Looks Like I've Got Some Breathing Room
The web novel communities had completely lost their minds.
It was like someone had kicked over a beehive.
Fully eighty percent of the board was talking about my novel.
A monstrous rookie rewriting the record books for highest performance of all time. Readers were ecstatic — and at the same time, deeply confused.
They had every right to be baffled.
Normally, a web novel's twenty-four-hour purchase count for the latest chapter peaks on the first day of paid serialization, then gently declines all the way to the finale. That curve is called the consecutive-reading rate.
But my novel was different. Word of mouth kept pulling in latecomers who were frantically racing to catch up with the latest chapter. The anomaly went so far that the current latest-chapter view counts were actually higher than they'd been on paid launch day.
No matter how many consecutive chapters you dropped, reading speed would always outpace writing speed. That was just the nature of the beast. A person could tear through a hundred web novel chapters in a single day, after all.
And so, with time on their hands and nerves frayed from waiting for the next chapter, the readers' attention naturally swung toward me — the author, RottenWater.
In other words: the great personal-info dig.
The readers were cackling.
It was a perfectly reasonable suspicion. And that suspicion quickly curdled into terror.
A sudden silence fell over the board.
The readers' wailing filled the boards. I needed to put an end to the panic.
I smirked and took hold of the mouse.
"Don't worry, kids."
Not worrying would have been the strange reaction, given the circumstances — but I intended to put their fears to rest in the most definitive way possible.
"I've still got plenty left to show you."
Click.
I hit the upload button.
In an instant — ten chapters. A ten-chapter drop.
The flood of new posts cut off cold. Everyone had stampeded off to devour the ten-chapter drop.
I took a leisurely sip of coffee and watched the monitor. Every time I hit refresh, the latest-chapter purchase count rocketed upward like mad.
Any sign of slowing down? None. If anything, new readers who'd come running at the news of the ten-chapter drop were piling on, and the purchase numbers were climbing exponentially.
This was a festival.
Meanwhile, the Ad Like office that Kang Minjun and Park Do-hun had left behind was a funeral parlor.
"Ah, for real! Why are they taking this out on us?!"
Assistant Manager Kim clutched his head in the break room and shouted.
"Right? Should've treated them better while they were still here. You push people around like they don't matter, and the second they're gone you're suddenly acting all sorry…"
"Shh. Keep your voice down. Managing Director's gonna hear."
Supervisor Lee glanced around and whispered. But their faces were just as full of resentment.
The hole those two had left was far bigger than anyone had expected. "Big" didn't even begin to cover it. The client complaints Manager Park Do-hun had always fielded now landed squarely on the remaining staff. The work Assistant Manager Kang Minjun used to knock out in thirty minutes — the rest of them couldn't match the quality even if they pulled all-nighters.
"Haah… it's really rough without those two."
"They always say if it looks easy, you're looking at a master. Kang was the real deal."
The employees were feeling it in their bones. The only reason they'd been able to work so comfortably all this time was because someone else had been standing out front, taking every storm for them.
And Managing Director Choi — he was completely unhinged.
"Hey! This is all you can do? Kang used to bring this back in ten minutes! Do you people just eat and crap all day?!"
"We're sorry…"
"Do it again! Don't even think about going home if you can't finish this today!"
Managing Director Choi's pressure only grew harsher by the day. As if desperate to hide the gap those two had left, he wrung every last drop out of the remaining staff — a thrashing born of pure panic, meant to cover up his own incompetence.
But there was a limit. Grinding people into dust did not produce quality.
And eventually, disaster struck. Three major clients sent contract termination notices all at once.
"Th-this is… what is all this…"
Managing Director Choi stared at the certified letters piled on his desk, his hands trembling.
It was over. This had blown far past anything he could clean up himself.
That was when it happened.
Click. Click.
The heavy sound of dress shoes echoed down the hallway. The air in the office froze solid in an instant. Every employee shot to their feet and bowed their heads.
"S-sir…"
The CEO of Ad Like — Managing Director Choi's father — had arrived at the company without any warning.
"Ah, Father. What brings you to the office…"
Managing Director Choi hurried out in a fluster. But the CEO's gaze was fixed not on his son, but on two empty desks.
Park Do-hun's and Kang Minjun's seats. The CEO stared at those dust-gathering places for a long time without a word.
"Tsk."
A short click of the tongue. That sound struck Managing Director Choi's chest like a thunderclap.
The CEO slowly turned his head and surveyed the staff. Faces worn thin with exhaustion. Eyes glazed with fear. And the stack of contract termination papers on his son's desk. It didn't take him long to grasp the full picture.
"I was a fool."
The CEO opened his mouth.
"A parent's heart, wanting to protect his child… I did things to all of you that I never should have."
"…"
"I trusted him one last time."
Deep regret hung in the CEO's voice. He bowed his head toward the employees.
"F-Father?!"
Managing Director Choi was aghast. His father — the CEO — bowing his head in front of the staff?
"I offer you all my sincere apology."
The CEO ignored his son's half-screamed protest.
"I'm sorry for putting you through nothing but hardship because of management's incompetence. I know you have plenty of grievances, but please hold on a little longer. This won't be an empty apology — I'll show you through my actions."
The employees stood frozen. An apology from the CEO meant change was coming. And it was perfectly clear whose neck that change was aimed at.
"F-Father… what are you doing right now? Losing face in front of the staff like this…"
Managing Director Choi frantically reached for his father's arm.
Thwack.
The CEO shook the hand off without mercy. Then he looked at his son.
It was cold. It would have been better if he'd gotten angry, if he'd shouted. But there wasn't even rage in the CEO's eyes — only a deep, bottomless disappointment, and the quiet of someone who had given up.
"You…"
The CEO started to speak, then closed his mouth again.
"No. I was the fool. I coddled you too much because you were my son. Rotten flesh has to be cut away for new flesh to grow."
"What…?"
"Don't come in starting tomorrow."
"F-Father!"
"Strip the Managing Director title too. And don't plan on showing your face at home for a while. Get out before you destroy my company."
The CEO left the office without looking back.
"Father! Father!! Wait a second!!"
Managing Director Choi tried to chase after him, but his legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor.
Thud.
"Ah…"
Utter desolation. Every effort he'd made over the years to earn his father's recognition — all the pathetic office politics he'd pulled, diverting those two men's achievements onto himself just to claw back a scrap of his father's attention — collapsed in a single stroke.
It would have been better to take a slap from Park Do-hun or a tongue-lashing from Kang Minjun. The fact that his father had cast him aside — the fact that his own incompetence had been confirmed and executed in the most humiliating way possible — was more than he could bear.
The employees murmured as they looked at Managing Director Choi crumpled on the floor. There was no sympathy. Only a cold, collective sneer: Serves him right.
At the same hour, my workspace was peaceful. It was blissful.
"Hoo…"
I finished the ten-chapter drop and looked at the monitor. Every refresh sent the revenue climbing in ten-thousand-won leaps. And the readers' comments were even more ecstatic than I was.
It was electric. And it wasn't simply because I was making money. The world I had created — the characters I had built — were alive and breathing, and tens of thousands of people were falling into that world and breathing right alongside them. It felt as if I had become a god who forged a world and then granted others permission to revel in it.
This is why people write.
The high was surging through me. Today's writing was done. Chapter 170. Even after pouring out ten chapters' worth, my folder still held a solid stockpile of manuscripts all the way to 170. There was still a mountain left to write. The outline through the finale was already complete. All that remained was moving my fingers.
"Muse, good work today."
Just as I was about to close the laptop, the phone on my desk vibrated.
Bzz.
It was hyung.
"Minjun. You busy?"
Hyung's voice was different from usual — a little subdued, with a complicated, hard-to-pin-down tone.
"Nah, just finished today's manuscript and taking a break. Why, something up?"
"Earlier… I heard the CEO stopped by the Ad Like office."
"The CEO? Managing Director Choi's father?"
"Yeah. Went in, flipped the whole place upside down, and left. Managing Director Choi is… pretty much half-dead."
Hyung gave me a brief rundown of what had happened that afternoon. The CEO's apology. Managing Director Choi's downfall.
It was deeply satisfying. It felt like a decade of stuck indigestion had finally cleared.
"Good. Karma, right?"
"Yeah, but…"
Hyung trailed off.
"The CEO reached out. Asked if we could meet for a bit."
"Meet? Us?"
"Yeah. Says he wants to apologize. And treat us to a meal… What do you want to do? If you're not comfortable with it, we can turn him down."
I was quiet for a moment.
The CEO of Ad Like. He'd raised a rotten son, sure — but the man himself wasn't a bad person. He'd been the benefactor who took hyung under his wing, and back when I was a new hire, I'd eaten more than a few meals on his dime and taken plenty of his advice.
More than anything — there's no burden in facing him.
There was no reason to dodge this. We were the ones making a triumphant return after succeeding on our own terms.
"Let's meet."
I answered evenly.
"We've still got old ties. The least we can do is say a proper goodbye. And he's buying dinner — no reason to turn that down, right?"
"Yeah? Alright. I'll set it up, then."
"Where do we go?"
"Not the barbecue place near the office this time. He said to come somewhere nicer — a traditional Korean restaurant in Gangnam."
"Got it. I'll get ready and head out."
I hung up. I opened the wardrobe and pulled out my cleanest suit. The face in the mirror no longer belonged to a worn-down office worker.
Confidence. And ease. It was the face of a successful author — RottenWater.
I adjusted my tie and smirked.
"Guess I should go pour him a consoling drink."
That the word "consolation" could even cross my mind for a CEO who had once seemed so far above me — looks like, somewhere along the way, I'd gotten some breathing room.