After I put down my pen, I moved to the countryside and began a quiet life with Grandma, feeding chickens and raising ducks.
Then my childhood sweetheart's unattainable crush called to accuse me of abandoning my writing.
In my previous life, I spent ages working on a comic, only to be reported for plagiarism as soon as I published it.
Every online user cursed me as shameless, accusing me of copying someone else's work. They even went after my pen name.
I went to look at the work they said I had plagiarized.
It was exactly the same as the comic I had drawn.
But the date the unattainable crush had started serializing her work online, six months earlier, was the very day I drew my first comic.
I tried to get in touch with her to find out what was going on, but she turned around and posted about me online, accusing me of plagiarism and provoking her.
The online mob attacked me, escalating to personal abuse. They dug up my address and stormed into my home, smashing things at random.
When I fought back and tried to call the police, they threw me out of a window on the sixteenth floor.
When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day before my comic was published.
