I Became a Genre Novelist in First Grade
I accessed the website for the TV show Such Things Happen with my tiny hands. To submit a story, you had to go through this separate homepage set up by the broadcaster and register an account—a real hassle. Instant messaging apps didn't even exist in this era. Well, they did, but they weren't widespread across the country yet.
This was a time when smartphones and regular cell phones coexisted. Maybe because of the high prices or the hard-learned lesson that first-generation models were to be avoided at all costs, smartphone adoption wasn't that high. I totally agreed with that wisdom about skipping the first gen.
I'd once rushed out to buy the foldable flip phone the moment it came out and got burned bad. After barely any use, there'd be a stark line right down the middle of the screen... or the battery would die at lightning speed. All sorts of annoyances like that.
Of course, those issues faded away by the second or third generation. That's why my rule was to steer clear of those initial prototype-like releases. Though, truth be told, I missed smartphones so much now that part of me wanted to grab one fast anyway.
Maybe because I'd been a humanoid fused to my phone in my past life, this phone-less existence felt unbearably tedious and awkward. Aside from sleep, my phone had been with me 24/7 back then... but not anymore.
Anyway, I needed to write that story, but when it came time to actually do it, the words just wouldn't flow.
"Sora, want me to write it and send it for you?"
"Would you?"
Yoo Min-ah, who'd been watching from the side, spoke up. I felt a bit embarrassed about writing and sending my own story. It was like I was turning into some attention-seeker.
Writing my tale from a third-person perspective felt so alien and weird. Asking someone else to do it like this was way better. Sending a story felt too much like bragging about myself.
"Hang on just a sec!"
Yoo Min-ah plopped down in my seat and started hammering the keyboard at an insane speed. I couldn't help but stare in shock. I'd never seen her type like that before. There was truth to those wuxia sayings about hiding thirty percent of your inner power no matter where you go. She looked nothing like the ditzy girl she usually played—sharp, quick, and agile.
I peered over her shoulder as the story took shape. But watching it unfold like this from behind just made me cringe. I wasn't some genius proclaiming my own brilliance. I was just a regressor reborn with certain advantages, acting on them...
If I joined a gifted education class, I'd dominate the kids at first. I had decades of life experience, plus my rare perfect memory. But as time passed and higher-level thinking or creativity kicked in, they'd catch up to me in no time.
I wasn't some IQ-200 monster. Good memory was my only edge. Brain rotation speed, analytical skills, and the other traits needed for true genius were all average. That's why I'd ended up doing manual labor gigs. If I'd been smart across the board, I'd have gone for doctor or some other high-paying, prestigious job.
There was no reason not to pick something safer and more rewarding than dangerous day labor.
"Sora, whaddya think? The production team will come running straight to our company after reading this, right?"
I read over what Yoo Min-ah had written. No flashy language or embellishments—just the plain facts. And that was more than enough to make a compelling case. I nodded.
"Yes. This should work."
"Hehehe...! Unnie's finally gonna be on TV for the first time in her life...! On the day they come to film you, Sora, I gotta do full makeup!"
I didn't bother pointing out the obvious. The network wanted me—where would they find time to film Yoo Min-ah? Sure, she might get a quick cameo, but going full glam for that? I just shook my head.
Women gearing up like that for just a few seconds of airtime...! The female world was so foreign and complicated.
I could be freewheeling now as a little girl, but would I turn into someone like Yoo Min-ah once I grew up?
The thought sent chills creeping down my spine. In my whole life, lotion and toner had been my entire skincare routine. I'd never imagined slathering weird stuff on my face. Men almost never wore makeup. Plenty got by with just lotion. At most, they'd add cologne if they cared a bit more. Men's grooming was simple and quick, unlike women's elaborate rituals. I'd nearly fallen over hearing women spent an hour on makeup. How could it possibly take that long?
Back when I was a man, makeup meant slapping on lotion and calling it a day. Men only did it if they were celebrities or models.
The moment a guy whitened his face with BB cream or whatever, society branded him weird—like he must prefer men. Deep-rooted prejudice.
"You don't need to go that far..."
"Sora! This is national TV! You want me going out with a bare face like this? No way!"
"Eek..."
I sighed inwardly and let it drop. The Such Things Happen crew was coming for me, not her, but insisting on full makeup... Better to let her do her thing for her own satisfaction. Who knew what drama meddling might cause.
SBA Broadcasting Station.
One of Korea's newer networks, with a shorter history than the others. But a smash-hit drama and a string of lucky breaks had propelled it into the ranks of the three major terrestrial broadcasters.
Anyway, the station housed all sorts of departments. Smartphones weren't widespread yet, which meant TV still held massive sway. Folks weren't used to browsing the internet or watching videos on phones back then.
On buses or subways, most people just zoned out or read newspapers from street vendors. The future would wipe that away, everyone glued to their phones—but that era hadn't arrived.
So trends on TV spread like wildfire. With terrestrial broadcasts commanding everyone's attention.
Cable channels? Mostly obscure, surviving on adult content or pure sensationalism. Stuff streamers would do for laughs, but on actual TV.
"Haa..."
A writer in the Such Things Happen department booted up her computer and got to her daily grind: collecting weird or bizarre stories from across the nation. True to the show's name, only truly extraordinary tales made the cut—everything else got passed over.
While sifting through submissions, she spotted a peculiar one.
The title alone was pure clickbait. A first-grader as a novelist? More believable that the sun would rise in the west tomorrow. The writer had a first-grade niece—pure instinct-driven kid.
Couldn't even read, let alone write stories. She kinda spoke in full sentences, but asking her to write? Maybe one garbled line, spelling be damned.
Reading the contents, the writer shot to her feet. Even if half of it was exaggerated, it was broadcast gold. She prepped for a preliminary visit. With only two or three stories needed per week, time was tight.