The black door, the flickering screen, the oppressive white lights—nothing physically changed. But Yun-jae knew. The mechanism had been triggered.
The laptop screen transformed. The options vanished, replaced by a single, high-priority file.
[REWRITE TARGET – STAGE 1]
Yun-jae’s breath hitched. Below the title was a code he knew all too well.
[ 3870-09 ]
It was the same number he had first heard when he entered this labyrinth. A code he had dismissed as a mere serial number. But now, the reality sank in.
The 9th person among the 3,870. There were others who had sat in this room before him.
The document began to scroll automatically, revealing its contents.
[Victim Statement. Evidence List. Prosecutor’s Opinion.]
Every sentence was familiar. Every paragraph was a ghost from his past.
"…This is," Yun-jae’s voice cracked, "a case I handled."
"Precisely, A-73," A-12’s voice cut through the silence. "The case you recorded, judged, and closed."
The cursor stopped at a line highlighted in bold.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
[Grounds for Judgment: Insufficient Evidence]
Yun-jae’s eyes locked onto those words. "This… this was the truth."
A-12 didn't argue. Instead, he asked in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper, "If it was the truth, then why do three different records of the same event exist?"
The screen split into three columns.
Left: The Official Record. (Sterile, professional, final.)
Right: The Unofficial Memo. (His personal notes, filled with doubt.)
Center: A Third Record. (One he had never seen before.)
In this third record, sentences appeared that he had never authored.
'The suspect retracted their statement under pressure.' 'The original CCTV footage was never verified.'
Yun-jae’s heart hammered against his ribs. "I didn't write this."
"I know," A-12 replied. "That is why we are rewriting."
A brief silence followed.
"We are not asking you to write a lie," A-12 continued. On the screen, the cursor blinked at a single, editable line.
[Grounds for Judgment: ]
A-12’s voice dropped an octave. "Select the most 'persuasive' truth from among the records you have already created."
Yun-jae hovered his hands over the keyboard. He hadn't typed a single letter yet, but his fingertips were trembling.
At that moment, a small notification flickered in the bottom right corner:
[※ WARNING: REWRITING IS IRREVERSIBLE.]
Yun-jae closed his eyes.
He remembered the late nights at the prosecutor’s office, alone at his desk, agonizing over every word. Even back then, he had always chosen the 'safest' sentence.
Back then, I prided myself on being a hound for the truth. But when I closed the final page of a report, what I sought wasn't the absolute truth; it was the word that caused the least controversy. An odorless, colorless defense mechanism to avoid the ire of superiors and leave no room for defense attorneys to strike. The sound of these keys is the echo of that old cowardice.
"This time," A-12 said one last time, "write for yourself, A-73."
Yun-jae opened his eyes. The cursor blinked, expectant.
Tap-tap. He typed the first letter.
[Next Chapter Preview]
Yun-jae begins to modify the sentences.
The case remains the same—the verdict doesn't change.
However, in a way Yun-jae never expected, his words begin to move on their own. The first ripple of 'Rewriting' has begun...
a version you can live with—
and waits
for you to choose it.