There are many ways to tell an author that you hate them for how much they’ve fucked over your favorite characters. Leaving a one-star review is an effective way to send the message across. Online rants are also fair game.

Kidnapping is not an option.

Again, kidnapping is not an option.

Bound, blindfolded, and gagged; Laia was pretty sure that given another setting, her current circumstances would be the piece de resistance in a very successful subgenre of romance novels.

Unfortunately, despite her vast wealth of knowledge in cliches courtesy of her addiction to k-dramas, she was in no way proficient or even passable at writing palpitating fluff. What more fifty thousand words explicitly describing the devil’s tango. Any and all attempts she made to break into the highly competitive and highly profitable world of literary romance were always foiled by her own limitations.

Cough.

Back on topic.

Seeing as she did not live a double life as an assassin nor did she have some devoted love interest to save her, she could only be a good captive and sit pretty. The way her wrists and ankles were bound made the rope around them tighten if she tried to pull on the bindings. Say what you will about being proactive and dynamic, but she wasn’t very keen on the idea of severing circulation to her hands and feet.

Given the current situation, Laia was pretty sure she was supposed to be more afraid than she actually was. But a lifetime of broken bones and stupid decisions already showed that the trigger in her brain for fear and caution were faulty. Everyone in her life was resigned to accept that her one and only vice would be that she gambled with death quite often.

Her feelings right now revolved around the sentiment of ‘thoroughly inconvenienced.’ A little bit of pride was mixed in that, too.

After all, someone kidnapped her in the name of avenging a fictional character.

Although morbid, she could appreciate the sentiment.

“Fuck.” Her swear was muffled by the gag biting into the flesh of her cheeks. Blinking like mad, the onslaught of light from the abrupt removal of her blindfold caused Laia’s eyes to water. Despite the blur, she could make out that she was currently in a brighly lit room floored with dark wood. It was an okay setting for a kidnapping, however, blood would easily stain the floorboards. Tile would be easier to clean.

She coughed again–of note, coughing with a gag was very painful– refocusing on the present.

She wasn’t alone. Still blinking like mad, she could vaguely make out the features of the man who'd stolen her away.

Man was a generous term. She couldn’t pin down his age, but the kid in front of her looked like he could be no older than sixteen. With enviable clear skin, striking eyes, and soft looking, flowy hair; he was a being that the deities above had undoubtedly slaved over to perfect.

Seeing how pretty he was made Laia remember the massive eye bags that plagued her face.

The joys of responsibility.

Her eyes drifted to the sword on his hip. The shining scarlet stone on its hilt and the dragon engraving crawling up the blade made it look like it had come straight out of a fantasy novel. In this case, it somewhat did.

It matched the distinct description and illustration of the legendary sword in her novel, the Truth Seeker.

She remembered his declaration when he had ambushed her, “For the Son of the Empire.” His eyes had carried a semblance of reverence as he spoke with a straight face.

She was pretty sure that her life span had been shortened by her efforts to suppress the laughter aching to escape her chest.

Was it dramatic? Yes. Cringy? Also yes.

There was no doubt in her mind that this kid was some form of chuunibyou (1). She lit a candle in her heart for his wasted youth and good looks.

“Hello, Miss Marasigan. It’s unfortunate that we had to meet in this kind of circumstance. I want you know that I recognize and appreciate you as the author of the Nine Moons Duology. However, as all humans, you are not exempt from making mistakes. Which, is what the ending of the saga was. A mistake. You see…”

Laia droned his voice out.

She wasn’t a stranger to criticism, and yeah, there had been a few readers with fairly violent reactions to the ending. But when she completed the series, she had completed it satisfied. That was enough.

The overall feedback was pretty good. And by pretty good, she meant that a majority of her readers were too broken-hearted to direct their anger at her.

As an author, she was pleased and reveled in their pain. It was her lifeblood.

“…so I think we should play a little game.”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she caught the end of his rambling. She couldn’t help but silently criticize his dialogue. It was like she was listening to him read the lines of a d-list movie’s antagonist.

Anyway.

Games and kidnappers; not a good combination.

A door to the side of the room opened dramatically. “I apologize for taking so long, Lady Laia. Please know that no further harm will befall you. I’ve already been in touch with the young master’s brother and he should arrive here soon to resolve this nonsense.”

With that manner of speech and a faint British accent, Laia was expecting to see some tall, gaunt, English man sporting a tuxedo walk in.

Instead, she found a very displeased looking fluffy fox.

“Huh,” her speech was still distorted by the gag around her head.

Had she been given drugs too?

“Saffron! Why’d you tell brother? He’s going to kill me!” The wannabe Jigsaw’s face lost some color. Whatever his previous expression was, it was quickly being replaced by undeniable dread.

“So you’re aware that kidnapping this human woman regardless of how you feel isn’t right?” The fox opened its mouth and words– comprehensible, human words– came out of it.

Laia could only blink. Once. Twice.

Still dumbfounded.

“I’m aware that it’s not ‘very nice.’ But what she did isn’t right either!”

Could a fox sigh? Laia was pretty sure the fox sighed.

She felt like doing so too.

“Young master, please, it’s just fiction.”

“No, it’s not!” An enraged yell escaped the young boy. Laia hit her head on the post of her chair in shock; shooting pain through her skull.

She cursed. Many times.

‘What on earth was that?’ It had felt like her eardrums were ready to combust. Weren’t LSD trips supposed to make people feel good? Why was she getting internally damaged instead?

Despite her attempts to reorient herself, she could not get a full grasp of what was happening around her. It was as if she had been disconnected from her body; all of her senses were blurred, nearing numb.

A groan escaped her lips as the throbbing in her head amplified.

“I’ll deal with my brother when he arrives. I hope you two will reflect well.”

Laia still had no idea what was happening. Nonetheless, the lone coherent thought in her head was entirely unrelated to her well being or the future. She merely scrunched up her nose, focusing on the kid’s parting line.

‘Well,’ she thought before the world went dark, ‘4/10 for effort.’

Chuunibyou: in this case, refers to a person who admires fictional powers and pretends to have their own. Tries to maintain some kind of cool factor by emulating fictional things.