The Tiny Office
"Sorah, you just hate calling me unnie, don't you? That's it, right?"
"No, it's not."
"What do you mean 'no'~? It's written all over your face."
"Don't touch my cheek!"
"Hehehe...!"
I fled from Yoo Min-ah, who was kneading my cheek like sticky rice cake. But we were inside the office. There was nowhere to escape. With my back to the wall, I eyed her warily. Unfortunately, Kim Sung-ho team leader—the one who could rein in her impulsiveness—wasn't there. He must have stepped out somewhere. His empty seat gave it away.
"Sora~"
"Ugh...!"
But that was it. She wasn't bold enough to keep doing something she knew I hated. Our relationship wasn't some rigid top-down hierarchy anyway. The dynamic between editor and writer was always a bit ambiguous.
Sometimes you were the boss, sometimes they were.
If the writer got famous and popular, they became the one in charge. But for unknowns, the editor usually held the power. Things between me and Min-ah hadn't settled into that yet. I was an elementary schooler, after all. Maybe because I was so young, they just doted on me without any power trips.
"Ta-da~ A high-end computer just for Sora!"
"Ah..."
RAM DDR2 1GB, hard drive 100GB. The graphics card and CPU were nothing special.
Back in my day, 32GB RAM was standard, with hard drives measured in terabytes. Old computers were total junk. This one was even worse than the smartphone I'd used in the future. In this era, though, 1GB RAM felt like a luxury.
And a 100GB hard drive? One modern game would fill it up. Hell, you might not even fit one—those famous cyberpunk titles clocked in at over 70GB.
"You don't look thrilled? It's as good as a PC bang machine!"
She was right. This era was one where PC bangs had the best rigs around. In the future, home PCs usually outpaced them, but not now. PC bang computers blew household ones out of the water.
"I'm happy."
"Really? Then write your novel hard! Unnie will cheer you on."
"Yes."
"Man~ I can't even tell if Sora's happy or not...!"
Probably because I didn't act like a little kid. Of course, Min-ah was the type to call even that part of me "unique."
I powered on the computer.
Boot-up alone took over two minutes—that was modern computing for you. Nothing like the future, where it was done in ten seconds. I snuck a glance at Min-ah. She wasn't some salary thief, so she got right to work. Probably scouting other writers. Genre novelists weren't just me—there had to be tens of thousands in Korea.
Writing novels had basically no barrier to entry.
If you knew Hangul, anyone could do it. In modern society, nobody was illiterate. You learned it in kindergarten and mastered it by elementary school.
Sure, older generations had some who couldn't read it, but as time passed and Korea developed, illiteracy became rare. Among folks born in the '90s or 2000s like me now, who couldn't read Hangul?
Anyway, that meant all 50 million Koreans could be both consumers and producers. One computer and one person who knew Hangul, and boom—you had a writer.
But the job looked easy on paper and was brutally tough in practice.
You had to churn out 4,000 to 5,000 characters daily, no days off. Readers wouldn't wait. Miss a day of serialization, and they'd drop like flies.
Korea's "ppalli ppalli" hurry-up culture infected the novel scene too.
Other countries released a book every two months—three if they were slow. Korea? Monthly was average. Two months, and most readers called you lazy.
Three or four months? Might as well quit. It was like writing a whole book in three or four days. No matter how good your writing, slow serialization meant losing readers hand over fist. That was Korea's novel world.
The related field of webtoons had a much higher barrier. An average person couldn't just jump in. You needed years of practice in drawing-related jobs. Ask a total beginner to draw, and you'd get stick figures. Commercial viability? Forget it.
But ask someone to write a novel, and you'd get something passable. At least you wouldn't blank out like with drawing. That was why they pushed the pace here—unlike webtoons, novelists were a dime a dozen.
"Hm..."
But I was different.
It didn't take me ages to write, and I knew exactly what was trending. Parallel world or not, people's tastes were pretty universal. It just flowed naturally.
I pulled out the chocolate milk I'd bought earlier from the convenience store near Songi Media's building. Sweet stuff made my brain feel sharp.
Slurp slurp—!
I stabbed in the straw, sucked it down, and dove into writing for real. Way better than a smoky PC bang, even if Team Leader Kim was a smoker—he wasn't crass enough to light up in the office.
Conclusion: Long live the Songi Media office.
Tap tap tap—!
The only sound in the office was my keyboard clacking. I stretched. The chair and desk didn't fit me right. No helping it—they were built for adults. I'd finished the first volume of Sunlight Painter. I'd had some pre-written, and my typing speed felt faster from constant practice.
Average was 200-300 strokes per minute before; now maybe 300-400. This kid body seemed great for physical stuff, at least.
No denying an 8-year-old's prime beat a 30-year-old's.
I glanced at Min-ah. She'd watched me type curiously at first. Now? She was doing something on her computer that didn't look like work.
I leaned in and snuck up behind her. Just bending at the waist hid me completely behind the desk. Peeking over her shoulder, I saw what it was.
Office workers really were salary Lupins.
Online shopping. Here I was, the writer, grinding away, and she was slacking...! Disqualified as an editor.
She must've felt my stare and turned.
"Oh! Sora!"
She didn't seem bothered. Maybe this was normal for her, or she figured a kid like me wouldn't get it. Or maybe she'd finished her tasks and was killing time.
Not many salarymen worked at full throttle all shift. Breaks for an hour or two, refresh time—everyone needed it. I wasn't about to make a fuss.
"I finished the novel."
"For real? Already volume 1?"
"Yes."
It was nearly 5 p.m. Four solid hours of writing. Aside from bathroom breaks and water, all in.
I hadn't realized I could focus like this.
"Hang on a sec~"
She stepped out and soon returned with Team Leader Kim in tow.
"Sora! You finished the novel?"
"Yes, team leader. I completed volume 1 of Sunlight Painter."
"Nice. Let's take a look..."
Min-ah and Sung-ho dove into the first volume I'd written. Reading speed varied wildly person to person.
Some skimmed a book in under 30 minutes; others took half a day.
Team Leader Kim seemed like the former.