Literary Prize on the Horizon
"Literary award?"
"Whoa...!" I exclaimed, feeling the breeze against my face. It had been so long since I'd felt this refreshed. With the debt fully paid off, I felt like a free person again—truly liberated. I'd never imagined I'd actually pay off that entire 1 billion won. I'd planned to stretch it out over a much longer period, but Grandpa Sungmin's help had slashed that timeline dramatically. I knew I'd never forget his kindness. I made sure to send him a thank-you text on my phone. After all, receiving such an enormous sum and not expressing gratitude would be rude. If you had any sense of propriety, it was the least you could do. I wasn't the type to take money and wipe my mouth clean afterward. In fact, that was the kind of person I despised most.
I headed to Songi Media. Showing up just two or three times a week made me a total anomaly. If other office workers saw me, they'd probably look on with envy. They slaved away five or six days a week, while I barely did half that. Of course, once they heard my age, they'd nod in understanding. Some might even pity a first-grader already coming to work. At my age, kids usually just played—that was it. There were hardly any who wrote books or helped their parents like I did.
"Hello."
"Hey, Sora! Come on in!"
It had been a while since I'd seen Editor Yoo Min-ah. She grinned at me and said,
"Sora, how's it feel to win the award?"
It was our first meeting since she'd returned from France. Seeing her playful smile made it feel like I'd come back to my nest.
"It was great. The streets in France were so different from Korea's. More than the award itself, it felt like a trip with Mom—that made it even better."
"Yeah? I wanna go to France too... But those flights are way too pricey..."
Then Editor Yoo Min-ah looked at me and said,
"Sora, Sora! Wanna hear something even bigger?"
"Huh?"
Something bigger than winning the screenplay award at Cannes? I couldn't even guess.
Editor Yoo Min-ah flashed a mischievous grin and told me,
"After you won that screenplay award, sales of Sunlight Painter and Song of the Sword skyrocketed!"
"Really? Makes sense—people would look them up."
"Yep, yep! They'd check out the award-winner's books just out of curiosity."
She said Song of the Sword was getting more rave reviews than Sunlight Painter. No helping it—one was genre fiction, the other pure literature. It wasn't about one being superior; both were stellar in their fields. No need to compare apples and oranges.
Normally, people wouldn't care, but things were different now.
"You might even snag a literary prize, Sora."
"A literary prize?"
"Yeah. The literary world is raving about Song of the Sword."
It felt like massive things were happening behind the scenes without my knowledge.
The literary world was in decline. That was an undeniable fact. Once, it had swayed society—a single novel could shake the world, a writer become the voice of an era. Just think of the poems we studied in Korean class. Sure, even back then, it wasn't powerful enough to topple governments... but it had more clout than today's scene.
Not anymore. Literary sections in bookstores were shrinking. Self-help and practical books dominated the prime real estate in big chains, shoving literature into the corners.
There were countless reasons for the literary world's demise. Problems everywhere—you could point at anything and call it a symptom. But the biggest issue? People just weren't reading books anymore. Without readers, interest in literature inevitably waned.
Business thrives on public attention and love. For literature, with readers dwindling, growth was impossible. Literary novels were losing ground fast, propped up only by workbooks and children's books.
For the literary world to revive, it needed a star player. One standout could carry a field—we'd seen it plenty. Take figure skating: a new ace emerged, crushed Japan's rivals, and snagged gold. That drew massive crowds. (Though by my original era, she'd retired, and without a successor, popularity faded quick.)
A star for the literary world? Right in the heart of public attention sat a little girl. Tiny and young, but more popular than any veteran writer. Even all the old guard combined couldn't touch her fame. They were niche; she had penned Immortal Yi Sun-sin, won at Cannes. No contest.
Song of the Sword, which I'd written, was undeniably prize-worthy. And with the media and public buzzing about me, it was primed.
Most industries didn't welcome newcomers—they could threaten established spots. Like apprentices in construction getting stuck with grunt work, no skills passed down. Same everywhere.
But literature was the opposite. It embraced rookies. New Writer Contests for debutants were the hottest, most hyped awards. Why? Humans are selfish by nature. A thorn in your finger hurts more than famine halfway around the world. Not a bad thing. But literature killed that instinct to welcome new blood.
Not out of extra kindness or hypnosis-app nonsense. They had to—survival demanded it. Pride? Past glory? Folded before reality. So, welcoming a supernova like Sora was a no-brainer.
And the results were unfolding right before our eyes.
In a bookstore, the usually quiet literary corner buzzed with people.
"Here it is. Song of the Sword."
The clerk barely pulled it out before hands shot forward.
"This the one by the Cannes kid, right?"
"Yes, that's it."
"I'll take one."
"Me too."
The clerk checked stock blankly. "One moment... I'll grab more from the back."
Song of the Sword was flying off shelves—sold out everywhere. Printers ran full tilt to keep up.
Portal news sites flooded with articles.
Literary journals fired off praise in unison, like a species linked to some higher being. All positive, of course.
The benefits Sora had already brought were immense. But her identity was still fuzzy: novelist? Dramatist? Screenwriter? Every field drooled, sending love calls to claim her. She'd proven herself plenty.
Literary mags saw this and panicked. A star author after so long—couldn't let drama or film steal her. Miss this chance, and it might be 10, 20 years before another.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime.
The lit mag editorial room was chaos.
"Contact her now!"
"Book the interview!"
"Prep a feature!"
The chief editor slammed his desk. "We can't let this slip! No way drama or movies take her!"
Too many industries eyed Sora hungrily.