He stares into his phone, chasing instant dopamine. The momentary stimulation is so sweet; once tasted, it's impossible to forget. But wait. This isn't dopamine. This is making his stomach turn with jealousy.

Huh? This piece won the prize?

He lets out a hollow laugh. In this gosiwon, surrounded by thin boards that offer zero soundproofing, he cackles vulgarly. Pfft. Hahaha!

I could write better than this with my nose. They rejected me but picked this? They have no eye for talent. Idiots...

Unfortunately, the smile slowly begins to fade. His mood swings are severe, and soon he is biting his lip hard, scrolling down and glaring at the screen as if to pierce it. Hmm. It looks... somewhat readable. No. It's still garbage... Ugh. Dammit. He bolts up from the mattress and gathers his manuscripts. He scrunches them up with both hands.

Mine was better?!

He shrieks for no reason. It's self-brainwashing.

... Should I ask the person in the next room?

If I play the sympathy card a bit, they'll only say nice things, right?