We’re Closing the Door (1)
At this point, it was worth taking a step back and looking over the history of Soop.
Though only a few months had passed, the influence Soop had spread across the cultural scene was anything but small. When Soop first appeared, people had simply found it novel.
- You’re covering independent magazines? lol, that’s fresh.
- So now some social media operator has shown up in the indie magazine scene. Is that a good sign...?
- Kingdom of the Senses, huh. That’s honestly so intuitive, damn.
Then, when Soop expanded beyond Kingdom of the Senses into Fantasy, people began to pay attention.
- Just look at the follower count, whoa.
- The lineup overlaps with [ZZ], so I guess they worked things out well and pulled in all those fans too.
- Am I the only one who feels like indie magazine fans have been surging lately?
But there were skeptical voices as well.
- Which publisher is behind this, anyway? What publisher would go to such painstaking lengths just to wedge itself into indie magazines?
- Seriously, stop obsessing over Soop;;; It’s not exactly flattering to see every writer desperate to get reviewed by Soop these days.
- They gather up all these indie magazine fans and then later go, “Soop published a book~,” and use that to sell copies. The intent is way too obvious. Unfollowed.
But once Soop turned its review lens on webtoons, those doubts subsided like foam on water.
- ...Looks like this Soop guy was serious after all. I mean, even if it’s Yoo An-mo, reviewing a failed short webtoon?
- Guess he wasn’t after money all that much;;; He really was just doing reviews because he liked them.
- For rookie webtoon artists who can only churn out short pieces because they don’t have the time or money, this is a blessing and a mercy T_T
And in the end, people came to praise Soop as if it were some god of literature on the verge of death.
No one even bothered asking who he was anymore, or what motive he had for running Soop.
They waited for his reviews with pure anticipation, and at the same time, they trusted Soop completely.
That was how thoroughly his reviews and his movements had captivated people. And at that peak, Blue Black Hole was released through ZZ: NOVEL.
Anyone who had paid even the slightest attention to Soop could tell.
Blue Black Hole had been written with Soop in mind.
There were even people mocking Yomo for being nothing more than a fanatic of Soop, but Soop’s fanbase was already too thick and steady for ridicule like that to matter.
- Honestly, yeah, Blue Black Hole was written to prop up Soop, but indie magazines are supposed to have that degree of freedom in the first place, aren’t they? If you want to police every little thing like that, go to the mainstream literary world instead lol. Those literary critics love censorship like that.
- The people trashing Yomo just don’t know what kind of debt the indie magazine scene owes Soop.
- Did Yomo give Soop money? Land? Why are you so offended that he wrote one piece out of gratitude, like an actual writer??
- Blue Black Hole is good too, by the way; Yomo really seems to be in his element lately.
Under that wall of protection, people naturally waited for Soop’s reaction.
Of course, given how often Soop had defied expectations, he could have simply ignored it. And then, one day at midnight, Soop posted a feed update without warning — though to be fair, there had never really been warning with him to begin with. It was the first image in a different style from before.
People felt a flicker of unease, wondering, What if?, but quickly set it aside.
Probably just one of Soop’s usual attention-grabbing stunts.
The next image, as expected, was a one-line review.
[“God” is just another word for hope.]
It was a heavier line than any he had posted before.
Those who had already read Blue Black Hole felt their hearts pounding.
How could Soop reduce a novel of several thousand characters to a single line — and do it with such perfect clarity?
The next image was a summary of Blue Black Hole’s story.
And beyond that, Soop’s language began again.
Sometimes a man points at something.
And he says that a forest will one day grow there.
What his finger points to is not a barren ruin.
It is hope.
The background of the next image showed beautifully drawn hands.
Jesus’ hands. Buddha’s hands.
Why are the hands of gods so solemn?
Because they point toward the distant future — in other words, because they foresee.
“And yet the man’s fingertips found the place where something could be eaten. It began with food, then came friendship, then love, and at last the hope of living here.” — from Blue Black Hole
As he finished the review, Soop said this:
A god is, in the end, someone who makes us believe in a future that has not yet been proven.
We cannot see a god’s face, but we walk in the direction he foresees.
That is faith, and that is hope.
Even if that direction leads into the inside of a black hole.
The one who was moved most deeply by that review was Yomo.
With trembling hands, Yomo stared at his phone. Soop had responded to her.
And in such a magnificent review, no less.
Her feelings were so intense that she even whispered, “I’m glad I wrote novels...” and felt her self-respect about her career rise.
But then— “Huh?” The feed did not end there.
Soop is closing the door, with Blue Black Hole as his final review.
“Come on, that’s a lie. What kind of attention stunt are you pulling now?” Yomo brushed it off and scrolled to the next image without much thought.
But there really was a final letter from Soop.
“...!!!!!!”
In an instant, the color drained from her face.
Whether or not he was closing Soop was almost secondary.
It was the first sentence that gave her chills.
Hello. I’m literary critic Mok Hyunsun.
“...Huh?! Mok Hyunsun?”
I think there will be people who know me and people who don’t. I am a rookie literary critic who has tended Soop all by myself up until now. Entirely by myself.
I did not hide my identity on purpose. I wanted to review writing across different genres, and what stood in my way most was the label of literary critic. I did not see it as a label myself, but I worried it could feel like power to someone else, so I turned to anonymity and social media. I had no intention of deceiving you. It was simply the only way I could expose my language as it was, without prejudice. From my perspective, Soop was another word for the hope that anything was possible.
“N-no way...”
But now I intend to close Soop.
The reason is simple. Though I am grateful for it, at some point Soop became another label as well. The existence of Soop grew larger than the language of Soop itself.
As a result, I came to feel a kind of pressure and compulsion to review in a way that was worthy of Soop. Just as a writer can lose creative freedom, I suppose I lost freedom in reviewing. A popularity so great that it cost me my freedom. Naturally, I am deeply grateful, but the reality has slowly drifted away from the ideal I had set for Soop, and that has led me to make a difficult decision. To all of you who have loved Soop until now, I am sorry. I would like to leave Soop behind as a good memory.
Losing the freedom to review.
Perhaps that was natural.
When an account becomes popular, expectations rise.
But didn’t most people use those expectations to their advantage?
They took advertisements and made a fortune,
or gathered their reviews into a book and published it.
But he said he was closing the account because he had lost the freedom to review.
Because it no longer fit his “ideal.”
What Yomo felt there was Soop—no, Mok Hyunsun’s stubborn backbone.
Money, fame, popularity. None of it seemed important to him.
What mattered to him, above all else, was his own writing.
As someone who wrote alongside others, Yomo felt something more than confusion — she felt moved.
But Soop’s final farewell ended in a strangely unsettling way.
I would like to see you again. Whatever kind of “forest” it may be. Please come find me.
He spoke as though there were another Soop.
Yomo was bewildered.
All of it. Every last bit of it.
“...What am I supposed to do?”
In truth, all Yomo had to do was keep publishing her work in her own way.
After all, it was thanks to Soop that she had found her footing.
She could simply pretend not to know, just as she had in the past when she rejected Mok Hyunsun’s criticism.
Even now, she had nothing to lose.
“...”
But she no longer wanted to do that.
It was late, but she needed to say what had to be said.
Yomo called someone.
—┼
Honestly, at first I had been worried.
I wondered whether people would feel repelled if I suddenly came out and said, I’m Mok Hyunsun.
Of course, there were some who did show outright rejection.
The kind who weren’t really reacting to any logic at all, just hating the literary establishment itself.
There was no need to waste time on people like that.
No method exists in this world for persuading indiscriminate hatred.
What mattered was the rest of the public sentiment, and I was relieved that the reaction there was not bad.
No, rather than good or bad, it was more accurate to say it was meaningful.
It seemed that people thought of Soop as some unfortunate victim caught between the literary establishment and the indie magazine scene.
Because of that, I’d say the atmosphere had become quite warm and soft.
The day after that uproar on social media, when I came into the office, Senior Kim rushed straight at me.
“Hey! I knew it! You’re Soop, aren’t you?!”
Ah, right.
I still had the offline world waiting for me.
Senior Kim looked rather aggrieved. “Mok, I’m really hurt. You were actually planning to hide that from me too? And I even asked you directly.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. It really was a secret from everyone.”
I was then put through the wringer, making one excuse after another to the office staff who had gathered around in a swarm.
“No, seriously, how did you even run something like that while also doing criticism and working here? Does your day have forty-eight hours or something?”
“And you even went to Yongin in the middle of all that. I honestly thought you had, like, five selves.”
“But you really didn’t tell anyone?” Senior Yang asked meaningfully.
He had the face of someone who would never forgive me if I said I’d told someone else instead of them.
If I said Park Jeong-shin had known from the start, he’d probably sulk for real.
“My father knew, at least.”
“...Ah. Well, you should tell your father, of course.”
“Right, can’t really help that.”
For some reason, talking about my father seemed to calm the atmosphere a little.
Then Chief Editor Im Myeong-eul passed by over there.
Walking into the office without drawing attention was his specialty. He gave me a quick glance, then moved on as though the whole commotion had nothing to do with him.
Even though he surely knew I had revealed myself as Soop.
He was choosing not to interfere.
Soop was, after all, Mok Hyunsun’s private life.
But what could he do?
He would soon have to interfere.
He might not be thrilled about it, but still.
Then my phone started vibrating.
Vrrr— vrrr—
“...Why is it this person?”
The caller was Jang Hee-soo.