Debut, Part 4
“Another publishing house?”
“Yes. That’s correct.” There was no need to explain it at length.
Strictly speaking, the right was mine. It was even written into my employment contract.
My work belonged to the company only within the scope of my duties.
In other words, they couldn’t stop me from working as a freelance critic. But from Representative Mun’s point of view, it was hardly welcome news.
The mere fact that I was giving my writing to another publishing house. “...Must you really do that? What if we gave Employee Mok more places to publish?”
“If I publish too much, it’ll inevitably lead to accusations of unfairness. If you’d like, a space in the editorial department’s criticism section would be enough.”
“Hmph….” He clearly disliked the idea.
It would have been foolish to bristle here and start waving my rights around.
Now was the time to show trust. “Wherever I publish, I won’t write anything that harms Gyeongseong Publishing. And—” This, too, was a proposal only I could make. I looked from the foreign literature department to the Korean literature department in turn. “If either department needs me in the future, I’ll cooperate as much as possible.”
Why else would they have come here?
To watch the show? Hardly.
They wanted to use me.
If quarterly magazines had criticism, then novels and poetry collections always had commentary tacked onto the back.
That applied to both Korean literature and foreign literature. The tone was less sharp than criticism, but more detailed than a review.
In other words, commentary was the work of a critic who had already made his debut.
And what if there happened to be a critic on staff?
For them, that was nothing short of a windfall.
A windfall that could drastically reduce their workload. If I could secure my freedom as a critic on reasonable terms, I was willing to cooperate with them as well.
Besides, commentary was also good résumé material for a critic. Sure enough, the two department editors and team leads exchanged glances.
Then they nodded and spoke cautiously to Representative Mun.
“I think it would be fine to review this favorably.”
“Long-term, it doesn’t seem like a bad proposal either.”
“Well, you can’t exactly suppress a critic’s freedom, can you?”
Their expressions were so transparent it was almost funny.
Representative Mun let out a groan, then finally gave in. “If the people handling the work say so, what can I do? Fine. Then leave that aside for now, Chief Editor Im. Have you thought enough about the first proposal I mentioned earlier?”
“Yes. I do, however, need to discuss it with you first.” The two of them left the editor-in-chief’s office like that.
Their voices drifted back to me from the hallway, low and indistinct.
And a moment later, they returned.
Representative Mun said, “Employee Mok, let’s do this. In the spring issue of Gyeongseong Geul that’s coming up, I’ll make the editorial department’s criticism section a special feature. Then, after we see how it performs, we’ll decide whether to make it a regular part.”
He wasn’t giving me ownership of a section in Gyeongseong Geul.
He was giving me a chance to become its owner. If I slipped in the spring issue, there would be nothing left.
“Or you could simply accept the promotion to section head.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Yes. I’ll do it with the spring issue.”
I had no interest in strutting around over a title.
Seizing the opportunity was far more appealing.
“Good. Go to HR in a few days and have the contract rewritten.”
“Yes. Thank you, Representative.”
Representative Mun held out his hand for a shake.
The instant I took it, he suddenly grabbed the back of my hand with his other one too, squeezing hard.
“!”
“Let’s do well from here on out.” Then he strode out without looking back.
The editors and team leads all hurried after him.
“...Is my hand going to burst?”
The back of my hand had turned bright red.
And only then did it hit me.
“Phew….”
I slumped down onto the editor-in-chief’s office sofa.
I’d really done it. I had negotiated with the representative of Gyeongseong Publishing.
There was no other way to describe it.
The back of my hand was beginning to swell. “He’s got serious strength.”
During the handshake, his eyes had clearly been saying, This annoying bastard.
I knew exactly what that look meant.
It meant I had negotiated well.
─┼
Will you repay 38,340,000 won?
“Of course.” With trembling fingers, I pressed Yes.
All of Mok Hyunsun’s loan debt has been repaid.
“Wooooo! Finally!!!”
I threw my phone aside and flopped onto the bed.
Just then, my final winning prize had come in.
I’d swept it all together and paid off the loan in one go. My heart felt as light as a breeze.
The studio apartment felt like a vast open field now. This was happiness. This was freedom.
“I shouldn’t be lying around like this.”
I jumped to my feet.
Using a delivery app, I ordered a ridiculous amount of my favorite food. A little later, a banquet was spread across the studio floor.
And the friend who absolutely couldn’t be absent from this occasion: beer.
Glug, glug, glug…
“Aaahhhh!!!!”
The taste of escaping debt collectors. Sweet.
Come to think of it, maybe luck with money had finally started sticking to me.
A few days earlier, something like this had happened.
I’d received a call from the Shinchun Moonye commemorative foundation.
— We’re publishing an anthology of the Shinchun Moonye debut works in fiction, poetry, children’s literature, and criticism from the Seoul and Gyeonggi area. It’s also a national project. Well… this year’s criticism volume looks like it’s going to be filled entirely with critic Mok Hyunsun’s works.
It was strange.
A commemorative anthology for Shinchun Moonye turning into a book of my criticism.
Still, there was a good side to it.
— We also provide a modest fee for the manuscript. It’s set at one million won per piece, so seven million won will be deposited in total.
Unexpected money, rolling in from nowhere.
Nom, nom.
The flavor of seasoned fried chicken was sweet and tangy.
A few days before that, there had been another thing.
My father had called me back to the family home. When we actually faced each other, the two of us were awkward beyond belief.
For someone who had always been so eloquent with words, it was like there were lead weights tied to our tongues.
— You’re living in a studio apartment?
— Yes.
— You can come live here.
— I’m fine. There’s no need to say that.
I no longer hated my father, but as a grown man who had gotten used to living alone, that was impossible.
— I’ll come by often instead.
— Forget it. I was just saying it.
My father pretended not to be hurt.
Then, without a word, he held out a passbook and a card.
— ? What’s this?
— I took care of the tax issues. Use it as you please. Your mother made an account in your name when you were little. It was still active.
— ...Father.
— Think of it as payment for the years you spent out on your own having a rough time.
What was I supposed to do, refuse on principle and puff myself up with pride?
Act too comfortable and say I was already making enough?
Of course not.
I took the passbook and card without hesitation.
— Thank you, sincerely.
In that way, we reconciled emotionally, literarily, and even materially.
Only on the way back to my studio did I check the amount of money in the account.
There was enough in there to make even a real estate agent’s eyes widen.
Enough to cover the deposit on a decent apartment, no problem.
Nom, nom.
This place really did make good jokbal.
Chewy, chewy.
Anyway, the conclusion was that I’d soon be able to escape the studio apartment.
I’d been thinking a small officetel like Senior Yoon’s would be enough, but if I set my mind to it, I could probably go bigger.
Buzz—buzz—buzz.
A call came in.
It was reporter Min A-yeon, the one who had landed the interview.
I wiped the grease from my hand and answered.
“Hello?”
— Critic Mok. This is Min A-yeon.
“Yes. What can I do for you?”
— Our culture desk meeting today settled the date and venue for the Shinchun Moonye award ceremony. The venue is the Dongwol Daily headquarters, and the date is Saturday the 11th. Would you be able to attend? Ah, right.
Shinchun Moonye even had an award ceremony.
I was just about to say I’d attend without thinking too deeply when—
— The culture desk really wants to have you there, so please, I’m asking you to help us out.
Reporter Min suddenly sounded apologetic.
What was this?
If she was sounding apologetic, that meant the situation was unfavorable.
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t go?”
— As you know, the other newspapers are holding their Shinchun Moonye award ceremonies around the same time. It’s the weekend after the first week. My guess is that if there are seven newspapers involved, you’ll end up overlapping with at least three or four of them. As you know...
“What do you mean, as I know? I hadn’t even thought about award ceremony schedules.”
— Well… it may be rude of me to say this, but so far, people who’ve debuted through two newspapers at once usually choose one of the three major dailies. By the three major dailies, I mean Dongwol Daily, Josong Daily, and Junghan Daily.
So that was what she meant. She wanted me to attend their ceremony, after all.
— Honestly, this is a matter of pride for the newspaper culture desk, too. If we lose the ceremony’s main attraction, that’s a little... And the other newspapers are watching very closely to see where you’ll go, Critic Mok. So, for my sake, could you please come to Dongwol Daily? Please.
To be begging so openly.
Being a reporter really wasn’t a job just anyone could do.
But work was work.
I recited the magic phrase used in situations like this.
“I’ll review it positively.”
I hung up.
Nom, nom.
Strings of melted pizza cheese stretched from my mouth.
Pizza tasted terrible when it got cold.
Still.
“A power struggle among newspapers, huh. That’s exhausting.”
If I’d only debuted in two places, I would have simply gone according to status and picked the bigger outlet.
Since everyone said that was the natural thing to do, they would have excused it.
But if I picked only the three major dailies and ignored the rest…?
...Even I thought I’d be obnoxious.
And going out of my way to choose a smaller newspaper would be odd, too.
After such a lavish meal, I opened another can of beer.
Gulp, gulp, gulp.
“Aaah—.”
And as the beer went down my throat, I made my decision.
I wouldn’t insert myself into other people’s fight.
But I should still prepare an acceptance speech.
My way.
I pushed the food to one side and spread a notebook out on the low desk.
“Hmm.”
I thought it over.
In capitalist society, everyone sells something.
Labor, knowledge, art.
Then what did a critic sell?
What was it that he sold so well… that it made me this happy?
“...Right.”
I found the answer.
There was one thing everyone sold, but only a critic could sell.
Scratch, scratch….
I began writing something down.
─┼
As Reporter Min had said, the big newspapers were engaged in a subtle battle of nerves.
The real issue, as expected, was the Shinchun Moonye award ceremony.
And the super rookie, Mok Hyunsun.
In truth, newspapers had never cared all that much about the Shinchun Moonye award ceremony.
It was an event that came back every year, after all, and newspapers were media companies, not literary circles.
Even when another paper’s ceremony overlapped with theirs, they had usually just let it go.
But this year was different. Mok Hyunsun’s name had spread beyond the literary world and into the broader cultural scene.
It was only natural that cultural figures were now paying attention to the ceremony.
The ones most frustrated by this situation were the heads of the newspapers’ culture desks.
“Reporter Min! You were the one who even got the first interview and everything. You should’ve built the relationship early—early! Ugh, what do you mean, ‘we’ll review it positively’? And why does the date have to clash with Josong Daily’s of all things? Did he already go over there?”
“What do you mean he hasn’t said he’s attending anywhere yet? Then there’s still hope for Hanseon Daily. Keep calling him. What? He’s not answering? Not even checking his email? Then go to Gyeongseong Publishing itself. Push hard, I’m telling you!”
“Haaah— the ceremony’s still days away and we still haven’t heard a thing? We’re still Junghan Daily, aren’t we—if he doesn’t come here, then where does he think he’s going? And isn’t there a ceremony with a time clash? Then wouldn’t it be fine for him to come to us? This is really driving me crazy.”
Three nerve-wracking days passed like that.
Then, back at Dongwol Daily’s culture desk: “Eek—.”
Reporter Min A-yeon was startled when she saw the email.
“...It’s real?”
After checking the contents several times, she went straight to the culture desk chief.
“Chief. I received a message from critic Mok Hyunsun.”
“Oh, good! What did he say? Is he coming? He’s coming, right?”
“...No.”
The chief slapped a hand to his forehead.
“Damn it. Which one did we lose him to? Is he going to Josong in the end?”
“No. It’s not that….”
“Then what the hell is it?!” he roared.
But despite that unpleasant shout, Min A-yeon was only more stunned.
“He says he won’t be attending... any of the seven.”
---