Apologize! The Leaked Photo
"Apologize!"
"So in the end, Yeonjung did it because of a slump?"
"Yeah, that's the vibe."
Jae-a's words felt like he was hiding something. It was loaded with meaning. I considered pressing him further, but trusting that he'd tell me himself one day, I let it slide.
"But didn't you say pure literature bored you and you hated it?"
"I still think that way now, honestly. But talking with you changed something for me. I figured anyone writing that kind of stuff must find it boring too, but you said my novel was fun. So yeah."
So my reaction to Jae-a's internet broadcast novel had shifted his thinking? It made me feel a strange mix of pride and unease.
"Alright, then let's start lessons next week. Think about a novel you want to write. For now, our goal is finishing one short story."
"Got it."
"By the way, how's Professor Seo doing?"
"Dad's the same as always."
"He hasn't mentioned me?"
"Nah, but he's been sighing a lot lately."
I wondered what could be making him sigh. Well, he's always been a cranky bastard anyway—I didn't want to worry about it needlessly. That's probably what he wanted too.
Once my chat with Jae-a wrapped up, I truly had nothing left to do. I should read or write, but I just wasn't in the mood right now. Kang Hwa-won still hadn't gotten back to me. Was something really going on? Or maybe because I'd become a woman, he... Don't think stupid shit like that.
I forced myself to stop caring and fiddled aimlessly with my smartphone. I'd lived a relentlessly busy life. As an orphan, I'd chased the ridiculous dream of becoming a writer. Now that I'd achieved it, this was my reward. A bitter laugh escaped me. Whenever I had time to think like this, self-mockery and loathing bubbled up naturally. Bad habit.
With nothing on the agenda for a while, I'd be holed up at home. If I didn't feel like writing or reading, maybe find a hobby? I knew I should rest sometimes, but after a lifetime without a break, I had no idea how.
If I still had my old body, I'd call Hwa-won for drinks, but that's impossible now.
Heading into my room, I spotted my computer. Five years old, and it was showing its age. I'd never used it for much besides writing, so I hadn't splurged on a high-end one—nothing to be done about it. Still, it handled basic tasks fine.
I powered it on and, out of habit, opened the file with my latest draft. Reading it over, it just didn't sit right. It was common for old writing to sour on me. Stuff that seemed great while writing often turned to kindling the next day. But the reverse never happened—garbage stayed garbage forever.
I hadn't turned on the computer to write anyway, so I put off revisions, closed the file. I just didn't feel like writing now. No deadlines, so no big deal.
But looking back, I should have clung to that piece then. Revised it, rewritten it—licked it clean, no matter what. Because that was the last fragment of my writing I'd ever produce. I should have scoured it for every shred of my old self. Maybe then I wouldn't have lost it.
But what's lost is gone forever. Especially after time passes.
~
That day, I killed time web surfing on the computer all day. I toyed with the idea of games but gave up—didn't know any well, and my rig couldn't handle them anyway. Despite napping plenty during the day, drowsiness hit early. I didn't fight it, grabbed the pillow I'd bought, crashed on the sofa, and shut my eyes.
No dreams. Or maybe I just didn't remember.
~
My smartphone buzzed me awake. Checking the time, it was already lunchtime. I'd slept deeper than I thought. I grabbed it and answered.
"Hello?"
"Seol-guk?"
The voice was familiar. I'd heard it before, but who...?
"Who's this?"
"Ham Ye-jin. Didn't save my number?"
Oh, right, she'd given it to me.
"Saving it now. What's up?"
"I specifically told you to avoid going out."
Her words hit like a bucket of ice water—I knew exactly what had happened.
"Looks like you got secretly photographed. A pic with your white hair is circulating online."
"But I had my hat on properly."
"It was crooked. Some hair spilled out. It hasn't spread too far yet, but news articles might drop soon. Even without your exact address, people might figure out your neighborhood. Be careful."
"...Sorry."
Apologizing felt humiliating in every way. She told me not to go out. I felt like an idiot for letting Muk Ha-neul talk me into it.
"And whatever you do, don't post anything online. It'll just pour fuel on the fire."
"Can't I ask the sites to take it down...?"
"They've all downloaded it by now. Pointless. There's not much else we can do, but you really need to stay inside from now on."
With that, Ham Ye-jin's call ended.
Cold sweat trickled down. I followed the link she'd texted. Sure enough, my photo was up on community sites—taken with Muk Ha-neul, but thankfully her face was cropped out. The problem was mine: blurry, but unmistakably me. Homeward bound.
They were still debating if it was really me, but it was only a matter of time. Good thing I'd never bothered with SNS—lucky break. Stalkers online tracked my every move, but they found nothing. Still, no one leaves zero traces in life.
My phone buzzed again. The editor. I answered, and his usual apathetic voice came through.
"Yeah, writer?"
"...Hello?"
Of course, he freaked at my voice.
"Uh, is this Seol-guk the writer's phone?"
"It's me. Editor Kim Seong-gyu, right? You heard the news. Voice changed too, obviously."
"Didn't expect it to sound this young. Wild..."
"Why the call? I said next work's still in prep."
"Obviously about this mess. Contract stuff aside, shouldn't we handle the fire first?"
Kim Seong-gyu sounded uncharacteristically excited. He was always indifferent, only caring about my writing insofar as the money it made. His glee amid my crisis pissed me off, but "handling it" piqued my interest. Did he have a plan?
"Truth is, your book's sales exploded off this drama. Checked bookstores? It's reverse-climbing the charts—first time in ages. It'll crash soon, but a has-been like this selling out? Impressive. Next one's gonna be tough, though."
Shocking news. Phone in hand, I booted my computer and hit a bookstore site. True—my book was on the daily bestseller list.
"So don't put out the fire—fan it into an inferno. Whaddya think?"
"What do you mean?"
"We've got a flood of interview requests. Round up the reporters, hold a full press conference! Stoke the flames and ride it to a breakout."
Insane on its face. A misogynistic, outed writer holding a presser amid this shitstorm? No way it'd flip public opinion.
But the editor had other ideas.
"That's what makes it perfect. You're a woman now, right? 'I became a woman and realized how tough it is! The misogyny and hate comments online taught me so much! I'll reform and live better!' Boom. I saw the pic— with that face, you can sell anything. Shed some tears at the conference, apologize... boom! You're a star. Sound good?"
Crazy bastard.