If you were told you could live a second life inside any fantasy world—

  and you could never leave—

  Which story would you choose?

  A grand adventure where you defeat a Demon King?

  A slow life in a peaceful village with magic and good food?

  A legendary tale where you become the strongest hero?

  …Or would you hesitate?

  Because I did.

  Not because I had something worth staying for.

  I didn’t.

  I was twenty-two.

  In debt.

  A university dropout.

  No job. No prospects. No real friends left to call.

  The kind of person people politely describe as “still figuring things out,”

  which is just a kinder way of saying already failed once.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  So when I imagined living in another world, I didn’t dream about glory.

  I didn’t want danger.

  I didn’t want tragedy.

  I didn’t want to struggle, grow, and “find meaning.”

  I was already tired.

  If I had to live somewhere forever, I wanted a world that was…

  Kind.

  A world where no one hurts anyone.

  Where laws are always followed.

  Where people help each other because they want to.

  Where your effort is measured not in money—but in the good you do.

  No wars. No cruelty. No despair.

  A world that runs like a perfectly balanced game system.

  One that quietly stops anyone from breaking it.

  A world safe enough that even someone like me could live without fear of ruining it.

  So I wrote it.

  I called it:

  “That Fantasy Novel You Would Want to Live In.”

  It was supposed to be fiction.

  Just a story I wrote to escape reality for a few hours at a time.

  Nothing more.

  …At least, that’s what I believed.

  Until the day a stray cat looked up at me and said:

  “Your world is ready.”