An Author's Woes

Like any other morning, I shuffled into the kitchen rubbing the haze from my eyes. The nutty scent of toasted sesame hung in the air.

I yawned, long and loud.

"You're up?"

"Yeah. What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs."

"Boiled?"

"Fried."

Not a bad breakfast. Pair it with yesterday's leftover salad and the dryness ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wouldn't be so bad.

These past few days, my worries about protein intake had all but vanished. It felt like I'd finally thrown off the iron shackles I'd been wearing for years since coming to this world.

"Gonna go wash up."

"Okay. Hurry back. Don't forget to turn off the faucet, alright?"

"Yeah."

My footsteps padded across the floor. In the bathroom mirror, I met the eyes of a reasonably good-looking guy. Whether it was all the meat I'd been eating lately or not, some actual flesh had filled out what used to be a scrawny frame.

I stepped inside and turned the faucet with a rusty squeak. The thing was corroded, but if you wound it a half-turn first and then twisted the rest of the way, it went a little easier. Water trickled out. I splashed my face and patted it dry.

Ah, right.

I'd forgotten the soap was used up again. Oh well. Guess it was just a water wash today, too...

...Hmm?

Wait a second.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

Why the hell did this feel so natural?

"What the hell are you doing... Baek Dongha, you bastard."

I said it to the idiot in the mirror. Not the wrecked porter who'd worn dark circles like a permanent accessory, but an ordinary, sturdy guy in his early twenties you could find anywhere. A carefree face without a trace of worry on it.

"...You're not going home? Planning to live here for the rest of your life?"

The words coming out of the moron talking to himself in the mirror first thing in the morning hit the bullseye. Days of joy and peace had stretched on so long I'd forgotten what actually mattered.

...But.

The way back.

Killing the Demon King.

These past few days, I'd grown incredibly close to the Demon King. Close enough to call her a friend.

I don't dislike the Demon King. If I'm being honest, I even like her a little. Which is to say, in this world, she's the being I like most.

That blind hatred the people of this place harbor toward the Demon King? I don't have any of that. Never did, from the start.

I'd just ridden the wave of public outrage because I needed to get home. I'd only ever known the Demon King as some evil, cruel being — but having never grown up learning this world's history, I didn't harbor so much as a shred of hostility. To be precise, I hadn't cared at all.

She's so kind... and they haven't even seen her for themselves.

I was reminded all over again just how terrifying mob mentality could be.

If living alone at the top of a tower, sewing dinosaur plushies, and farming cabbages to make kimchi counted as a crime, I'd take a Potato Bomb and go bomb this country's legislature in her place.

...What am I supposed to do.

The Demon King is, without a doubt, my friend. I don't want her to die or get hurt.

But if that's the case, I can never go back to my original world. These past few months with her — there were times I almost died, times I was dead on my feet from exhaustion — but looking back now, it had been far more comfortable than the years I'd spent in this world before her.

Even so, could I really put her on one side of the scale and my way home on the other? Just because we were friends... could I throw everything away and spend eternity here with her?

That's...

No. I couldn't.

If I looked hard enough, there had to be another way...

...Hah...

"Fuck."

Wasn't the whole reason I'd suffered under those asshole party members and joined the Demon King subjugation because there was no other way?

...This is so frustrating.

"What are you doing! You have to eat it while it's hot!"

The Demon King called to me from the kitchen beyond the bathroom door.

I didn't want to put a period on these worries just yet. Whatever the answer was, it wasn't something my pathetic hands would decide anyway.

For now, I was going to be a man without a plan.

"Coming!"

I shut off the faucet with a squeak. And with it, I cut off the worries that had been pouring out of me in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a messy, unstoppable flood.

"How is it?"

"...It's just eggs?"

"...How is it?"

"It's nutty. Turned out really good."

".......How is it?"

"It's delicious enough to melt every tiger in the world into butter."

The spoon she'd been scooping eggs with dropped from her hand with a clink.

"Th-that's so cool! That line... I love it... so much!"

Good. That was the highest praise she knew. Of course she'd love it — it was a line from a masterpiece by one of Japan's great literary masters, after all.

"I'll give you more of mine!"

And then she picked a whole clump of carrots out of the salad and piled them onto my plate. Gee, thanks a whole damn lot.

"Hey, hey. What about the fairy tale?"

She asked, tapping her plate with her spoon. Ting, ting.

"I finished one."

"W-wow. That fast? That's amazing!"

You're the one who made me write it, you lunatic.

Anyway... I'd made a promise, hadn't I. Baek Dongha, a man of his word. He keeps the promises he makes to himself. Except for the Paper Crane, making her clothes, and the photos.

What's so special about a kids' fairy tale, anyway? Just throw in some animals, tack on a moral, and you're done, right?

I wanted to soothe her heart as quickly as I could — all the books she'd treasured had burned. And I also wanted to see her face light up reading a fairy tale as soon as possible.

I could already hear her in my head. Wooow! I love it! I'll read it five times! No, a hundred times!

Just imagining it brought a proud little dad-smile to my face. So yeah, I may have written it a little hastily.

"Here it is."

I handed her my debut work from last night.

"Wow... thank you."

She stopped eating, eyes sparkling, and flipped open the fairy tale with giddy excitement. She tore through it like a kid who'd stumbled into a treasure vault.

...Even if I rushed it, it was worth it. Heh heh.

Watching her face as she lost herself in the story, the food tasted like honey. It slid down my throat as smoothly as if those eggs had been greased. I found myself thinking that if I had a daughter someday, it might be nice to write a book for her myself.

"...Haha. That entertaining, huh..."

"KYAAAAAAAH!!"

I nearly sprayed the egg that had been going down my throat, then doubled over coughing. Was that the Roar of the Berserk Dragon? It sounded like some archaeopteryx screaming right in my face.

"What now..."

"Wh-what is this!!! Huh? What kind of fairy tale is this!"

"What?"

"This is awful! This isn't even a book! I'm sorry, trees!"

...?!

"What's...?"

"Nnngh! Write it again! You're writing it again!"

No... why, though?

"...Is there some part you didn't like..."

"NNNNGH!"

The Demon King, huffing and puffing, shoved my debut work right in my face. Her hands were shaking so hard the letters shook with them.

...It's not that bad, is it?

I'd borrowed the title of a novel that had been popular back on Earth, and made the protagonist a donkey — her favorite animal.

So my masterpiece — a work that stood on a completely different plane from those mass-produced cookie-cutter fairy tales, brimming with a donkey's thirst for freedom — was worth less than some plagiarist's hunk of typeset?

"You don't like it...?"

I closed Omniscient Donkey Perspective and asked her.

"Escape? Escape from what! Even I can't let this one slide. Write it again!"

When have you EVER let anything slide!

Ah, there was one. Yesterday's Ssang Ssang Bar.

"I'll seal this monster away! Leave it to me!"

Her pupils shaking, she spread both arms wide. A pitch-black aura wrapped around her. Holy shit. Eight magic circles bloomed at her feet.

And the air began to crack like a windowpane struck by a stone. With a shatter, something like a black demon's hand burst out from the fissure. It snatched the Omniscient Donkey Perspective she was holding and vanished back to the other side of the dimension.

"...With this, the world is safe. I've sealed it in the Warehouse of Darkness."

The Demon King wore the expression of Superman after stopping a meteor. Leave it to her to handle things in the most her way possible.

This little shit?

Sure, it might not have been to her taste — but how do you trash someone else's work like that? She'd read those damn plagiarized books until they were worn to shreds!

Let me teach you.

The proper way to treat someone else's work.

I grabbed the edge of the table.

And flipped it.

"Kyaah!"

The table went over, and all the colorful food she'd laid out went tumbling through the air. The prettily arranged salad splattered against the wall, and boiled eggs rolled across the floor.

"Y-you, why did you..."

"You get it now? What it feels like to have your work destroyed?"

I pinched her squishy cheek and lifted. Her small white feet rose onto tiptoes to match.

"Look how squishy you are. You damn rice cake."

"I'm thorry... I'm thowwy..."

"You think saying sorry just fucking ends it?"

"D-don't... don't do i'..."

"What? Don't do what? Listen up. I'm about to teach you a lesson."

I stabbed a fork into the carrots that had fallen from my plate onto the floor. Poke, poke, poke. Three of them.

"Open up."

"Mmph... mmmph. I don't wanna..."

The Demon King clamped her big mouth shut and shook her head left and right.

"Open up. If you don't, I'm ending this friendship."

"Euhk.. hic........ Ah."

The Demon King trembled at the words ending this friendship and reluctantly opened her mouth.

I shoved them in.

"Mmph! Mmmph..!!"

The moment the carrots went in, she let out a pained scream.

"Chew them thoroughly! They're good for you!"

"...Hic.. crunch... euhhhk... crunch crunch. Hic."

"Stop."

"...Stop."

As expected, when you're raising a kid, you really do need the right mix of carrot and stick.

...Though in this particular case, was it the stick? Or the carrot?

"You were wrong, weren't you?"

"Sniff... Yeah. I was bad."

"So what should you do now?"

"I'll be a good Demon King who... sniff... treasures the things other people make."

"That's right. Good girl."

"...Hey, what are you thinking about?"

The Demon King asked.

"...The next fairy tale."

"You made a promise to me and then phoned it in, didn't you? Were you wrong, or weren't you?"

"I was wrong."

"So what should you do now?"

"...Be a good friend who... treasures his promises... I'll write it carefully."

"Mhm. Good boy. I'll hold onto Omniscient Donkey Perspective for now. Eat this and write with some energy, okay? Come on, open up."

"...Ah."

She put the forkful of carrots into my open mouth. Three of them, no less.