A Bigger Pie for the Literary World
Where do you belong? We'd just explained why the literary establishment welcomed Sora... but to be honest, if you looked closely, that world was pretty closed-off too. It didn't greet newcomers or fresh waves with open arms. The old guard felt the same way—this scene had declined so much it couldn't sustain itself anymore. The literary world lacked the stamina to survive on its own. All it could do was divvy up government subsidies. Honestly, without state support? The whole thing would collapse overnight. It couldn't maintain its identity as a "literary world" any longer. No one could deny the government's huge role in keeping it afloat.
That's why they couldn't share that hard-earned taxpayer blood money with rookies. But Sora's arrival was slowly changing the atmosphere. That one tiny girl was shaking up the entire flow. Thanks to Sora, more readers were paying attention to the literary scene. Books were a paradoxical medium—high barriers to entry yet somehow low ones too. Movies were the easiest, then webtoons, then novels. The further right you went, the tougher it got. Technically, anyone could read a novel. Literacy rates in Korea were near perfect. If you could read, you could join in. No special gear needed. No theater, no internet. Just one book. That's why novels were open to everyone.
But on the flip side, the barriers were sky-high. Reading words? Not as simple as it sounded. Some people got headaches just looking at text. They could binge movies or webtoons fine, but print made them tremble like aspen leaves. Then Sora showed up, and the literary world reaped the rewards. News was spreading about a kid writing novels. Song of the Sword, the one Sora wrote, was flying off shelves, but others benefited too. Like when a snack craze hits—not just the main item sells out, but the ingredients do too. Sora's books boosted sales across literary fiction.
Put simply: imagine splitting one pizza. Sora's arrival added another pie. Even if she took half, plenty remained. That was huge. If she weren't so popular, the elders might've pushed back against this new "deity." But no need to check someone bringing such good news. And the biggest reason? Age. The old guard were in their sixties, seventies, even eighties. Sora? Barely eight. Granddaughter age—or great-granddaughter to some. Too young to bully. Who tells you to pick on a kid that age? Only someone truly vile. Literature lovers harassing an eight-year-old? Everyone would call them unadultlike. That's how Sora naturally joined the fold.
Though she'd never said she wanted to fully commit. Without her knowing, Sora had become the child the literary world needed to protect and nurture into a shining star. Today's interview was part of that. The higher her fame rose, the more spillover benefits they got. It might sound a bit mercenary, but Sora was adorably cute. If she were average-looking, she wouldn't be this big a deal. But Sora showed promise from the start. Even young, her features were sharp. She'd grow into a beauty. And the public obsessed over looks. Pretty criminals got fan clubs. Sora checked every box. Hers was already forming. As she grew, her appearance would pay dividends.
"That's why I wrote Song of the Sword."
"I see. I enjoyed your interview, Sora."
The interview wrapped up perfectly, as expected. They'd prepped kid-level questions, but Sora was mature. Adult ones worked fine. The host, spotting her poise, switched scripts on the fly—from the child version to the grown-up backup. Her answers were wise beyond years. Sora wasn't some media flash-in-the-pan. She had real talent to shine solo.
"Thanks for today! Great job on the interview."
"Yes. You worked harder than I did, sir."
"Haha..."
The interviewer chuckled awkwardly. Sora stayed polite to the end. Connections were always good—except cults or scams. A big lit mag employee's worth keeping. She left the room. Da-som waited outside, zoning out at the TV. Nothing to do till her daughter emerged. Spotting Sora, she beamed and rushed over. Sora lit up too, toddling into her arms.
Da-som hugged tight. "How'd the interview go, sweetie?"
"Great! I tried super hard."
"Good girl, good girl~"
Da-som stroked her hair, grinning. Sora smiled back, soaking in the warmth. The "sir" watched with a kind smile. Sora was adultlike, but a kid with Mom. That suited her better. Kids shone brightest being kids.
Lee Yeon-ji waited out front. Spotting Sora and Da-som, she hurried over. "Da-som! Sora! How've you been?"
"Hi, unni!"
"Haha. You look great too, Da-som!"
Yeon-ji visited weekly now. No more formal speech with Da-som—just sisters. Da-som loved it. A close unni with shared interests: parenting. Yeon-ji raised an eight-year-old too. Kid talk, school stories, child-rearing tips—they bonded fast. Sora liked her too. She'd helped publish Song of the Sword, advocated for her in lit circles. And connected her to the undying Yi Sun-sin drama writer—which led to Sung-min. Sora learned connections mattered. No network, no intros.
Yeon-ji regretted it a bit. She'd linked them to save Sora's family from their one-room hell. Don't meddle in others' homes, right? Direct cash felt wrong too. She was well-off, but not overflowing. So indirect help. But she hadn't expected drama scribe Min-gyu to pass her to film writer Sung-min. Or underestimated Sora's talent. Novels and scripts? Same words, different beasts. Different turf. Pure lit writers bombed in web novels. Tastes clashed. Yeon-ji figured the same: writing books ≠ screenplays.
But Sora was a screenplay genius too. No wonder Yeon-ji teared up laughing at her parasite win. A lit prodigy conquering film? Total 180.
"Interview go well?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"Good. Hop in—I'll drive you home. You earned it today."
Professor Lee Yeon-ji was family now. Her intro led to Sung-min. Sora made Parasite, but Yeon-ji forged the chain. Da-som nodded. "Thanks, unni! Sora, car time—unni's driving!"
"Okay!"
Sora climbed into the professor's car. Fitting for a uni prof—pricey ride.