The Glitch In The Ceo's Script ♧ Yeongyu/Beomjun

The Last Boring Tuesday

The fluorescent lights of the convenience store hummed with a headache inducing buzz, a sound Choi Beomgyu had grown to loathe over the last six hours.

It was 3:17 AM on a Tuesday. The only customer in the store was a man in a rumpled suit asleep in the corner booth, snoring rhythmically against a stack of discarded newspapers.

Beomgyu slumped against the counter, his thumb mindlessly scrolling through the same three web novel apps on his phone. He was currently caught up in a particularly frustrating series titled The CEO's Frozen Heart.

"God, the pacing is ridiculous," Beomgyu muttered to the empty aisles, tapping his pen against the laminated countertop. "The male lead, Yeonjun, is such a one-dimensional stereotype. 'Cold, powerful, anti-romantic.' Literally, who writes this trash? It's like the author didn't even try to give him a hobby other than hoarding money and scowling."

He let out a long, dramatic sigh, leaning his chin into his palm. His life was the exact opposite of the high octane drama he was reading.

It was a cycle of inventory checks, lukewarm ramen, and the stifling, predictable monotony of his hometown. He had a degree he barely used and a future that felt like a straight, flat line drawn in pencil.

Beomgyu reached for his iced Americano, the plastic cup sweating onto the counter, and frowned at the screen again. The latest chapter ended with the protagonist getting into a car accident that would inevitably lead to a "fated" meeting with the CEO.

"Predictable," he scoffed, shaking his head. "If I were in that world, I'd at least have the decency to be unpredictable. Imagine just... walking around, doing whatever you want, ignoring the 'plot' just to see the author scramble to fix it."

He checked the store's security monitor. Nothing but static and the empty street outside. Rain began to lash against the glass storefront, turning the neon sign across the street into a blurry, bleeding smear of red and blue light.

Beomgyu stood up, stretching until his spine popped. He needed to restock the snack aisle, but as he turned toward the back, the air in the store suddenly shifted. The hum of the fluorescent lights deepened, dropping an octave until it vibrated in his teeth.

The sleeping man in the booth didn't wake up. In fact, he stopped snoring entirely.

Beomgyu froze. The world outside the window seemed to stutter. The rain didn't fall; it hung suspended in the air like diamonds caught in a web.

"Okay," Beomgyu whispered, his heart beginning to drum a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "That's a glitch. That is literally a visual glitch or I need some sleep."

He stepped toward the window, reaching out to touch the glass, but before his fingertips could make contact, the floor beneath him didn't just give way, it dissolved.

The linoleum turned to soft, gray static, and the familiar smell of floor wax was replaced by the ozone-sharp scent of something entirely synthetic and cold.

The last thing Beomgyu saw was his phone screen, still displaying the chapter about the car crash, before the floor dropped out and he plummeted into a darkness that felt suspiciously like paper and ink.