3:00 AM. The Official Mid-Check. And then, a sentence appeared in the manuscript—one he never wrote. '24.6% of the 3,870 subjects...'
[March 21, 2019. 2:58 AM] [Gosiwon, Room 206]
Yun-jae had drained two cans of coffee, but the exhaustion clung to him like a second skin.
On his laptop screen, more than half of the manuscript was polished.
Clean sentences. Plausible statistical structures. In short, a lie was being dressed in the fine robes of an 'Academic Thesis.'
Yun-jae took a deep breath. "Almost 3:00."
[03:00 AM] Beep. Beep. Beep. The bottom right of the screen flickered.
[Notification: Official Mid-Check Starting]
The entire screen went black in an instant. Then, the silhouetted man reappeared.
This time, he was closer. The shadow nearly filled the display.
"Writer A-73. We will now begin the Official Mid-Check."
Yun-jae gripped his mouse. "You already checked it once..." he muttered cautiously.
"That was a 'pre-check.' The official inspection starts now." The man’s tone was uncompromising.
"Open the file."
Yun-jae complied. The silhouette moved through the pages in silence, as if he wasn't even breathing.
Introduction. Chapter 1, 2, 3... Chapter 10...
The only sound in the cramped gosiwon room was the rhythmic scrolling. Suddenly, the man stopped at page 37.
"Here." At those words, a chill unlike any Yun-jae had ever felt raced down his spine.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
A single sentence hung in the center of the screen: 'The AFP levels of Patient Group B were four times higher than the normal range.'
The man spoke. "Writer A-73. Where did you get this figure?" "The original data was too weak... so I just..." "Just?"
The man zoomed in on the data. "Four times higher? Your evidence?" "..." Yun-jae swallowed hard. He had no evidence. It was a number he had 'fabricated' to look plausible, driven by the image of his father’s face and the surgery bills.
The man’s voice dropped to a low growl. "A-73. We did not commission a work of fiction."
The words hit Yun-jae with a weight heavier than the dark walls surrounding him.
But in that exact moment, the man hesitated.
"Wait." Yun-jae looked up. The man clicked on another page of the manuscript. Page 42.
Yun-jae stared at the screen, bewildered.
A sentence. One he had never written. '24.6% of the 3,870 subjects—'
Yun-jae asked, "What is this?" For the first time, the man’s voice wavered.
If there’s no trace of external intrusion, yet an edit history exists... this isn't network hacking. It’s the system itself running. The thought flashed through Yun-jae’s mind.
Author: Unknown Editor: None Input Time: 2019.03.21 02:11 AM
Yun-jae recalled his memory from an hour ago. "2:11 AM... I was in the middle of researching references then..."
The man fell silent.
That sentence hadn't been in the raw draft. And Yun-jae hadn't added it.
Yet, there it was, embedded in the file. The number. 3,870. It burned itself into his brain.
After a long pause, the man’s voice turned hushed. "Writer A-73." "Yes?" "Are you absolutely certain you’ve never seen this number before?" "Yes. I’m serious. This is the first time I’ve seen this sentence."
The man was silent for a much longer time than before. Then, he spoke.
"Fine. For now, continue the work." "Wait, what is this number?" "I cannot say. Just... keep working quietly."
His tone was far more cautious now, his breath ragged with a hint of suppressed fear. Then, the silhouette vanished from the screen.
[03:17 AM] Yun-jae looked down at his fingers, which felt frozen in time. Even when he reopened the file, the number 3,870 remained.
The sentence existed in the manuscript, despite him never having typed a single character of it.
He glanced at the laptop’s clock again. 03:17 AM.
In a voice barely audible, he whispered, "Who else... is writing this?"
In the silence of the room, only the thumping of his own heart filled his ears. 3,870. An unfamiliar number. But one that carried a dark, suffocating omen.
That number was transforming this 'ghostwriting gig' into something else entirely.
With hands that had gone cold, Yun-jae reached for the keyboard and continued.
[Next Chapter Preview]
Yun-jae discovers a 'second file' hidden within the USB that he was never supposed to open. 'log_asset_3870' A locked file. A deletion warning. And... a system that recognizes him.
In that moment, Yun-jae realizes...
just a little—
and the truth leaks through.
that moment is “3,870.”
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Let me know your theories.
Who— or what—wrote that sentence?
