1
ch 1# I Don't Want to Write
“I want to quit.”
I wanted to quit being an author.
I wanted to retire.
I wished for it with all my heart.
“I seriously fucking hate writing.”
Once, a judge for a literary award described my work as possessing “poetic language as pure as white porcelain.”
Yet the words spilling from my mouth now were nothing but crude, vulgar curses.
“Writing... this fucking piece of shit!”
And yet...
I desperately wanted to retire as a writer.
Simply because I hated writing.
A slump?
Sure, you could call it that.
Every writer has moments when the words simply refuse to come.
Times when everything they write feels like garbage fit only for the trash.
That's how writing is.
It slowly gnaws away at your sanity.
But Stephen King, the world-famous novelist, once said this:
“Sometimes you have to keep writing even when you don't want to. And sometimes the work you thought was terrible turns
out to be good.”
Right.
That's what it means to be a professional writer.
No matter how much you hate writing.
Even when nothing comes to mind.
You sit in front of the computer and wrestle with a blank page.
Then you keep writing.
Because that's what a writer is supposed to do.
“But goddammit, I want to quit being a writer already!”
Then let me ask you something.
What if you were a writer...
And you had to keep writing for over two hundred years?
Against your will.
Would you still be able to “keep writing even when you don't feel like it?”
“I still did it.”
I don't know about anyone else.
But I did.
For over two hundred years.
Without missing a single day.
Some of what I wrote was good.
Some of it was terrible.
And just as Stephen King said...
Sometimes I thought I'd written absolute trash.
Only for it to become an unexpected bestseller.
But...
I've truly had enough.
[You have failed to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.]
[Regression will now begin.]
“You've got to be fucking kidding me!”
My name is Jeong Yunseong.
I'm cursed to regress every time I fail to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.
*
[2060 Nobel Prize in Literature winner announced... Norwegian author Martin Jervik.]
["Martin Jervik's work is both absurd and profoundly tragic." Exclusive interview with the Nobel Prize in Literature
committee chairman.]
[Korean literary giant Jeong Yunseong fails to win the Nobel Prize! Even bookmakers' predictions were wrong. "A shocking
outcome."]
[Was Korea's second Nobel Prize in Literature only a dream...? Publishing industry left disappointed after anticipating
a boom.]
[Novelist Jeong Yunseong on failing to win the Nobel Prize: "I should have won. The Swedish Academy is a political
organization. This is blatant racial discrimination."]
[Jeong Yunseong's interview expected to send shockwaves worldwide... "No writer has ever shown such outrage," foreign
media report.]
[Is this really the respected novelist Jeong Yunseong? Furious interview sparks controversy.]
[Who is novelist Jeong Yunseong? "At just forty years old, he was widely expected to become the youngest Nobel Prize in
Literature winner in history."]
[2060 Nobel Prize winner Martin Jervik defends Jeong Yunseong: "He's an excellent writer. I thought he would win too.
I'm still stunned."]
[French novelist Theo Philippe comments on Jeong Yunseong's interview: "He needs to be more humble. He's a great writer,
but not a great human being."]
["Theo? He's neither a great writer nor a great human being. If he wants to criticize me, he should win three more
international literary awards first." Jeong Yunseong fires back at Theo Philippe.]
[What's gotten into him? Nobel Prize failure reveals the true face of the star novelist.]
["He treats art like sports. Literary awards aren't the Ballon d'Or or the Golden Glove." Writers around the world
criticize Jeong Yunseong... "A national embarrassment."]
[Psychiatrists: "Jeong Yunseong's sudden extreme behavior raises concerns about his mental health."]
[Jeong Yunseong remains secluded at home... Refuses all interviews, communicates only through social media.]
[The hidden side of the novelist everyone admired? Jeong Yunseong posts online: "What a filthy world. Who the hell cares
about the Nobel Prize?"]
*
The media is terrifying.
It's like being strapped onto a roller coaster against your will.
When you're climbing, you rise endlessly.
But once you start falling...
You plummet at unbelievable speed.
They used to call me the treasure of Korean literature.
A genius unlike any before.
Now they're tearing me apart over a single interview.
Then again...
Most people have probably never seen someone complain this much about not winning the Nobel Prize.
I do act like it was something I was entitled to.
“This time I really should've won.”
But it wasn't fair.
It was so unfair I felt like I was going insane.
I really thought I'd get it this time!
[French novelist Theo Philippe reveals text message from Jeong Yunseong: "You should respect me."]
“This bastard. I'm already pissed enough. Why the hell is Theo picking a fight with me?”
I did send him that text.
The media kept provoking me with his comments, and I finally snapped.
So, in a fit of rage, I sent him a ridiculously long message.
[Web Message]
[YouShouldRespectMeIHaveWonFiveMajorInternationalLiteraryAwardsAndCountlessOtherPrizesIHaveBeenKnightedByBritainReceivedKorea'sOrderOfCulturalMeritAmTheMostAwardedWriterHaveTheMostWorksAdaptedToScreenRecordedFiveFilmsWithOverTenMillionViewersAndAmASymbolOfKoreanCultureFurthermore...]
And then he leaked it to the press.
Some novelist.
Can't even respect another writer's privacy.
He probably just wanted to stir up controversy to boost his own book sales.
“He definitely still can't get over losing the Prix Goncourt to me. Son of a bitch!”
Was he really that bitter because I wrote a novel in French and beat him to the Prix Goncourt?
And that guy has the nerve to lecture me about character?
Compared to him, I'm practically a saint.
“Try regressing dozens of times because of the Nobel Prize!”
After throwing my little tantrum, I collapsed onto the sofa.
My previous lives flashed before my eyes like a panorama.
“God fucking damn it!”
If anything...
It only made my anger boil over even more.
I'd already lived through more than two hundred years thanks to regression.
How was it even possible that I still hadn't won the Nobel Prize even once?
“What else do you want from me?!”
[You failed to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature.]
[Quest failed.]
The messages floating before my eyes branded me a loser.
Then it came again.
The moment everything reset.
“Yeah... this is all my fault.”
The five stages of accepting death.
I'd finally reached acceptance.
“I never should've made that wish.”
Before I experienced regression...
Jeong Yunseong was just another struggling aspiring writer.
Someone overflowing with passion who wanted to write anything and everything.
But...
I had horrifyingly little talent.
I devoted over ten years of my life to writing.
I never debuted through the New Year's Literary Contest.
Not once did I land a publishing contract, even after writing web novels.
Exhausted by years of failure, I visited a temple near my house.
I lit incense and prayed with all my heart.
“Please... grant me talent.”
Buddha.
Jesus.
God.
Anyone.
Please grant my wish.
“I'll endure any pain or hardship. Just please... give me the talent to write.”
Looking back now...
I was such an idiot.
I never should've made a wish like that.
[Quest Generated!]
[Become the youngest Nobel Prize in Literature winner.]
[Failure will result in regression.]
[Do you accept?]
If I hadn't...
That ridiculous quest never would've appeared.
But back then...
“Regression?”
That single word completely captivated me.
Of course.
It was something I'd seen countless times in web novels.
One of the most beloved cheat abilities in regression, possession, and reincarnation stories.
Regression itself.
“If I regress, I'll become a genius just like a web novel protagonist!”
If I could just return to my childhood...
I believed I could use all my future knowledge and experience...
And easily become the youngest Nobel Prize winner ever.
Rudyard Kipling, the British author of The Jungle Book, won the Nobel Prize in Literature at the age of forty-one.
That meant I had to win it before turning forty.
But with the overwhelmingly powerful advantage of regression...
I didn't think that limitation mattered.
“I accept!”
Like a complete fool.
In my first life, I debuted but remained an ordinary writer.
In my second life, I finally won my first literary awards.
Three of them.
The first one was the hardest.
After that, winning became much easier.
Though they were all domestic awards.
“Yeah... I was still full of motivation until around my tenth regression.”
My experience and skills accumulated with each life.
The more I regressed, the greater a literary giant I became.
Yet somehow...
The Nobel Prize remained forever out of reach.
["Asian passing" at the Nobel Prize? European author wins again... Why was Jeong Yunseong overlooked once more?]
Articles like that even started appearing.
“So I wondered if being Korean was the problem... and even changed my nationality.”
While living in Japan, I won the Akutagawa Prize and made a brilliant debut.
After becoming a French citizen, people even called me the nation's greatest writer.
But...
I still failed to win the Nobel Prize.
“I thought this time would be different.”
This life, I chose to study in the United States.
If I immigrated completely, I figured they'd probably dismiss me as just another American.
After finishing college there...
I poured my experiences as an international student and outsider into my novels.
Then I published Black and White, Yellow Within, a novel about racism against Asians.
It became a worldwide phenomenon.
It sparked global discussion about discrimination against Asians, who had long been overshadowed and ignored.
It was adapted into a Netflix drama.
People even called it "the fastest-selling book after the Bible."
“My masterpiece. This time, the Nobel Prize has to be mine!”
That's what I believed.
So I continued writing novels about discrimination against Asians in Western countries.
After all, the Nobel Prize is awarded to the author, not a single work.
I thought building a consistent literary world would improve my chances.
I even wrote novels directly in French.
I won the Prix Goncourt and earned recognition as one of the world's greatest writers.
Yet...
I still failed.
“What the hell does the Nobel Prize have against me?!”
Whether I liked it or not...
[Quest objective failed.]
[Regression will now begin.]
The message remained cold.
Like an emotionless executioner.
Simply carrying out my sentence.
“Fine. Do it.”
I was nothing more than a prisoner who had already given up.
Yeah.
Not winning the Nobel Prize was apparently my crime.
Sorry for not being talented enough.
“Bring it on! Let's see who wins in the end!”
What a miserable life.
This time...
I'm going to live however the hell I want.
*
“Fuuuck...”
The ceiling looked familiar.
Every regression brought me back here.
The autumn of my first year of high school.
I was so sick of seeing this place.
“This seriously sucks.”
Failing to win the Nobel Prize this time and regressing again must have hit me harder than usual.
The curses just kept pouring out.
Honestly...
I wasn't always this foul-mouthed.
Believe it or not...
I used to be painfully shy and introverted.
When I first debuted as a writer, I even cried tears of joy.
But no matter how pure something is...
Time wears everything down.
The waves of endless years eroded my gentle soul, sharpening it into something aggressive and bitter.
An endless cycle of unwanted regression.
How many people could possibly keep their sanity through something like that?
“Still... somehow, I managed to hold myself together until my last life.”
Because...
Being a writer meant everything to me.
A writer should use refined language.
Avoid vulgar expressions.
Words reflected a person's character.
A writer should always remain humble.
Should never become obsessed with awards.
Writing existed to tell the stories I wanted to share with the world.
Not as a tool for gaining something.
Yeah.
That's what everyone likes to preach.
“Bullshit. If you regress every time you fail to win the Nobel Prize, none of that means a damn thing.”
The moment I realized I'd wasted more than two hundred years through regression...
My mental state completely collapsed.
Looking back...
People put far too many expectations on writers.
“Writers are human too.”
They say you have to write every single day no matter how much you're suffering.
That you must uphold your artistic ideals.
I'd chained myself to that outdated way of thinking.
For over two hundred years.
“I don't care anymore!”
The Nobel Prize?
To hell with it.
Humility?
Diligence?
They can all go to hell too.
“This life... I'm going to use everything for my own benefit.”
If nothing I do can stop this endless cycle of regression...
Then this time, I'll live like a complete rogue.
If I can't escape the endless flow of time...
I'll find my own happiness within it.
Didn't the great Tolstoy once say...
“Fight against time with all your strength.”
“Come to think of it... Tolstoy never won the Nobel Prize either.”
How does that make any sense?
The man who wrote immortal masterpieces like War and Peace and Anna Karenina never won the Nobel Prize?
Maybe he experienced the same kind of outrageous injustice I did.
“Fine.”
“I'll fight it too.”
That's right.
This life...
Forget the Nobel Prize.
I'm going to enjoy myself.
Using every bit of experience and knowledge I've accumulated as a writer...
I'm going to squeeze every last drop of profit and pleasure out of this life.