Demon hunter's Cooking Manual

Jason did not open the door immediately.

Instead, he went into the bedroom, where he parted the curtains just enough to peer cautiously outside.

Just as he had heard, and determined, there were the same number of people.

At this moment, five individuals were gathered in front of his door.

Three were holding cameras aloft, one had a microphone, and another was holding something that resembled a voice recorder.

"Journalists?"

"A TV station?"

"What's happened?"

Jason frowned as he looked at the five people.

According to his background, "a bottom-tier writer" like him should not catch anyone's attention; even if something had happened, at most there would be a small square of text tucked away in the local newspaper, a brief feature that would be quite remarkable.

This sort of professional-level interview?

Forget about it.

Unless...

Something truly sensational had occurred.

With that speculation in mind, Jason walked towards the door.

He didn't bother with his appearance.

Without knowing enough about this "writer Jason," he thought it best to stay as he was.

Click, click

The flashbulbs popped the instant the door swung open.

Almost simultaneously, a microphone was thrust in front of him.

"Mr. Jason, what are your thoughts on someone mimicking the murder plot from your novel?"

"What is your opinion about the killer?"

"Could he be someone you know in your life?"

The interviewer with the microphone asked directly.

Mimicking my novel to kill?

Jason was visibly startled.

Before opening the door, he had speculated on many things, such as being accidentally involved in the assassination of some big shot or a situation threatening the safety of the entire city, but he had never imagined someone "mimicking his novel to kill."

What kind of joke was this?

Surely this was just a plot from a novel, wasn't it?

How could such a thing happen in reality?

Besides...

Did people actually read "his" novels?

Jason's gaze inadvertently swept the copy: as a local writer of considerable fame, you've only written one moderately successful book in the past ten years...

He seemed to have a certain comprehension of the evaluation of "considerable fame" and "moderately successful book."

At the same time, he thought of the razor blade in the brown envelope he had just received.

Was there any connection between the two?

Jason wondered to himself.

However, he immediately came back to his senses.

Because, for now, none of that mattered.

What was important was that he had no idea what the "past him" had written.

He was utterly unable to answer the interviewer's questions.

The eager glint in the interviewer's eyes clearly showed he was seeking a major scoop from him.

Jason was confident that if he said something like "no comment," a pervasive report filled with unfounded speculation would instantly emerge.

Therefore, he answered with all seriousness—

"Illegal actions are wrong!"

"Every citizen should fulfill their duty to abide by the law."

"I hope the police will step up their efforts to solve the case and bring the culprit to justice on behalf of the victims."

After finishing, Jason just looked at the interviewer in front of him.

The interviewer was clearly not expecting such a response from Jason.

For a moment, the interviewer was somewhat stunned.

But Jason was not.

He looked down at the interviewer before him.

His towering height cast a shadow over the other man.

"Anything else?"

"If there's nothing else, I need to get back to my writing."

"Your sudden visit has already disturbed me."

Jason stated bluntly, with a look of displeasure naturally appearing on his face, and, together with his height and sturdy physique, the impact made the words the interviewer had at the tip of his tongue retreat.

"No, nothing else," the interviewer stuttered.

"Hmm."

Jason nodded and closed the door.

Bang!

As the sound of the door colliding with the frame echoed, the interviewer snapped back to reality. Your next read is at empire

He instinctively raised his hand, intending to knock, but ultimately he pulled it back.

He didn't dare.

Just moments ago, he felt as if he was being targeted by some terrifying beast.

There was a feeling that if he spoke further nonsense, he would be torn to shreds and devoured.

"This Jason, a writer?"

Turning, the interviewer inquired of his colleague.

"Yes."

"I checked, and he is indeed a writer; he even wrote a novel that was somewhat well-known and popular in certain circles."

"But that's the only book; the rest aren't very impressive."

"Now, many people are questioning him, thinking that the book wasn't written by him at all," said the recorder, holding the voice recorder with certainty.

"A writer who looks more like a butcher, stronger than a wrestler?"

"What kind of joke is that?"

"Why doesn't he compete in professional wrestling leagues? With his build, he would surely excel, and that would make him far more money than writing books," the interviewer mumbled.

He was venting his dissatisfaction at not achieving his goal.

Of course, there was still fear in his heart.

"What should we do now?"

"The interview was too brief; there's no way to create a full report with what we have."

The recorder with the voice recorder asked.

"Focus on that case, edit the footage we just shot into it, and broadcast it at the end to fill up the full segment," the interviewer suggested.

Having said that, the interviewer hurried downstairs.

He really didn't want to stay here a moment longer.

And he wouldn't be coming back to interview this guy named Jason again.

He always felt that Jason wasn't really a writer.

As for that previous book?

It must be that Jason obtained the genuine manuscript of some writer by some means and then published it.