Chapter 24
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 24
Chapter Title: Origin (1)
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Looking back on my childhood memories, a flood of moments inevitably flashed by, like a dam bursting.
The memory of having to wear long sleeves and pants even in the height of summer because of the welts from my father's beatings.
The memory of studying my ass off to become like my older brother, always striving to surpass his shadow, but never quite managing it.
The memory of swallowing my tears inside while enduring the kids' bullying and harsh words, all to stay the "good boy."
And,
"You really can't write."
There was the memory of hearing those words from my desk mate while I was filling blank manuscript paper with black ink.
"There are too many commas in your writing. The line breaks are weird, and in the end, it's just noise only you understand."
My first meeting with Seolhwa couldn't even be called pleasant, by any stretch.
She was the one peeking at what I was writing during the school writing contest—where I was dutifully filling out the manuscript paper—and critiquing it.
Anyone would feel bad hearing their work dismissed as a creator,
"The problem is your thinking is too extreme. Who wants to read nothing but depressing stuff?"
But she didn't know it back then.
She had no idea that her life as the granddaughter of a chaebol family had shaped her into someone who freely judged others and pointed out their flaws without hesitation.
"So what?"
For the record, that's what I said. My writing was just an emotional dumpster to begin with.
I'd break down the people I hated in print, inflict wounds on them through words, and it made me feel a little better.
"W-what? Are you saying that to me?"
"Yeah, who are you to tear down someone else's writing? Think you're so great?"
Honestly, it pissed me off big time.
I hated this lucky girl—who'd never lived my life—acting like she knew all about the scars I'd poured into those words.
"I'm the one who won gold at last year's school contest and the grand prize at the national writing competition."
I remember Seolhwa staring at me like I was some weirdo, utterly baffled.
A world that only respected results, no matter the process. I hated that world, so I shot back,
"So you think winning awards gives you the right to trash other people's writing?"
"……."
Normally, I wouldn't have said something like that. I should have played the "good boy."
But it felt like the world and characters I'd spent my life imagining and dreaming up were being denied.
They were my friends from those miserable childhood days, my one and only children in this world.
"No finger is immune to a bite. To a writer, every work is precious. Watch your words."
"Yeah... now that I think about it, you're right...."
Once my attitude shifted, Seolhwa finally nodded, admitting her mistake.
"So, can you tell me why this protagonist has to have such a backstory?"
She couldn't tear her eyes away from the manuscript, sneaking peeks until she finally got to the point. She could have just said she was interested from the start instead of beating around the bush.
What I was scribbling on that paper back then was the prequel to my later wuxia webnovel, Diamond Fist King.
"This kid's a monster. Born under the karma of the Heavenly Killing Star, he can't survive without killing."
I was writing Biwol's backstory—the final boss.
Maybe Seolhwa approached me because she wondered why a middle schooler would write something so grim.
"So that's why you started with the famine-struck village? The locust swarms blotting out the sky as the root of all evil?"
"Exactly. To me, the Heavenly Demon is someone who punishes the heavens for ignoring the people's cries. That's why I darkened the sky."
"Hmm... the imagery's pretty good, actually?"
Once I explained, Seolhwa nodded like she got it.
She was even jotting notes on the settings and plot from my manuscript.
"But do you really need the parts about suicide by poisonous mushrooms or boiling and eating human or animal corpses again? It's way too bleak."
"People do anything when they're cornered."
Back then, I'd thought about dying countless times and tried every method.
After my brother died, I couldn't endure my father's domestic violence, and pretty girls gossiped about me just because I was handsome, causing constant trouble.
"Harsh environments turn even good people extreme. You wouldn't get it."
I glanced at Seolhwa's belongings as I spoke. Her wallet, backpack, pens—everything screamed elegance.
To avoid my father's wrath, I'd learned to read rooms and faces.
"W-who says I don't get it?"
Hit a nerve, she fanned herself and played it cool, eyes wide like a cat as she defended herself.
"I know that much! I've had rigorous heir training since I was little, studied countless cases of people driven to despair..."
"...So you've never actually experienced it."
"……."
I pulled down my raised collar, revealing the scars I'd hidden.
Red handprints from being strangled by my father, marks from self-harm.
Normally I'd hide this pain, but with everyone out for the contest and the classroom empty, I'd let my guard down.
"I just... you seem talented enough to write better stuff, and it sucks seeing you stuck on negativity. Sorry."
"No need to apologize. Everyone makes mistakes."
Seolhwa let out a short sigh—"Ah..."—then bowed her head, mumbling.
"I had no idea..."
Tears started dropping. Good thing no one was around, or they'd call me trash for making a girl cry.
"Hey, are you crying? Cut it out. Cut it out."
"S-sorry.... Waaah...."
Caught off guard, I patted her back to soothe her.
"I-I just wanted to be friends with you...."
I learned later she was a huge fan, clipping and saving my writing.
After that, Seolhwa closed the distance in a flash. Honestly, what guy turns down a cute girl who loves his writing?
"Why'd you name her Biwol?"
"In my neighborhood, the moon hanging in the night sky is stunning. It's the only light piercing the dark where even streetlamps don't reach."
"So you used flying moon. Romantic."
From then on, we shared settings, building our own unique worldviews together.
A chaebol heiress and a slum boy from Moonlit Village.
Our worlds were night and day; without school, we'd never even talk.
"How about making her the final boss instead of protagonist? Conquering a dark past sounds cooler."
"Hmm... not sure."
"I'll give you a kiss later. Please?"
My negativity was rubbing off on her—or rather, she was coloring my world pink, like a boy in love.
Looking back, so many traits of my disciples came from her.
Biwol's beautiful black hair from describing Seolhwa's locks, Verdandi's pure innocence from her sunny smile.
"This girl's name is too close to mine, isn't it?"
Azazel's seductive ways drew from Seolhwa's frequent teases.
"So, hate it? I'm specially casting you in my novel."
"No, I love it...!"
Even in my debut Diamond Fist King, making Bingsul-hwa—Bing Yeon's half-sister—a heroine linked to the protagonist was her influence.
"Kim Huhl fights alone to the end, right? Even killing the Heavenly Demon doesn't avenge him."
"Yeah, that was the plan."
"Let's make us date. This heroine heals the protagonist's wounds."
Her cute, round handwriting filled my notebook, injecting hope into the tragic ending she'd foreseen.
"Every story should end happily. For the writer, the reader, and the characters."
"Got it. I'll keep that in mind."
Even now, chasing final bosses to save them stems from her values.
It was a nostalgic dream.
Like reliving that moment as a kid, first meeting Seolhwa and dreaming of being a writer.
"……."
I pulled a worn notebook from the shelf, its corner frayed. Han Do-hyun and Yu Seolhwa's Dream—a childish title, but precious.
From middle school through high school, college, even the army.
Traces of my efforts to write better despite endless failures.
「1. Write stories that make both writer and reader happy.
2. Become a writer proud of my pen name.
3. Han Do-hyun and Yu Seolhwa will definitely marry in the future!
(We wrote this together! No backing out later!)」
The pure innocence of youth, untouched by time—more precious than life to me.
Why I kept writing.
Why I didn't quit despite "no talent" jabs.
Why I wrote through wrist braces, dozing at the PC, wrecking my health.
"...It was all thanks to you."
All because of my first love, Yu Seolhwa.
Flipping through the old notebook, I couldn't help but smile wryly at the entries.
Unlike my crooked, chicken-scratch handwriting,
- Do-hyun-ah, why do you always write love stories so intensely?
Her cute, round script was there.
- I like romance, pure love especially. But this heroine talks just like me....
Truth is, continuing my childhood stories into adulthood was largely thanks to her. I had a secret crush back then.
Girls' intuition is razor-sharp.
- You... like me, don't you?
Emotions too vast for words,
love too deep for ink.
- Yeah, like you a ton.
I'd shyly replied in red pen. Below it, tiny: "Me too...!" I chuckled.
We filled the notebook with trivial romance, chattering about our happy future.
- Egg roll with sugar faction, or salt?
- Salt.
- Noted for later. Memo'd here?
- What if someone sees...
After that note, in home ec, she made egg rolls and secretly fed me.
Middle school love tasted salty-savory.
- Whatever. If word gets out, I'll just announce we're dating to the class.
- Aren't we too different? Status, money... You bought lunch again.
- Think of it as payment for the closest view of your face.
- ???
By high school, a big change hit our notebook chats.
- Do-hyun-ah, even if I die, you'll keep writing, right?
Teardrops stained the pages; her handwriting grew shaky, illegible.
"……."
A massive stroke of misfortune: a hit-and-run truck, still at large. Spinal infarction stiffened her body.
- Don't say that. I'm here. What's to worry?
- But... my arms won't even let me write anymore.
- It's fine. Dictate, and I'll write.
Toward the end, her script vanished; only mine remained.
- Do-hyun-ah, I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared of being forgotten.
By college, she needed braces to walk.
- Writers speak through words, but dying without publishing a book terrifies me.
Dying Seolhwa voiced gloom opposite her usual positivity.
- Do-hyun-ah, your writing's fun. Keep going?
When army duty kept me away, she chose the extreme.
- Love you. So much.
Just those words, in barely legible script—as if written by mouth.
Our notebook love ended.
From then, I wrote relentlessly.
To fulfill her unfinished dream, immortalize her.
Post-army, post-college, through failures, for better writing.
But no success.
Despite braces, dozing at the PC, shattered health.
Childhood first love? Adult denial? Nah.
I sold my life to love.
Believing success someday, twisting my novelist dream to webnovels.
Author-nim, please don't drop the series. I'm the reader who's finished all three of your works. If this one vanishes too, what am I supposed to read!?
And so,
If that's how it is, I have no choice but to show my 'sincerity' too.
I saw one devoted reader's comment, stepping into this strange, beautiful novel world.