PROJECT: SEVENTEEN. seventeen au

☏ A THIRD CHAPTER

I have something to confess.

Okay, I know that's not likely of me. Why would I ever confess to you? And what in the world would I even confess? My undying love for you? The day I die? My milk's expiration date?

No. What I will confess isn't anywhere near to what I mentioned.

In fact, what I will confess to you is even more devastating than death, or, say, a carton of milk that will eventually expire.

I don't need to sugarcoat my words or prepare you for this. I assume you already have been, after encountering the past eight chapters.

Alright. I have to confess one thing to you:

I have ran out of ideas.

What now? We ask. I say we, for you are not the only one wondering. Where does this book leave us?

Look, to be honest, I'm not really the author of this book. I was assigned to do a report on this mission, but because I'm generous, I decided to share it to the world. And I regret that descision now, because I have ran out of ideas.

Writing a book is exhausting. It's simply like running a marathon: the farther you run, the more exhausted you get. And to come this far is like running ten kilometers. I don't know where to run now-right? left? up? down? go straight? or go to hell? These type of choices leave me terribly confused. What should I write for the next chapter? What direction should the story go in? What should the characters even do?

Yes, these things drain you-of energy, of brain cells, and most especially,

of ideas.

Yet you shall not fear. You shall just read on. In the wise words of a certain Chinese member of a certain Korean pop group with the name of the seventeenth number, "Life is about timing." If I just time it correctly, maybe the train of inspiration would one day hit me.

Alas, that time is definitely not now, since I am left to rot here in the train station called Writer's Block.

Maybe I should just leave this be. I should just not continue it-yeah, seems like a perfectly good idea. I'll just leave this chapter hanging around here...

What's that? You were saying something-oh, you still want another chapter?

Okay, then-your wish is my command. I'll regain my senses. I'll slap myself, maybe even eat a bar of cheese or two. Then take a nap. Then write a few words. Make some sentences. Maybe a paragraph or two. If I'm lucky, maybe even a whole chapter.

Sadly, it's easier said than done.

Four friends sit around a chessboard placed on a wooden table. They are still in their suits.

"Hyung," says Seungkwan, eating an orange, "why do we have to wear this?"

"For the aesthetic," Seungcheol replies, mouth full.

They continue to eat in silence.

"But seriously though," Mingyu speaks, orange juice dripping down his chin, "Why'd we have to wear these suits? It's hard to move in them. I almost ripped these trousers three times today."