Attending the Press Screening
"Hoo..."
I arrived at Songi Media, bracing against the chilly wind. Last time, Mom had left with a very satisfied look on her face after seeing the place. Probably because it felt like a decent workplace for her one and only daughter, the apple of her eye. It wasn't some factory with a floor painted in garish green paint, after all.
Not that I had anything against factories, but those places with the green-painted floors always seemed so rundown. The bathrooms were filthy, the food was meager, and they were full of dangerous machinery. If I'd been working in a place like that, Mom would've dragged me out immediately—and the next day, she'd have marched into the company to quit on my behalf. As a minor, I gave her that authority. But none of that mattered now. Mom had inspected every inch of the place and hadn't said a word, which meant she approved of this building.
She'd even gone so far as to say this to me:
I'd shaken my head vigorously and turned her down. No matter what, I didn't want to see my mom doing that kind of work. She was thrilled at the idea because it meant she could see her daughter every day, but I couldn't accept her scrubbing toilets. I'd rather work harder myself and earn more money. No child would want their parent suffering through dirty, grueling labor like that, right?
Now that we had some financial breathing room, she could work from home if she wanted, but for the time being, the office was more convenient. It was like high school students ditching home to study at a reading room or café—same principle. If I tried writing at home, I'd lose focus or end up playing with Mom. Ever since becoming a kid, my impulses had gotten stronger. They say humans are slaves to their hormones, and this new body's hormones loved to play. Give it the slightest opening, and it was raring to goof off. A disconnect between body and mind, I suppose.
"Hello."
"Hey, Sora!"
I greeted the now-familiar Songi Media employees and headed into the office. Being the lone kid wandering the lobby always drew cute stares from everyone. Inside, there were the usual faces.
"Sora, you're here!"
"There she is."
"Hello."
Team Leader Kim Sung-ho and Agent Yoo Min-ah were there. I bowed politely in greeting. Sure, I held the position of power here, but these people were helping me out. We were in it together, mutually benefiting. I leveraged my high royalties and Songi Media's reach to sell books, and they profited from those sales.
I settled into my familiar chair. Time to write again today. The Sunlight Painter was up to volume 9 now, with a stockpile ready through volume 20. Enough to keep publishing smoothly even if I ended up in a coma from a car accident for months. The serialization cycle was one or two months per volume.
In web novel terms, that pace would be instant death—no question. But this wasn't the web novel era yet. It was the age of tankobon. Each volume stood alone, equivalent to 25-30 web novel chapters. That schedule made perfect sense here. Web novels demanded at least five updates a week just to keep readers happy. Even then, it wasn't enough—daily was the baseline expectation, and dropping to six or five days saw readers fleeing in droves. Snack culture, I guess: miss a day, and momentum dies. Plenty of readers stuck with stories out of sheer habit, even if they weren't hooked on the plot, characters, or thrills. Just "I've started, so I might as well finish."
Consistency was king in web novels. Nail that, and you'd capture half the market. Speed mattered, too.
I was about to start typing when Team Leader Kim Sung-ho looked at me and spoke. He hesitated a bit, like whatever it was weighed on him. His lips moved silently before parting.
"Sora. Could you maybe attend the drama press screening?"
"Drama press screening?"
"Yeah. It's for Song of the Sword, the drama adaptation of your book."
"A press screening..."
The privilege—and duty—of celebrities. Standard for any drama production. A pre-broadcast event to hype it up, inviting press and the public. Directors and cast introduce the show. And now, they wanted me there too.
I couldn't help feeling awkward. Did I even qualify to show up...?
Seeing my expression sour, Team Leader Kim Sung-ho rushed to add,
"Sora..."
"Yes...?"
"Couldn't you just go once? It's a huge promo opportunity for you."
Lost in thought, I jolted back to reality. I'd sworn to endure anything for money, yet here I was wavering! I harshly criticized that weak side of myself. Begging if I had to—that was my mindset. I'd lost my original resolve. Time to reclaim it. That resolve was everything.
"Yes! I'll go."
"Really? Thanks, Sora!"
"Of course I should."
For money, I'd do anything short of illegal. My dream was a Gangnam penthouse with a Han River view, living large with Mom and Dad. Back in my old era, those started at 100 billion won and climbed from there. Timing was critical—earn like mad now. Real estate wouldn't wait. Money's value shifted over time, and housing prices outpaced inflation by miles. Right now, 500-600 million won could snag a Gangnam apartment. In the 2020s? Over 2 billion. Sure, prime real estate, but a fivefold jump in under 20 years? Wages and costs rose, but nothing like that.
"Alright, then we'll sync schedules and nail down the details."
"Please help with that."
Attending meant coordinating with lots of people. Lucky for me, I had help.
"I'll handle it!"
Yoo Min-ah shot her hand up. She was basically my manager these days. And just like that, my participation in the Song of the Sword press screening was set.
"Aigoo, my little girl~"
"Daaad..."
I woke up in our new home, squished in the middle. Sharing the bed with Mom and Dad meant I always ended up sandwiched. Dad's scratchy beard attacks and Mom's soft, pillowy hugs came at me from both sides. He'd wake early, hug me tight, and head to work. Half-asleep, I caught his scent—reassuring, somehow. But by the time my eyes fully opened, he was gone. Sleep had crashed over me hard.
Next up: Mom.
"Sora, sweetie~"
"Mooom..."
She gently roused me. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I'd slept through seeing Dad off, but Mom's voice meant it was time. Today was the Song of the Sword press screening, luckily on a holiday—no school. For normal kids, skipping was a big, scary deal. For me? Nothing. I wasn't chasing perfect attendance, and school records meant zilch anyway. No plans for a big corporation where they'd care. From my angle, it was irrelevant.