The Bully Intern (3)
It happened that the next day was Saturday.
Thanks to an older acquaintance who worked in the radiology department of a university hospital, I was able to get an MRI right away. A little later, I was in the neurosurgery clinic.
A young doctor glanced at my chart and asked at a leisurely pace, “Your ability to remember printed text has become extraordinarily sharp, and your analytical skills have suddenly improved?”
“Yes.” I left out the details.
I wanted to hear an objective assessment of my condition first, and besides, talking about Marx or Schopenhauer or whoever would have felt a little too much like a middle-school delusion.
“You said you sustained a major blow to the head?”
“Yes. I was hit with a thick book. There was no external injury.”
“Take a look here.” The doctor paused the MRI image, which had been winding across the screen like a squashed ribbon.
It was a cross-section of my brain, like a watermelon split down the middle.
He pointed to the center with the tip of his pen. “This is called Wernicke’s area. It’s the part that handles language analysis and production. If this goes wrong, you can get aphasia and the like. There is some white swelling here.”
“What? Am I going to get aphasia?”
“Ha. You speak far too well for that. It isn’t badly swollen either. It looks like the impact may have reached that area by bad luck, but it should go down quickly.”
“Then what’s my problem...?”
“You can think of it as none.”
“And the change in my language-related abilities?”
“Hmm. The brain isn’t an organ that improves when it takes a blow. In my opinion, it’s probably just your imagination.” When I still looked unconvinced, the doctor asked, “What do you do for work?”
“I work at a publishing house.”
“Haha. I see.” ...Was he laughing at me just now?
As if to say the imagination of a liberal-arts major was something quaint and entertaining.
But this was my reality. Reality.
“So there’s no chance of something like that happening?”
“There’s no such thing as a zero percent chance in this world. Still, I can say that no case has been published in the academic world yet.”
“Then what if it does happen?”
The doctor’s expression turned serious at once. “Then you’d be a research subject. The government would probably want to open your head and take a look.”
“!”
“Do you think a country like South Korea would just leave someone like that alone?”
“...Yes. Thank you for the consultation.” I left the clinic quickly.
Separate from any love I felt for my country, I had no intention of becoming a laboratory rat.
On the bus ride home, I tried to sort out my situation. I didn’t know whether it was Wernicke or Veronica, but the fact remained the same.
My head had become absurdly good. Anything I had seen even once was now preserved in perfect photographic detail.
My comprehension and analytical ability had improved like mad.
Especially in literary fields, where the art itself was made of words.
Whether science could explain it or not didn’t matter.
This was nothing short of magic. A grin tugged at my mouth.
It had been worth reading so much.
It had been worth focusing on what I loved.
It had been worth not giving up on being a literature nerd.
In short, I had done everything right, me.
After I got home, I finally cleaned my room. I set up the collapsed desk and put the fallen books back on the shelf.
Once I had cleared the room from top to bottom, I picked up the book that had smashed into my head, or rather into Wernicke’s area: Modern Criticism Theory.
I had used it in my first year for a required foundational class and then completely forgotten it. I hugged it to my chest and flopped onto the floor. “Thanks, you little bastard.”
What I was most grateful for, though, was the fact that I enjoyed this ability.
After everything that had happened yesterday, I understood it clearly. These brand-new novels being born into the world.
The act of analyzing them and expressing them in my own language.
It was more exhilarating and thrilling than I had expected.
If I had to compare it to something, it felt like tasting the first sashimi cut from a fish just pulled from the water. And from the most delicious part.
So yes, for now, I wanted to stay at Gyeongseong Publishing.
It was the place where the largest number of novel manuscripts gathered in Korea.
That was Gyeongseong Publishing.
...Well, that and the loans I still had to pay back.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
There were broadly two ways for writers to publish their work.
They could release a standalone book,
or they could appear in a literary magazine, one of a publisher’s periodicals.
In particular, works that appeared in literary magazines were how the literary world gauged a writer’s current ability. Because that was how the business was structured, the status of literary magazines in the literary world was far greater than outsiders could imagine.
In the web novel world, it was roughly comparable to a platform.
Gyeongseong Publishing also issued a literary magazine called Gyeongseong Geul.
Since it was published once every season, four times a year, people also called it a quarterly. And naturally, Gyeongseong Geul was a dream stage for many writers.
And now, on Sunday afternoon, in the fifth-floor editorial conference room at Gyeongseong Publishing’s headquarters in Paju, a secret editorial meeting for the autumn issue of Gyeongseong Geul was under way.
Chief Editor Im Myeong-eul.
Four middle-aged editorial board members.
They were all professors, scholars, and critics of renown. The wide table was covered with galley proofs for the autumn issue of Gyeongseong Geul.
They turned through the proofs one by one as the meeting went on. “This poet Lee Sang-hoon’s piece is too safe. Disappointing.”
“His work has been losing tension little by little since the beginning of the year. Let’s cancel the commission for the winter issue.”
“Agreed. And novelist Hong Seon-woong is still sticking to the same style.”
“That’s both his identity and his limit.”
“It’ll still work this year. If there’s no change by next year, he’ll start to fade. Still, I thought this novel was decent.”
“The criticism by Seo Dae-ho... Hmm, this piece has a sharp eye.”
“Too sharp and nothing else. Criticism should ultimately carry a sense of love for the novel, but this just feels like someone eagerly dumping out everything they studied.”
“Still, we did pick someone who’s said to be one of the stronger young critics.”
“There really are no figures these days. Whom are we supposed to commission for criticism in the next issue? It already gives me a headache.”
Chief Editor Im Myeong-eul said, “If there’s no one at the right level, then we simply don’t run it. Just as writers should write with rigor, publishers should choose writers with rigor.”
Meanwhile, Team Leader Lee Jae-woon, dragged in even on Sunday to assist them, thought to himself, Every time I see one, editorial meetings are terrifying. This is probably the only place that evaluates writers with such cold severity, even those other publishers would fight over just to recruit.
But that was precisely why Gyeongseong Geul remained at the top.
Even if the magazine had to get thinner, they preserved the quality.
The last editorial discussion was drawing to a close when Chief Editor Im Myeong-eul spoke. “How did you find the manuscript for The Man Who Searches for Ghosts, which I sent you a week ago? If everyone agrees, I’d like to run it in Gyeongseong Geul as the winning entry from the general submissions.”
“!” That was the piece brought to the editorial meeting?! Then the assignment he gave the intern was... to see his real ability. Team Leader Lee swallowed hard.
The submission had been open to the general public.
If it passed here,
that writer could make a dazzling debut in the literary world.
As soon as The Man Who Searches for Ghosts was mentioned, the mood in the room brightened at once.
They had liked it for the same reason as Team Leader Lee.
In particular, its distinctive atmosphere, something that could never come out of creative writing education alone, earned high marks. In the end, publication was essentially certain.
But some concerns were raised as well. “If we run this in Gyeongseong Geul, then we’ll need to include a review explaining why it was chosen. Isn’t this the kind of piece that would be difficult to review?”
“I thought the same. It’s a novel driven by atmosphere, so it’s quite difficult to unpack it logically.”
Chief Editor Im said, “That is the very thing I mean by ‘the one crucial detail.’ Established writers know how to let that detail breathe and guide the analysis. But how much room would a newcomer have for that? Which is why for a new writer like this...” His eyes gleamed. “They absolutely must meet the right first critic. No matter how simple the review may be.” Everyone nodded in agreement.
This might have been the moment that determined a young writer’s life.
“Then, Chief Editor, who will handle the review...?”
“By the rules, we should resolve it internally. That is the publisher’s role.” The editorial meeting ended there.
On the way back to his office, Team Leader Lee slipped after him. “Chief Editor. So who will you assign the review to?”
“Yoon Seo-hoon from Editorial Team 1 writes reviews well, doesn’t he? Let’s give it to him.”
“?” Team Leader Lee couldn’t understand. “Then what about ‘Hemingway’?”
“What?”
“Didn’t you see Mok Hyunsun’s intern assignment?” At the mention of Mok Hyunsun, Chief Editor Im stopped walking.
Team Leader Lee decided to say it plainly. “I think Mok Hyunsun has a very good eye for work. In fact, that keyword, ‘Hemingway,’ never even came up during the editorial meeting. If we let him build a review around that one-line assessment...”
“How would we publish an intern’s writing?”
“Pardon?”
“An intern isn’t an employee of Gyeongseong Publishing. And he’s not a published critic either. We have no basis to print it.”
“...Ah.” It was an FM-accurate answer.
An utterly obvious logic, one he had failed to consider because he had been taken in by a single-line assessment.
Mok Hyunsun still had no qualifications. “I spoke too lightly.”
“I do think that intern is outstanding. But what can’t be helped can’t be helped.” Chief Editor Im said it calmly, his expression not changing at all.
Cold enough to leave the listener disappointed.
And then, all at once, he let out a murmur, almost to himself. “And if he’s that man’s son, he ought to be that good.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Anyway, give it to Yoon Seo-hoon.” Chief Editor Im turned and strode away.
Team Leader Lee stood there for a moment, thinking it over. No matter how you look at it, I can’t just let this go... More than anything, he himself was curious.
What had Mok Hyunsun been thinking when he wrote that one-line assessment?
And then, suddenly, an idea came to him.
Team Leader Lee grinned. Right. I’ll check it myself. He was the type to follow his curiosity all the way to the end.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The weekend passed, and Monday morning came again. The atmosphere in the intern room grew even colder.
Yoo So-hyun kept glancing at me nervously,
and every time Song Min-hoon looked at me, he ground his teeth hard enough to make me picture sparks.
As for me, I was simply comfortable.
At least no one was trying any cheap tricks.
At this point, with my mind made up to stay at Gyeongseong Publishing, once I got past that last assignment, I still had a real chance.
Without any ugly mess of leaked recordings or petty mudslinging, I had gained the confidence to beat the two of them on skill alone.
In other words, if only that damn one-line assessment would quietly slide by, I’d be fine.
In truth, I’d even been holding a little hope.
No criticism had come my way yet.
Maybe, from the team leader’s point of view, the one-line assessment had sounded plausible?
Then he might let it go with a chuckle, because I was kind of adorable. Bang. Apparently not so refined after all, because Team Leader Lee came in.
We all stood automatically and greeted him.
The team leader looked at me.
I swallowed hard.
“About the assignment you submitted last week. First, as for the evaluation,”
...I was done for. Of course he wasn’t going to let it go.
“You all did well,”
He said we all did well?
“So each of you, turn that into a proper review. Two pages of A4.”
“Huh, Team Leader. Hyunsun’s assignment too...?” Song Min-hoon asked back in disbelief.
Then the team leader answered coldly. “Do you have some problem with Mok Hyunsun’s assignment, Song Min-hoon?”
“N-no. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Deadline is tomorrow at 1 p.m. We’ll hold an intern presentation. You’ll read them in front of all of Editorial Teams 1, 2, and 3, so be prepared.” Having left the order behind him, he vanished like the wind.
“Um, Team Leader. What I said just now was—” Song Min-hoon hurried after him.
I was so stunned that the fool didn’t even register.
Not only had I not been rebuked, I’d been told to turn it into a review?
That meant my one-line assessment... wasn’t bad at all.
Heh, so it worked.
One stone that had been sitting on my chest seemed to slide off.
And then.
“Hey, oppa.”
Oppa?
Song Min-hoon had just left.
Yoo So-hyun smiled sweetly and held out a drink. “Work hard on the review, okay? Hehe.”
...?
What was this now?