The Lioness and the Honey Badger
I had taken bride classes for five whole years, from the age of ten until fifteen. Housework was obviously my forte, but I excelled at everything else too. Cooking, cleaning, entertaining guests, proper etiquette—there wasn’t a single thing I couldn’t handle. And furthermore—
Tachibana Hana straightened her upper body. The part of her figure that would cause trouble if named outright pressed clearly against the tight fabric of her school uniform shirt.
“I’m also confident in my charm. I started with swimming and ballet when I was young, then moved on to tennis, gymnastics, and dance as I grew older. As you can see, I don’t have an ounce of fat on me. My family oversaw my training with absolute thoroughness.”
My gaze drifted downward without thinking. Tachibana Hana stood with one hand on her hip, radiating the bold confidence of someone who would show you everything if only you asked. Her waist was so slender that even her palm covered nearly a third of its circumference. If I wrapped both my hands around it, I could probably hide it completely.
“Writer-nim.”
I snapped out of my near-fantasy and lifted my eyes.
“If you marry me, I’ll make sure you don’t have to worry about anything else and can focus solely on your writing.”
Her straightforward proposal continued. Just hearing it made me wonder if any sweeter offer could possibly exist. All I had to do was switch publishers and keep writing, earning a minimum of nine billion in royalties while gaining a beautiful wife accomplished in both the literary and domestic arts.
“Uh… what…”
“You’re wondering what qualifications I have to make such an offer, aren’t you?”
“……Yes. Well. I am curious. What qualifications exactly?”
“Hehe…”
Tachibana Hana’s lips curved into a lovely smile, as if she had expected this exact reaction. That mysteriously confident, captivating smile made it easy to guess what she was about to say.
“Allow me to reintroduce myself, Writer-nim.” She raised her right hand to chest level. “My name is Tachibana Hana.” Her voice remained soft and gentle. “I am the second daughter of Tachibana Hashima, president of Tachibana Publishing—the largest publishing house in Japan.”
She even added a cute wink.
“Is that explanation sufficient?”
“…….”
I let out a quiet groan. I had suspected something when she first mentioned the publishing company, but I never imagined she would be the second daughter of that Tachibana Publishing.
‘Tachibana Publishing…’
Even a minor writer like me, who had only released a few books in Korea, knew of this Japanese publishing giant. If my memory served, their annual revenue last year had far exceeded one trillion won. JL E&M, home to numerous actors who guaranteed ten-million-ticket films, hovered just under one trillion, while Kim Won Publishing—where I held my exclusive contract—had managed barely two hundred billion. The scale was clear: this wasn’t merely a publishing house but a massive corporation. It also explained why Japan’s publishing market dwarfed our own.
“However,” I said slowly, setting aside the subject of the company’s size. That wasn’t what mattered. “Why go to such lengths to recruit me?”
The question had genuinely begun to eat at me. Why? For what possible reason would she offer such outrageous terms just to secure me as an exclusive author? I had sold reasonably well in Korea, but globally I was nothing special. There was no logical reason to offer twenty percent royalties, either.
“Because I’m a fan of yours, Writer-nim.”
The answer came without a moment’s hesitation. I was briefly thrown off balance before regaining my composure. It was flattering that the daughter of Japan’s largest publishing president was my fan, yet the doubt remained. This seemed far too excessive for mere fandom. Twenty percent royalties?
Some might wonder what was so impressive about twenty percent, but in the world of print books it was an extraordinary rate. Ask for the names of Korean authors who had ever received twenty percent on paper sales—excluding e-books—and you would struggle to name even ten.
“There must be another reason.”
“No, there isn’t any oth—”
“Look. I’m not stupid.” I cut her off. “I’m hardly a literary giant like Haruki Murakami. Guaranteeing a minimum first print run of ten million copies and offering twenty percent royalties with no conditions attached? Come on.”
“That’s… well…”
“Don’t change your story later. Just be completely honest right now. If I like what I hear, I’ll say yes.”
Well, after all that… She should have understood my meaning. I didn’t press further and simply waited.
“……”
“……”
Finally she spoke.
“……There are two conditions.”
Tachibana Hana extended her index and middle fingers in a clear “two” gesture.
“First. If you marry me, you must come live in Japan.”
Immigration, as expected. I nodded for her to continue.
“Second. In the future, please occasionally write pieces in support of the Liberal Democratic Party.”
“……”
My nodding stopped short. The statement was so unexpected it left me stunned.
“Write what for whom?”
“Pieces supporting the Liberal Democratic Party.”
“……”
I touched my fingertips to my lips. The “Democratic Party” she referred to was clearly not Korea’s opposition party. She meant Japan’s Liberal Democratic Party—the LDP—which had recently failed to secure a majority in the House of Representatives election.
I had countless questions, but I kept my thoughts hidden and tested the waters.
“Does your family have relatives affiliated with the LDP?”
“My grandfather is the LDP Vice President. He will soon become president.”
“I don’t know how to write in Japanese.”
“That’s fine. Write your manuscripts in Korean and I’ll have them translated.”
“Even if I’m supposed to write for the LDP, I’m not sure what that would specifically entail.”
“Endorse the collusion between politics and business. Tie it to American lobbyists. With your writing talent, that should be possible, shouldn’t it?”
“Lobbying is illegal in Korea. Writing about it would cause an enormous uproar.”
“You can simply live as a Japanese citizen. You’ll be marrying me, after all.”
“If word gets out that the son of JL’s vice chairman wrote an article endorsing LDP political-business collusion, do you really think Koreans would stay quiet? They’d riot, calling it a traitor corporation and vowing to destroy JL.”
“The LDP will give JL’s Japanese expansion full support. If consumers boycott, simply threaten to turn it into a Japanese company. JL’s core business is electronics, not manufacturing. A company responsible for fifteen percent of GDP announcing it’s leaving Korea would force the government to silence public outrage. It might not even make the news at all.”
“……”
What was this? Had she prepared counterarguments in advance? Every point I raised was instantly rebuffed. I could only stare at her.
“……”
“……”
Her gaze seemed to ask whether I had anything left to say. After a brief pause, I raised a more fundamental issue.
“Setting everything else aside, what effect could someone like me possibly have by writing such things?”
“A huge one. Enormous, actually.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“Because your writing has the power to move people’s hearts.”
“My writing?”
“I’m referring to Age of Abhorrence, the book you released recently. Do you know how Korean internet community culture changed after its publication?”
“Not really. I don’t spend much time on those sites…”
“If there were one hundred posts promoting various forms of hatred, eighty of them reportedly disappeared. Not twenty out of a hundred—eighty vanished, leaving only twenty. Your words moved people’s hearts.”
“……”
“And if you can move people’s hearts…”
“You can move the world. The public is easily swayed by public opinion—or anything that resembles it.”
“Exactly. You can move the world. You can move public opinion.”
I finally understood. In other words, this girl named Tachibana Hana had seen potential in the way my work had transformed Korean internet culture. She had approached me with a deal that would bring immense benefit to both our families.
“Writer-nim.”
Tachibana Hana looked directly into my eyes.
“Let me say it once more.”
She extended her right hand, which looked impossibly soft.
“Please marry me and write for our family. If you do that, I will give you wealth, honor, and even myself. Everything you desire, Writer-nim.”
I stared quietly at Tachibana Hana’s hand. Taking it would grant me the greatest happiness a man could possibly enjoy.
……Without any particular hesitation, I took her hand.
“Writer-nim…! I’m so glad you made the right choice! I will devote myself completely and—”
Tachibana Hana beamed. I smiled back at her.
“No.”
“Help… Huh? I’m sorry?”
“Tachibana Hana-ssi. I must decline your proposal.”
“D-decline…?!”
“Yes. I decline.”
“B-but… why? These conditions are good for you too, aren’t they?”
Tachibana Hana was so flustered she could barely form coherent sentences. Her genuine shock at my refusal made me chuckle.
“Objectively speaking, they are excellent conditions. More than sufficient for a moderately famous Korean writer like myself.”
“Th-then why would you—”
“The reason is simple.”
I let my gaze drift sideways, then upward, then downward. Finally I looked out the window at the yard. I scanned every direction. Tachibana Hana’s eyes frantically followed mine, completely distracted.
“They say leaving home brings nothing but hardship.”
“Pardon…?”
“I don’t want to go to Japan.”
“……?!”