The Shadow in Her Heart
At the question of whether she had sent the video, several thoughts flashed through Seol-ah’s mind. Starting with how she had known, all the way to wondering what she had come to say. If it were a rejection notice, she wouldn’t have come in person like this. Then… did that mean she could allow herself a small hope?
When Seol-ah nodded, Hwa-ryeong swept her gaze over her from head to toe before speaking.
“There’s plenty to discuss, but I’d like to entrust you with the editing.”
“M-me?”
“For now, at least.”
Am I dreaming right now?
Seol-ah struck her own cheek, knowing it was rude. Even in the VR game where pain was dulled, a sharp sting bloomed across her skin.
It’s not a dream. I really just got offered the position of editor by Lady Hwa-ryeong!
Hwa-ryeong watched Seol-ah’s reaction with a slightly exasperated look before continuing.
“Are you busy right now?”
“No! I have all the time in the world!”
“Then head back to Mount Hua for now. We’ll talk more at leisure.”
After watching Seol-ah depart through the spatial movement function, I placed the pipe in my mouth. I still wasn’t sure if I had made the right decision.
The dozen or so candidates Enry’s editor had provided were all more than capable. Any one of them would have produced excellent videos. Yet the reason I had settled on Seol-ah wasn’t simply because she made the best videos. Though I knew little about video editing myself, I could at least distinguish between excellence and mediocrity. Among the dozen, several possessed greater technical skill than Seol-ah. However, none of them understood martial arts better than she did.
Most editors focused only on surface-level flashiness. When I cleaved the sky, they only cared about the fist I threw and the resulting spectacle. When I swung my sword, they only cared about what was cut, never the principle by which the opponent was severed. Some might say that as long as the video looked good, nothing else mattered—but my stance was different. As a martial artist. As someone who wished to spread the principles of this world. Being blinded by mere spectacle was no different from a sin. When displaying the use of martial arts, what mattered most was the principle the practitioner embodied. If viewers were only shown the flashy movements, it would only encourage modern people to chase after forms rather than understanding.
Seol-ah was the one best suited to fulfilling that wish of mine. Regardless of who she was or what thoughts she held, the reality of the situation was clear.
“It’s been a while.”
The benefactor stopped his training in the clearing and approached. His face looked weary, yet his eyes brimmed with vitality, as though he could barely contain his joy at having crossed a new wall.
“How is it? The new realm?”
“Hmm. I never thought I’d say this again, but it’s enjoyable. Using martial arts is enjoyable.”
A smile had formed on the old man’s lips—someone who had once seemed to live only because he couldn’t die. It was an expression I had never seen during my time in the murim.
“I’m moving desperately because even sleeping feels like a waste. Who knows how much time this old body has left.”
“You don’t have to push yourself so hard.”
“Why not?”
Because if you raise your realm any further, you’ll experience a phenomenon. I already knew this, having walked that path myself, but I didn’t tell him. If I spoiled it with modern terminology, wouldn’t it diminish the joy when the moment came?
“It’s a secret.”
“Hah. Have I become petty because of my age?”
Ever since I had roughly explained my life the last time I visited Mount Hua, he had started bringing up age whenever the opportunity arose. Well, it wasn’t as though my current self hadn’t lived a life similar to his. Unable to find a proper response, I simply smiled—only for a sharp reaction to erupt from beside me.
“That’s exactly why you’ve been alone all this time! Talking about age is forbidden!”
“What does it matter? I only spoke the truth. Don’t tell me you’re getting worked up over age talk. You’re a centuries-old hag, after all.”
“You—!”
Watching the two of them bicker, I could tell they had already adapted well to life on Mount Hua.
“Then I’ll be on my way.”
“Go on, then. Good work.”
“Take care.”
After bidding them farewell, I stepped across the sky and returned to Mount Hua. That was when I spotted Seol-ah sitting cross-legged at the mountain’s entrance.
“Why are you waiting here?”
“Lady Hwa-ryeong told me to wait!”
Her answer came without a hint of hesitation, drawing a wry laugh from me.
“Were you planning to make me sit on bare stone?”
“No!”
“Then let’s go inside.”
Once we entered the reception room and sat facing each other across the desk, Seol-ah fidgeted, unsure what to do. She looked at my face, then quickly averted her eyes to the floor, glanced at the door, then looked back at me again. I wasn’t sure if I should say this, but… had choosing this girl as my editor been the right decision? I had done it because there weren’t many options, but I felt uneasy. Perhaps I should look into someone else just in case.
“Seol-ah.”
“Yes!”
At my call, Seol-ah lifted her head sharply, and our eyes met. Now that I could perceive the flow of the Dao to some extent, I had gained the ability to glimpse a person’s mood by observing their Dao. For example, lively and kind people like Enry radiated an energetic aura. Someone shouting with a scowl on the bus gave off a prickly energy. Someone humming a tune and smiling to themselves showed a bouncy, lively aura. When I had asked Baru about it, she had been impressed by how quickly I was adapting, which suggested my judgment was correct.
And what I sensed from Seol-ah right now was a tangled mess of too many emotions—far too many for me to parse with my current level. Yet there was one thing I could clearly identify.
A small, red energy pulsing at the center of Seol-ah’s heart. It was so faint that I couldn’t make out what path it traced, but the moment I saw it, I knew exactly what it was. Small, faint, fragile—on the verge of vanishing at any moment—yet unmistakably vivid. It was my own shadow.
I deliberately pretended not to notice and continued speaking to Seol-ah.
“The terms are written in the job posting. Have you seen them?”
“Yes! One video edit per—”
“If you already know, then that’s enough. Those are the conditions. Do you still wish to take the job?”
“Of course!”
Yes. I knew you would answer that way.
“Enry mentioned that modern hiring involves contracts and various procedures. I’d like to meet in reality to discuss the details. When would you be available?”
“…In reality?”
“Yes.”
The moment the word “reality” left my lips, Seol-ah froze completely. To me, meeting in the VR world or the real world didn’t seem all that different, but apparently it was a tremendous shock to her. Ah. Perhaps—
“Don’t tell me you have some reason you can’t leave your house?”
If that were the case, there was nothing to be done. Enry had mentioned that these days, contracts could be handled without meeting in person. I could ask for her help to resolve it.
“No! I don’t! I have time whenever! Right now works too!”
While I was nodding along, having jumped to conclusions, Seol-ah suddenly leaned forward and shouted. Then, startled by her own outburst, she quickly pulled back and apologized.
“I’m sorry. It’s just… I…”
“It’s fine. So, am I correct in assuming you have no particular schedule these days?”
“Yes!”
Well, if someone’s schedule were packed, they wouldn’t be able to spend entire days in this world.
“Then I’ll contact you separately later.”
“Please take care of me!”
*
“Is that allowed?”
I had decided to entrust the editing to Seol-ah, but I felt far too uneasy about leaving her to handle it alone. When I consulted Enry, that was the answer I received.
“I thought you were just rambling because you were tired.”
Hiring multiple editors. That way, even if Seol-ah caused some kind of trouble, the others could keep her in check. It was a good idea, but—
“Would I even be able to handle that many people?”
Hiring someone meant taking responsibility for their livelihood. Could I, who was barely getting by on the money Baekho had given me, really shoulder the burden of multiple editors?
“Is that so?”
“There’s no need for that.”
Hmm. If even Enry, who had been through the wringer in this world, was saying this much, then perhaps I didn’t need to worry too much.
“My revenue is that high?”
“No.”
I had no urgent need for large sums of money, so there was no reason to pay attention to it. When I answered like that, Enry gave a wry smile.
“I don’t.”
Following Enry’s instructions, I opened the statistics window for my broadcast. I wondered how much had accumulated. As long as it was enough to support even one person, that would be fine. With that thought, I checked the number—and blinked in disbelief before letting out a laugh.
Enry had been right. This amount meant hiring three people wouldn’t be a burden at all.
“Quite a lot has piled up.”
“Yes. I think I could even hire more people.”
After ending the call with Enry, I opened my email again. I would hire one person to handle the technical side and keep Seol-ah in check, and another who possessed an understanding of martial arts. While pondering this, my hand reached for the list of candidates that Enry’s editor had said I didn’t need to look at. I wondered if any of them had an understanding of martial arts. Teaching editing techniques would be easier than teaching an understanding of martial arts from scratch, after all.
Scrolling from the top downward, just as I was beginning to doubt whether this was pointless, a familiar name caught my eye.
This was…
Wasn’t this Harin?