Doki Adventure 소설 & 이야기

I opened my eyes to a dark, windowless room. Overhead, a voice crackled from the speakers. “Welcome to The Judgment Room. Each player will state the crime they committed. Do not lie. After all six of you speak, you will vote. The one with the most votes will be eliminated. “The game starts now.” In this deadly game, whose sins weighed the least?

There's a saying that circulates among anglers: "If a dead fish still takes the bait… reel in and leave." The day I went fishing with my dad, we ran into exactly that. What unsettled me was not the fish. It was the look on my dad's face: an excitement that felt completely wrong. Then a message flashed across my livestream, and a chill ran down my spine. [Get out. Now. Your dad is about to trade your life for the one who died in this river a year ago.]

While we were eating, Tristan Shaw suddenly set down his fork and looked at me. “Who is Fatcat Cook?” The fork in my hand froze midair. My heart skipped a beat. Fatcat Cook. That name was someone Lena Moore and I made up on a drunken night. We had agreed that if anything ever went wrong and we couldn’t reach each other, we would use “Fatcat Cook” as a code. No one else knew that name existed. Only the two of us. And Lena had been missing for a full month. She said she was going to Valoria for a trip. Then she never came back. I looked at Tristan’s calm, almost indifferent face, and felt my heart sink. How did he know that name?

I sell handmade fortune cookies in the park. Each one costs $10,000, yet every day, people fight to buy them. That’s because what I sell are fertility fortune cookies. Eat one, and you can get pregnant instantly. You can even choose what kind of child you want. Slip in a double-yolk charm, and you’ll have twins. Seal in a perfect test paper, and your child will be a genius. A spayed female dog ate one and ended up pregnant with six puppies. Someone buried a fortune cookie beneath a withered tree, and by the next day, it had burst into full bloom. I sell fortune cookies to both women and men—anyone who wants to get pregnant. I turn no one away. Even animals, if they so much as make a soun

My daughter, Elise Dolton, got sick, so I rushed over to take care of her. The moment I stepped inside, a rotten stench hit me right in the face, so I offered to help clean the place up. Her roommates' faces dropped right away. "What smell, Mrs. Dolton? The place is fine." "If you think it's such a dump, then have Elise move out. Don't come in here acting like you're better than all of us. We're not putting up with that!" Even Elise shoved me impatiently. "If you’re here to visit, then just act like it. Stop making a scene and embarrassing me, okay?” They were all college roommates, splitting rent on a run-down unit in an old complex. When I went in, I noticed them gathered around a po

There was a river that ran through our village. According to the legend, a river god dwelled in its depths, and every month on the 15th, the village had to send a young woman to enter the water and serve him. At first, everything seemed normal. After their service to the river god, the women would return to shore, go home, and eventually marry and start families. But this year, the peace was shattered. Every woman who spent the night with the river god turned up dead, their naked bodies floating to the surface. I secretly watched as they retrieved the corpses twice. The evidence of the violation was horrific. This month, I was selected. I had been chosen to marry the river god.

Each of my three ex-boyfriends ends up committing suicide right after eating food that my mother, Florence Winters, makes. Their deaths are very different from one another, with the only similarity being that they all eat food made by Mom before they die. Mom goes viral in an instant. She becomes the center of everyone's attention, and she is even taken away by the police. But they never manage to find anything wrong with any of the food she makes. I don't dare to get into another relationship. I pack my things and move out of the house, leaving Mom. Two years later, Mom shows up at my engagement party. She proceeds to feed my fiance, Lawrence Smith, some food…

Jason Collier was an RV vlogger with over ten million followers. He was also my fiancé. He spent more than half the year in Northreach, a remote stretch out west with empty desert highways and snowcapped mountains. He said the backcountry had zero signal, so going MIA for two weeks was totally normal. I bought it. To bankroll his road trip across Radenska, I mortgaged the apartment we were supposed to live in after the wedding. I helped pay for the RV build, his crew, and the channel that made him famous. He promised once the trip blew up, he'd come home and marry me. So every day, I checked the weather, scared he'd get buried in a blizzard, flip the RV, or die alone out there. Then a

Anomalies were descending on the world when I got thrown into a horror dungeon. The problem? I was a hopeless romantic. An even bigger problem? The dungeon’s final boss turned out to be more of a lovesick idiot than I was. The moment he saw me, he practically begged to be my personal simp.. Me: Wait… we’re doing that already? The barrage of comments exploded: “Look at him. The mighty final boss is willing to be the third wheel.” “Sorry, sweetie, but our girl already has two anomalies in line. Even if he’s the boss, he still has to take a number.”

On April Fools' Day, Seth Sterling, the campus heartthrob whom I have a crush on, invites me to a karaoke lounge bar to have some fun. But when I arrive at the private room, I find out that all three of my roommates, who I'm enemies with, are there. One of my roommates is about to leave when she pauses in her tracks and turns back to look at us. "Did you guys see the words floating in the air?" The next thing we know, the lights go out in the private room. A scream rings out afterward. When the lights are back on, the roommate who has spoken up earlier is gone. "Where did she go?" I swap looks with the other two roommates quietly. Then, I stand up and pretend to look for the missing