New Groom Hyde Is a Novelist #3

This is the story of when I was still a real twenty-two years old.

"—I'll rape you."

The moment I actually spoke aloud the line I'd only ever muttered in my head, the world spun. I slumped back against the chair, and my neck and spine—stretched out like a turtle's—cracked with a loud pop.

Figuring I could use a short break, I spun the chair around and took in the room.

A large wooden cross hung on the wall, everything washed in the cold glow of fluorescent lights. No matter how generously you tried to look at it, a 350,000-won monthly studio near Daehangno was always going to feel cramped.

Wheeeeeee—. The ancient computer wheezed and stuttered. The empty refrigerator still managed to roar with a deep wooooom, as if determined to fill the silence with noise.

An unusually quiet room.

I pressed the heels of my palms hard against my eyes, then turned back to the blue-white monitor and read the sentence aloud once more.

"I shall rape every woman in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the world."

…Was there a more revolting sentence in existence?

If someone had said that to me in real life, I wouldn't have wanted anything to do with them. Of course, no one in the real world would ever utter those words with genuine intent.

That shameless line belonged solely to a character inside a novel.

The character speaking those words was the protagonist of the novel I had written—Isekai Perverted Cult—and he was a thoroughly terrible villain. An irredeemable monster with not a single scrap of sympathy left for him.

But to me, he was the cleanup hitter who was going to bring in the big money.

"…I need money."

Overdue rent notices and late-payment bills were piled messily beside the keyboard. The real problem, though, wasn't a phone that might get cut off or a clogged water pipe.

The private loan the orphanage director had desperately taken out carried interest so vicious it had ballooned into a snowball overnight. If things stayed as they were, the director and the younger kids at the facility might be scattered to the winds. I needed roughly forty million won within three months.

But I was nothing more than a second-year theology student returning from leave, an orphanage kid. Where exactly was someone like me supposed to find forty million won in three months?

How?

How on earth…

While I was drowning in that despair, an internet ad banner caught my eye. It glittered with a blue light that felt almost like a revelation from the Lord Himself.

One hundred million.

100,000,000.

A sum I wasn't sure I'd ever touch in my entire life. With that money I could pay off the orphanage's debt, and whatever remained would easily carry me through seminary and graduate school.

"Becoming a pastor requires a lot of money."

Pastors were generally poor. Ironically, becoming one demanded a great deal of cash. And my dream was to be the pastor of a pioneer church—starting from zero, gathering the first believer on empty ground, then taking a pure and devout virgin as my wife so we could face the rest of our lives together.

That was my fierce desire.

"Therefore I need this hundred million. I have to aim for the grand prize of at least forty million. No other path! No other answer! This is the only way left for me!"

The ad for the hundred-million-won prize felt like a calling, a divine revelation, and desperation seized me. Fortunately, writing was something I had confidence in. A theology student who would one day write sermons needed a foundation in the humanities as a basic requirement. The facility had been full of donated books, so from childhood I had developed a decent talent for reading and writing.

The problem was… the contest theme was "adult novels."

Adult novels. 19+.

Not sensual literature like Norwegian Wood, which I'd once read in secret from the teachers, but outright explicit adult fiction. In other words—erotica.

"One hundred million…"

Erotica and one hundred million. After much agonizing, I logged into Evilpia, read a few adult novels, and began hammering the keyboard.

"Screw it, let's just do this! Lord, do not take this trial from me—give me the strength and wisdom to overcome it! Please grant me the gift of writing…!"

In the end, whether my desperate prayer worked or not, I took the grand prize.

When an amount of money I had never seen before landed in my bank account, I felt a thrill I had never experienced in my life. It was as if my chair had floated five centimeters off the floor.

I had always believed I could write, but to earn a hundred million with the first piece of erotica I ever wrote? Did I truly possess a gift for writing?

The readers' reactions were blazing hot!

Communities across the internet began digging into the person known as "me." Stories that I was an ex-con, that I wore an electronic ankle monitor, that I had actually raped and murdered people—wild, baseless nonsense.

I, Ha I-do, had never even held a girl's hand, let alone committed rape or murder.

The problem was that they had started tracking my email and even my real address through my ID.

"This is bad."

A little fear crept in. In twenty-first-century society some people might shrug off being exposed as an erotica writer, but I wasn't ordinary—I was a theology student!

If it came out that I was Ha I-do, a second-year returnee at the seminary? I would definitely be expelled, and the director who had used my money to pay off the debt would fly into a rage and throw the cash back in my face. The brothers and sisters at the facility would treat me like garbage!

"I have to quit."

I decided I needed to leave the shady web-novel site Evilpia. But the "Withdraw Membership" button was hidden in an annoyingly hard-to-find place. While poking around the site, I happened to see the amount I was scheduled to receive next month.

A chill ran down my spine. Cold sweat began to trickle. My lips went dry, my breathing turned ragged, and my body trembled.

With this money, after graduating from the theological graduate school, founding "my own church" would become far easier. And if this kind of revenue kept accumulating every month until the story was complete…?

"…Should I take another semester off?"

I began tapping the keyboard with hands that had already grown fairly skilled.

Flash. KRA-KOOM—!

Lightning struck inside the room, and my consciousness cut out instantly. How lightning could strike the third floor of a building I still don't know, but that is everything I remember.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying in the hospital room of Bluebeard and the wicked woman Nicola.

Yes. I remember it all now.

This is a dream, isn't it?

Hup—.

I put strength into my body and my consciousness floated upward. When I opened my eyes, I saw a room in a refined old mansion. A blanket had been draped over my shoulders; the scent of flowers rose strongly from it.

"Did Psyche cover me with this before she left? I must have dozed off without realizing and dreamed of the old days again."

The reason I had that old dream was probably because I had been holding a pen and writing. Whenever I fell asleep while writing, I always dreamed of the moment the lightning struck—the time I wrote erotica out of greed for money and received heavenly punishment!

"I'm never writing erotica again. I want to write a masterpiece that deeply explores faith and truth, like The Pilgrim's Progress. And if you ask me, that masterpiece is already complete in my hands!"

Swish—.

The manuscript lay on the desk where I had dozed off face-down. The title was Backstreet Nymph's Village.

I dare say it was a once-in-a-generation fairy tale that contained the pure essence of my theology, carefully adjusted to a child's eye level.

I picked it up and headed for my brother-in-law's room.

By now the sun was sinking beyond the corridor windows—late afternoon. A maid on an errand blocked my path once again.

"Stop right there. Did you not hear Doctor Selim? Young Master is in poor health. No visitors of any kind are permitted today."

Theology Doctor Selim. His words seemed to carry considerable authority among the people of this mansion. Even in the twenty-first century it had been the same. Whenever a doctor appeared on YouTube saying "Exercise" or "Don't eat that," the opinion was always accepted with towering authority. Meanwhile, when clergy said the truly important thing—"Do not sin. Attend church"—to save souls, it was dismissed as outdated nonsense!

"Then please just deliver this book to Young Master Dihon. He said he enjoys reading and listening to stories, so I'm certain he will like it."

Swish—.

I held out the bundle of papers to the maid. She accepted it and eyed me with open wariness.

Thud, thud.

I withdrew down the corridor as I was.

When I returned to my room, Psyche was sitting on the bed. The moment she saw me, her face lit up with joy.

"Hyde, I've been waiting for you!"

"Psyche. You were waiting for me?"

"Did you finish your nap? From the looks of it you were writing. I know it was rude, but I was so curious I peeked a little. I wanted to talk to you about that writing!"

Psyche had read my writing? A little tension rose. Having someone read my work and react to it was nerve-wracking whether then or now.

"Well, I've written many times before, but this is the first fairy tale I've ever written in my life. So I have no idea whether it was actually interesting or not. In the first place it was meant for moral instruction rather than entertainment—"

Psyche's eyes immediately sparkled.

"It was a truly wonderful story! Especially the way that being called a nymph struggles alone to survive in a strange world yet never loses her purity—I was even moved!"

Backstreet Nymph's Village.

It was the tale of a fairy nymph who falls into an unfamiliar world, suffers alone, and still never loses her purity. Yes. It was an autobiographical novel about me, Hyde, who had fallen into this savage world yet never lost his faith!

To so accurately grasp a theme that could easily have been hard to discern… As expected, Psyche was clearly the partner born to become my wife.

Then Psyche spoke.

"Hyde, I heard from Mother. You're trying to cure my younger brother Dihon's illness?"

"That is correct. I wrote this story for that very reason. I thought it necessary to first become close to Young Master Dihon. There is one thing I am curious about, however."

"Something you're curious about?"

"I heard that the reason you swore to preserve your purity was because of your younger brother, Young Master Dihon. Is that true?"

Psyche closed her mouth. Had she chosen silence rather than a lie?

Then she nodded and opened her lips in a calm voice.

"Yes. Dihon has had a weak heart since he was little. So I made a promise alone, almost like throwing a tantrum at the Lord. That I would keep my purity, so please make Dihon well."

"I see. So the reason you have refused marriage until now was all to keep that promise. There were complex reasons in many ways. It is a common thing—making vows to the Lord while hoping for a reward in return."

For example, some believers often make vows like "I'll go to dawn prayer every day from now on, so please let my son do well on the college entrance exam." In truth I disliked such acts. Faith that seeks blessings is no different from primitive shamanism.

At my words Psyche's face darkened slightly. The corners of her two blue eyes grew moist, as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

"If I don't keep that promise… I get the feeling Dihon will never get better. Hyde, I'm truly sorry to you. I should have told you this before we married."

"It would have been better if you had."

But if I asked myself whether knowing in advance that Psyche was a purity absolutist would have changed my choice, the answer was of course no. I still would have married Psyche. I had been in love with her for a long time and had already recognized her as my only partner. Besides, to properly discipline Loras, Mana'an, and Oscar Archibold, having the power of House Agarpe behind me was ideal.

"Hyde."

Squeeze.

At that moment Psyche took my hand. First hand contact. Startled by how soft her touch was, I looked up as she spoke.

"Hyde, if you want a child, it's all right to take a second wife. I can even look for a suitable person myself. If we raise the child you have with that person as if it were ours…"

"A second wife? Are you serious?"

In this kingdom only one wife was recognized, so she was essentially telling me to take a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"public concubine." Nobles and high-ranking priests often did so. But for the wife of a count's house to urge her own husband to take a second wife… Did Psyche lack even the arrogant pride typical of noble young ladies?

"I am serious."

That must mean she felt that sorry toward me. Psyche was prepared to throw away even her pride for my sake. Feeling the depth of her earnest sincerity, I decided that giving no response at all would be rude.

"Psyche, with you—who were called one of the Three Flowers of the Kingdom—standing before me, what other woman could possibly catch my eye? You say such hurtful things. Psyche, my love for you is real."

"…Hyde, you…!"

"If there were anyone else who could barely enter my sight, it would have to be another member of the same Three Flowers. Very well. I shall take a second wife, so please arrange a meeting with one of the Three Flowers."

"…What? What?"

"Hell, the patriarchs of the faith—Abraham and Jacob—took multiple wives, so I can too. From a biblical standpoint there is no problem."

I had wanted to preserve purity together with Psyche. But since Psyche so desperately wished for me to take a second wife, I had no choice.

Had not Sarah, wife of the patriarch Abraham, been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠unable to bear a child and therefore urged her own maidservant Hagar upon Abraham as a second wife? Therefore this was an extremely correct story even from a biblical perspective.

"Psyche, please just arrange for me to meet the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠youngest daughter of Archbishop Archibold, who is also called one of the Three Flowers like you. I will handle the rest myself!"

"…Huh?"