Confronting the Debt
I pulled a vitamin drink from the humming fridge. There was a lot to talk about from here on out, so I figured I should wet my throat first before diving in. Mom and Dad watched me, fidgeting awkwardly. They probably didn't want to show any weakness in front of their kid. But this was a problem we had to solve together now. And besides, I could make money these days.
They said Sunlight Painter was selling like hotcakes. After that TV spot on Can You Believe It?, everyone wanted to check out the novel written by a first-grader—and see just how fun it really was. And I guaranteed it was fun. It wasn't for nothing that Sunlight Painter had racked up the highest sales ever for a game fantasy novel worldwide. You couldn't hit numbers like that without real entertainment value.
Anyway, that gave me a voice in the matter now, right? Before, with no way to earn money, all I could do when stuff like this happened was swallow my anger. But not anymore.
"S-Sora, honey, isn't it time for bed? You have to get up early tomorrow!" Mom tried her clumsy topic-change skill.
I just stared at her. In my eyes, a laser beam was practically buzzing. Mom bowed her head, realizing her deflection tactic wasn't working. I wasn't some clueless kid who would fall for that.
I looked at both of them and said, "Mom, Dad. How much debt do we have exactly? Tell me. I need to know now. How can we pay it off if we don't even know the amount?"
"Wellll..." Mom trailed off, clearly not about to spill.
I turned to Dad and repeated myself. He looked like he was wrestling with some intense internal debate. Watching him, I hated this tiny body of mine more than ever. If I'd been an adult—a real grown-up—would they have hesitated like this? If I were an adult, they'd tell me straight: how much debt, how much to pay back. Being an adult meant you could legally take charge of your own life, step into the grown-up world. It was an age where you could properly learn about things like debt.
But in this little kid's body, their lips just wouldn't move. I figured I'd have to push harder. Even after all my mature behavior, they still seemed dead set against bringing up the debt.
"Dad!"
He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. But there's no parent who can hold out against their child forever. After my persistent prodding, he finally gave in.
"Sora..."
Dad's long explanation followed. It must've felt weird for him to tell his kid about the debt, but it was necessary. I was earning money legitimately now, after all.
The debt Dad revealed was less than I'd imagined. I'd braced for tens of billions of won at first. But as he'd explained on Can You Believe It?, he'd somehow bargained with the hospital and others to get the rare disease meds at half price or whatever. Bottom line: nearly 800 million won. He hadn't touched the principal much—just barely keeping up with the interest. And out of that, 100 million won was from loan sharks.
I closed my eyes. In this era, 100 million won was an insane amount. Pool a bit more, and you could buy an apartment in Seoul. Sure, in my old timeline, even 10 billion wouldn't get you one in the city... but still.
I said to Dad, "Dad, they told me my royalties this time will be around thirty million won, give or take."
"Th-Thirty... million?"
Dad's eyes went wide as he stared at me. No wonder—he'd have to slave away all year breaking his back for that kind of cash. I was pretty sure I'd react the same way if an eight-year-old kid told me she'd earned thirty million won.
"For now, let's scrape together what we can and pay off the loan shark debt first. I don't want to see you begging those guys, Dad."
"Sora..."
Mom and Dad fell silent, seeing the resolve on my face. My mind raced with options for paying it all back.
I got off the bus. It hadn't been long since the TV appearance, but I was already running into more familiar faces. I seriously debated whether I should start wearing a mask and sunglasses. Now I got why celebrities rarely went out and why so many developed social anxiety.
The silver lining? Once people knew we were broke, they didn't bug me about money. Most just told me to keep it up. Not like those leeches who latch on after you get famous, sucking you dry for cash.
Anyway, thanks to yesterday's talk with Dad, I now knew our exact debt. The good news: it was less than I'd feared. Not tens of billions—just under half that. He'd borrowed from grandparents, in-laws, even distant relatives, until he had no choice but loan sharks.
But by this era's prices, 800 million won wasn't pocket change. You could buy a few Seoul apartments. Even adjusting for 2020s inflation, it was massive. Average folks might work their whole lives without touching that much cash. Factor in taxes and living expenses, and pure profit of 800 million? Near impossible—hell mode, really. Big corps or pros could manage, but not everyone could land those jobs.
I stepped into the Songi Media building. Today wasn't for writing as usual; it was business talk.
I opened the office door, and Yoo Min-ah greeted me. "Sora! You're here!"
Kim Sung-ho was sitting nearby too. They probably ate lunch together every day and had waited for me. But today, I had different business.
"Hello." I greeted Yoo Min-ah and continued, "Could I get an advance on my royalties? Like a prepayment."
"Huh?"
She tilted her head at my words but caught on quick. "You want it upfront?"
"Yes. There's something at home I need to pay off."
It wasn't exactly thirty million—I only had a rough sales figure. Luckily, Kim Sung-ho backed me up. He'd probably seen the broadcast and knew our situation. With our family finances aired nationwide, how could he not?
"An advance is no big deal..." With his okay, Yoo Min-ah sat at her computer. All the data was there.
"But how many have sold? I want the exact numbers."
Sunlight Painter had blown up after Can You Believe It?, but last time she'd only said over twenty times the norm—no specifics.
"Hmm... Total for Sunlight Painter so far: 50,000 copies."
"From volume one onward—take a look, Sora."
She swiveled the monitor for me. I checked the figures myself. Volumes 1 through 6. Volume 1 had the highest sales, dropping off gradually with each one. Natural progression. First volumes always sell best; by 10 or 20, readers drop off.
Web novels made it even clearer. Episode 1 might hit tens of thousands of views, but numbers plummeted as it went on. Some started with tens of thousands and barely scraped a thousand by episode 100. Retention rate—that's what they called it. Good stories held steady, but almost every novel saw views decline over time.
"So roughly 8,000 copies per volume."
"Yeah. Which means your royalties..."
Yoo Min-ah crunched the numbers and showed me. "Should come to about this."
Fifty thousand copies sold. After taxes: over thirty million won. But that wouldn't cover the loan sharks' 100 million. Tough to scrape together for sure.
I had to think. Write more books? But too fast a pace could backfire.
The answer lay elsewhere, though.