#43. Reading Aloud
#43. Reading Aloud
"Huh..."
Ingredients that I figured I'd never see in my bachelor pad for the rest of my life were piling up in the cart one by one.
I couldn't say about the rest, but honestly, fish sauce? I really didn't think I'd ever use that...
"Hey. Na-eun-ah."
"Why."
"Is this fish sauce really necessary?"
No matter how well I made money, a waste was a waste.
It seemed like a bit too much volume for something you'd use once and toss.
"It'd be nice to have it. What's the big deal."
"I don't cook."
"I'll do it, so just buy it."
...What the hell are you planning to make, and how much?
"It's a waste..."
"You make good money, so stop being so stingy already. Come on."
Na-eun meticulously checked off the ingredients needed for the sauce—gochujang, gochugaru, pear, onion, and so on—before giving me the OK sign.
"Done. This should be about right?"
"Hey. Then can I get some frozen stuff and ramen now..."
Na-eun seemed done shopping, so I was about to grab my staples...
"Whoa there!"
Na-eun blocked my shopping cart.
"What're you doing. Move."
"No way. Oppa."
"What's not allowed now."
"Oppa. Eating that stuff will ruin your health."
Are you my mom or something? Han Na-eun. You.
"Hey, hey. Artists are supposed to have bad health anyway."
I actually knew quite a few famous musicians and writers who'd died young.
"...Those people probably weren't doing art as embarrassing as yours, Oppa."
...Yeah, that's true.
I didn't know a single Erotic Novel author's name who'd kicked the bucket early.
And honestly, I wasn't even sure if this was art.
I could agree up to calling it creative work, but art...?
If I wrote a squirting scene so well it smacked the balls, wouldn't that be art?
Suddenly hit with the question of what art even is, I started pondering it seriously.
"What's 'honest' art, anyway? Na-eun-ah."
I asked her in a pretty serious tone.
Na-eun's answer was wiser than I expected.
"If Oppa could say on your deathbed, 'Please spread this to the whole world,' then that's honest art."
If someone read the Yoo Soyeon part aloud at my funeral with "[This is the deceased's insanely killer chapter from their lifetime.]," I probably couldn't rest in peace.
I'd probably turn into a vengeful ghost with high probability.
"Guess I'm not an artist after all."
"Artist my ass. You're just a total pervert bastard, Oppa."
...I could take that from someone else, but you saying it to me? That's a bit much, isn't it?
"Whatever. I'm buying ramen. If I don't get it now, I'll have to come back out later."
"Oppa. You don't even exercise anyway."
Na-eun pinched my belly fat between her thumb and forefinger and pulled.
"Hey. Don't do that."
"As expected from a writer—zero percent muscle mass."
I really didn't exercise much.
I didn't like using my body at all.
Lying at home, scrolling my phone, reading Web Novels—that was my joy and happiness.
No way did I wanna go out and sweat buckets exercising.
"So what."
"Just eat the meal I'll make today. Cut back on the instant crap."
Tired of bickering with her, I nodded and headed to the counter.
"Total is 48,260 won."
For 48,000 won, I could've just ordered crab and sundubu instead.
Even handing over the card, I couldn't shake the weird pang of regret.
"Na-eun-ah."
"Yeah."
There was just one thing I wanted to ask her.
"Don't fuck it up."
I didn't wanna buy all these ingredients just to end up with a ramen finale at home.
I got home with bags full of ingredients and flopped straight onto the bed.
"I'm hungry."
"Wait."
Na-eun scolded me as she unpacked the ingredients one by one.
"But you really know the recipe for seasoned crab?"
The more I thought about it, the less sense it made.
"I made it sometimes at my parents' house in winter."
"How old were you?"
"Eighteen?"
...What kind of family lets a high school sophomore make seasoned crab?
"You're good at everything, huh."
Half sincere, half joking.
Na-eun, busy with her hands, replied to my mutter with an exasperated look.
"There is something I'm bad at."
"What."
"Architecture."
Hmm... yeah...
Recalling her final presentation last time, I knew her results weren't great.
"It's fine. Just Tal-geon and you're done. No biggie."
"Right? I've already got a job lined up?"
Na-eun dipped her index finger in some sauce to taste the seasoning and popped it in her mouth.
But that finger of hers...
Na-eun looked at me with a naughty glint, swirling her finger around inside her mouth.
"'Job' meaning being an Illustrator, right?"
Feeling a bit iffy, I double-checked with her.
"Of course. As long as the HNE Author's around every winter, I won't run out of work."
"Heh heh... But I dunno how many more Heroines I can add from now on."
This was actually something most Erotic Novel authors—no, anyone building character-driven stories—worried about.
Once you have more than one Heroine, how many could you handle without turning some into airheads, while keeping them distinct?
Too few, and it gets draggy; too many, and some Heroines inevitably fade out sadly.
In that context, Han Na-eun in [I Imprisoned Her] was the eighth.
I figured making situations erotic got easier with experience, but piling on Heroines was becoming a real burden.
"Then just put different clothes on the ones you've already drawn and resubmit them."
"Should I?"
"It's easier for me anyway. Honestly, you know how ridiculously picky you get when commissioning from me?"
...Can't deny that.
From her perspective, I was a nightmare client. A total pain-in-the-ass one.
The reason Na-eun's illustrations clicked so well with me was partly her skill, but maybe because I hounded her relentlessly.
From fabric textures to every little prop, I inspected everything meticulously.
But it was necessary.
The Heroines in [I Imprisoned Her] were like daughters I'd poured love into one by one.
Like gifting your daughter a dress for life—you couldn't half-ass it.
"...Hey. When we emailed back and forth, you said stuff like that made you like it more."
"It's the worst when the client has no real idea. Those types go totally radio silent sometimes."
Fair enough... No wonder there's an [Omakase] option on the request page, handing full control to the artist.
I'd heard that unless you're super passionate, asking the artist for their confident pose usually yields better results.
Suddenly curious what I'd even written in my past requests, I booted up the computer.
I logged in, opened my email, and scrolled through our exchanges with Na-eun's address, rereading from the top.
...The exchanges between us were so sleazy, I wouldn't dare read them in public for fear someone might see.
The more I read, the creepier it got knowing she was the HNE Author.
['Wouldn't showing a bit more cleavage make it hotter?']
...Could words like that really come from a woman's mouth?
Imagining the HNE Author as some beauty was damn near impossible after seeing that.
Now that I knew her identity, rereading the emails was so absurdly hilarious, I kept bursting out laughing.
As I chuckled at the screen, Na-eun peeked over.
"What's so funny."
"Hey. HNE Author-nim."
"Yeah."
You did a reading of my novel, didn't you?
Your turn to get it.
"So, just draw her with an expression like she can't move an inch once she's impaled, right?"
I mimicked her voice a tone higher.
She frowned for a sec, looking at me like, What the hell are you on about?
Oh ho. Too old an email—doesn't ring a bell?
How about something more recent then.
"The skirt's just a device to show the panties anyway."
...Pfft.
I failed to hold it in.
Holding back the urge to roll on the floor cackling was pure torture.
Meanwhile, Na-eun's face was a sight to behold.
She must've realized what I read—her skin started flushing redder by the second.
Her face turned as scarlet as the sauce staining her fingertips.
"...Don't."
That's basically do it more.
"If I expose the nipples here, will it get censored? Should I just add some shadow like they're peeking out?"
Ignoring her warning, I cherry-picked the most humiliating lines and started reading them aloud.
Ah. This is fun~ So much fun~
"Should I add a bit more shading to the axe-wound?"
Finally, Na-eun couldn't take it, dropped the cooking, and charged at me.
Her hands were saucy, so she couldn't touch me—just stomped her feet in frustration.
"I said don't...! Lee Min-ho...!"
Na-eun, red-faced and on the verge of tears...
I fucking wanted to fuck her so bad.