my heroine refuses to let me be reborn. If I haven't finished my novel

"So, I'm dead now, huh?"

A young female stared at her translucent hands for a moment. Her slender figure, dressed in formal work attire, stood alone in a vast, pure white dimension.

The only thing in sight was the entrance of a radiant tunnel, glowing white with shimmering rainbow hues. Behind thick glasses, her dark eyes gazed absentmindedly at the flickering light. Within the tunnel, something moved—slowly, faintly, almost imperceptibly.

As she stood there, watching, memories of her final moments came flooding back with a sharp, unbearable headache. She clutched her temples.

"Ugh!" A torrent of images rushed in like a flood, accompanied by countless voices tied to those memories.

She remembered. Her name was Yue Lanling, a 27-year-old graphic designer working for a magazine publishing house. Her job was to design and arrange book layouts, check and compare colors for printing—meticulously crafting each publication every month.

Publishing was demanding work. During the final stages of production, she barely went home for four days a week, juggling e-books and other minor details. She pushed herself too hard, leaving no room for rest.

This had been her life for years. Her health declined, and when personal issues piled on, exhaustion overwhelmed her. Eventually, she suffered a moment of microsleep while walking—stepping onto a pedestrian crossing while the traffic light was still green, unaware of the danger.

The last thing she saw was a silver sedan speeding up to beat the red light. Pure, paralyzing fear gripped her as she realized what was about to happen—

But it was too late. Her frail body was struck, sent rolling across the pavement.

Suddenly, a sharp pain flared in the areas where she'd been hit. The agony was so intense that she collapsed to the ground, screaming.

"Ahh!"

Pain shot through her body, followed by a violent cough that expelled a mouthful of blood onto the pavement. As the memories continued playing before her eyes, she found herself staring at the street from a tilted perspective, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

People rushed toward her. Some tried to help, while one person frantically called for emergency services and the police.

Then—everything cut to a hospital scene. The details blurred, voices muffled, and darkness swallowed large portions of the memory. A searing pain in her chest—like repeated defibrillation shocks—tore through her. Then, all at once, silence.

That was her final memory before death.

Lanling closed her eyes, accepting her fate.

The glowing tunnel before her—she knew now—was the path to the afterlife. With resignation, she stood up and stepped toward it.

'From now on... everything I went through, whether my life was miserable or happy, none of it matters anymore. Mom, lying in a coma at the hospital… that shameless ex-boyfriend who kept harassing me… the crushing debt my father left behind… None of it is my burden anymore. The only thing I regret leaving behind is Fangfang, my mischievous little cat.'

Despite the sorrow of not being there for her mother's final moments or seeing Fangfang again, she felt strangely free. The weight that had suffocated her for nearly a decade was gone. She smiled—sadly, yet relieved. Surely, everything would be taken care of after she was gone.

But there was one regret. One small, unfulfilled dream that still lingered.

She had always loved art. Working as a graphic designer had been fulfilling, but deep down, ever since middle school, she had dreamed of becoming a professional writer.

Yet now… that dream was meaningless. She was dead. Life could be taken away so easily.

'My life ends here. If there is a next life, maybe I can finally become a writer.'

As she mused to herself, a forgotten memory resurfaced—the smile of a young boy.

"Yang-ge…" she murmured. "It's been ten years since we drifted apart. Did you ever become a writer? Five years… I haven't heard anything about you since you left to study abroad."

Lanling smiled wistfully, stepping toward the white tunnel.

"…If you did make it as a writer, then that's great. If I'm reborn, I'll look for your books and read them. You'll probably be famous by then, right?"

She chuckled at her own joke, reminiscing about her first love from high school. Back when they wrote stories together—before life pulled them in different directions.

But just as she took her third step forward—she slammed into something.

"What?"

Stumbling back in confusion, she hesitantly reached out and poked the air in front of her. Her fingertips met an invisible, glass-like surface.

"…A wall?"

She crossed her arms, frowning in frustration. "Excuse me, but I'm supposed to reincarnate. Don't block my way!"

Muttering to herself, she rapped her knuckles against the invisible wall. The sound confirmed it was solid. Her brows furrowed in bewilderment. Testing different areas, she found the obstruction extended beyond just one spot.

"…How long is this wall?"

Curious, she removed her jacket, set it down, and began tracing the barrier with her palm, following its length. It stretched far—so far that, no matter how much she walked, she somehow ended up right back in front of the tunnel's entrance…

That left Lanling feeling even more surprised and confused about what was happening. She couldn't understand why, even after death, something was preventing her from passing through the gates of the underworld.

As Lanling wandered along the walls, examining her surroundings, she failed to notice that someone had been standing behind her the entire time, silently observing her every move.

"Hey... you, Pen monkey girl."

An unfriendly voice called out, startling Lanling before she turned to look.

A young girl with delicate features, violet-colored hair, and silver eyes stood there with her arms crossed, a frown on her face. She was dressed in a long-sleeved white lace dress that reached her knees, with an inner layer of fabric underneath.

Her collar had a hood, and the upper sleeves puffed slightly. The smooth texture and fine stitching of the dress made it clear that it had been crafted with great care. She wore a matching white triangular hat adorned with flowers, and her shoes were high-quality leather boots suited for a traveler.

Lanling blinked in confusion, her mind still disoriented—perhaps because she had just died recently—so she had no idea what she had done to upset this girl to the point of being insulted so harshly.

"Do you remember me, you forgetful fool? 'Yue Fangxian.' " The girl asked.

When Lanling took a closer look at her, she realized that the girl was only slightly shorter than her. If they stood side by side, they would be nearly the same height.

"Who? I'm Yue Lanling, not this Yue Fangxian you're calling me."

The moment she finished speaking, the girl seemed to lose all patience. She stomped toward Lanling, forming a ring with her thumb and middle finger before flicking the woman's forehead with immense force.

Boom!

Lanling felt a powerful impact as her body spun uncontrollably before landing with a tumble. The overwhelming force sent her rolling several times before she finally crashed onto the ground. It was as if the girl had calculated her landing spot perfectly.

Now, with her hands on her hips, the girl looked down at Lanling with the same irritated expression.

"What the hell was that for?!" Lanling snapped as she lifted her head. But the other girl suddenly grabbed her collar, pulling her up so their faces were nearly touching before growling through gritted teeth.

"Do you remember 'Cheripha Marielle'?"

The girl's breath was heavy with anger. Lanling froze in shock and tried to think. When she didn't respond immediately, the girl tightened her grip.

"Do you seriously not remember me, you clueless idiot?!"

"A foreign name like that?! I don't know anyone by that name!" Lanling shouted back in frustration.

Before she could retaliate, the violet-haired girl roughly threw her to the ground, causing her face to nearly smash into it.

"You can't even remember your own character from your novel? Your brain is the size of an ant!"

The mysterious girl's loud voice echoed through the silent realm.

"This is why you never finish writing anything! You procrastinating, Pen monkey girl!"

"Cheripha Marielle?! Who the hell is that?! I've never had a friend by that name!" Lanling yelled, furious, before suddenly freezing.

A realization struck her.

Slowly, she lifted her gaze to examine the girl's features carefully. Her black eyes widened as memories began resurfacing.

A vision of her teenage self flashed in her mind—sitting behind a computer screen, typing into a document.

But that was... impossible.

"This can't be happening..." she muttered in disbelief.

Her memories shifted to a time when she was practicing drawing. The image she had sketched was of a young girl with short violet hair, silver eyes, and a white hooded dress. In her hands, she held a long staff with a large blue gemstone embedded in it.

It was the illustrated protagonist of her first fantasy novel—the very first one that had garnered serious readers!

"A student of the Wrightheart Academy of Magic… Cheripha Marielle... You mean the protagonist of the novel I wrote ten years ago?!"

Cheripha let out a wry smile.

"Finally, you remember, scribbler. So... should I call you Yue Lanling or Yue Fangxian? Because we have a lot to discuss—especially about finishing that novel of yours in this afterlife dimension..."

Her voice turned chilling as she crouched down, casting a dark shadow over Lanling.

"And it might just take you until your next reincarnation."

Lanling was speechless, unable to believe what was happening. Not only had she died, but she had somehow met the protagonist of her own novel.

And now, this character was talking about writing?

'Am I stuck in some author's isekai novel that I once read?!'

Lanling nearly screamed at the absurdity of it all.

'This kind of meta plot is trending these days… but it's way more believable than running into my own novel's heroine!'

Then it hit her.

She had abandoned that novel for ten years.

Could it be…?

Cheripha smirked.

"So, you've figured it out, haven't you, dear author Yue Fangxian?"

Lanling could only manage a dry, defeated smile.

The air in this world wasn't as hot as the one she had left behind, and she hadn't fallen into hell.

Yet, sweat was now trickling down her back uncontrollably.

"You're joking… right?"

Cheripha's sweet smile was anything but reassuring.

"Get back to writing and finish that novel already."

She leaned in closer.

"It's been ten years, my dear, beloved scribbler."