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, wearing the store's green apron and a tired smile that looked practiced but not fake. Her hair was tied back loosely, a few strands escaping near her cheeks. When she met Elias' eyes, she blinked, then smiled a little wider.
"Good evening," she said. "That'll be seven fifty."
Elias placed the items on the counter and nodded. "Evening."
As she scanned the items, she glanced at him again. Her brown eyes bend softly as she asked. "…Long day?"
Elias paused, fingers tightening slightly around his wallet. He replied quietly. "…Yeah,"
He looked up again, mildly confused. She shrugged, as if brushing off her own words. "Sorry. Just… you come here often, right?"
"…Sometimes," Elias said. "When I forget to eat."
She laughed softly. "You office workers are all the same."
"Guess so."
She placed his items into a plastic bag and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed briefly. Elias barely noticed.
"Work trouble?" she asked, tone casual, but her eyes sharp.
Elias hesitated. Then he nodded. "Something like that."
"Boss?"
"Yes."
She winced sympathetically. "Figures."
He almost smiled.
"…They blamed you for something again?" she continued.
Elias froze."…Again?"
She blinked. "Ah—sorry. That just slipped out."
He studied her more closely now. "Have we talked before?"
The cashier met his gaze steadily, her smile unchanged. "Maybe. Maybe not."
That was an odd answer. Elias frowned faintly. "You talk like you know me."
"Do I?" she asked lightly.
"…Feels like it."
She tapped the counter thoughtfully. "Maybe I just see a lot of people."
A brief silence settled between them. The hum of the refrigerator units filled the space.
"You know," she said suddenly, lowering her voice, "people like you usually don't stay ordinary for long."
Elias stiffened. "…What?"
She laughed, quick and light. "Sorry, that came out weird."
He forced a small smile. "Yeah. A little."
She leaned closer, resting her elbows on the counter, eyes reflecting the harsh fluorescent light in an unreadable way. "But really. You give off that feeling."
"What feeling?"
"Like you're standing on the edge of the world."
Elias felt a chill crawl up his spine. "That's… very vague," he said.
"Life usually is."
He exhaled slowly. "I think you're giving me too much credit."
"Maybe," she said. "Or maybe you're giving yourself too little."
He looked away. "I'm just an office worker."
"For now," she replied.
That word lingered. Elias laughed awkwardly. "You make it sound like I'm about to get hit by a truck or something and become some protagonist in another world."
The cashier's smile faltered. Just for a second. "…Let's hope not," she said.
He didn't notice the way her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter.
"Well," Elias said, lifting the bag slightly, "thanks. And… thanks for listening."
"Anytime," she replied.
He turned to leave, but paused when she spoke again. "Elias."
He turned back, startled. "Yes?"
She tilted her head, voice barely above a whisper. "Try not to curse us, writers too much."
His blood ran cold. "…Excuse me?"
But she had already turned away, pretending to rearrange items behind the counter.
Elias stood there for a moment, heart beating faster than it should have.
I'm overthinking, he told himself.
He pushed the door open and stepped back into the night. The automatic doors closed behind him with a soft chime.
The cashier looked up. Through the glass, she watched Elias walk toward the crosswalk, unaware.
"…Interesting," she murmured.
The lights flickered. Outside, a horn blared. She watch her novel comments section. What can she do? That world already shattered and her only reader are cursing at her. Well, perhaps he can do it better.
Meanwhile, the streetlight flickered as Elias approached the crosswalk.
Elias checked his phone absently, mind still stuck on the novel, on that unfair ending, on wasted potential.
He stepped forward. Pain exploded through his body, sharp and overwhelming, knocking the breath from his lungs. The world spun violently, sound stretching into something distant and distorted.
He hit the ground.
His vision blurred. The last thing he saw is the girl, the cashier looking at him, smiling apologetically while calling him a protagonist. Elias didn't know what does it mean. He just know one thing.
So this is it, Elias thought vaguely. What a stupid way to—
Darkness swallowed him whole.
And then—
Nothing.