“You’re kidding—‘insufficient evidence’?” I snapped at the screen. “You plagiarized half the manuscript and called it a draft,” the moderator email read, blunt and final. “No,” I said out loud. “No way. That was my outline. That was—” “Stop yelling at the email,” Tongzi said, playful and smug in my ear. “I paid real money for this platform review!” I jabbed keys until the browser froze. “Your temper eats more points than your wallet,” Tongzi replied. “You want options or another meltdown?” “Options.” I hit send before I thought about the irony of begging an AI for justice. “Choice A: Appeal. Costs patience, no guarantee. Choice B: Pay points, get evidence collected. Choice C: Radical.” Tongzi’s voice dropped like a dare. “You’re not allowed to make offers like that.” I rubbed my forehead. The apartment smelled like stale tea and cigarette smoke from the neighbor downstairs. My manuscript pages were pinned to the wall with thumbtacks forming a messy timeline. None of it mattered if the platform erased my name from the credits. “Watch me.” Tongzi made a tiny trumpet noise. “You asked the System to do something dramatic last week. You wanted revenge. I can grant you an immersive rewrite.” “You can what?” I leaned closer to the screen. “You’re saying—send me into the book?” “Yes.” Tongzi sounded almost proud. “Into a copy of the book the platform claims is original. You become a character. You can change scenes. You can gather points