What the Hell is an Internet Broadcast Novel?
I woke up after a long sleep with Kafka and some internet broadcasts, and when I checked the time, it was already past 3 p.m. I’d never been one for a regular schedule, but even for me, that was pretty late. My head throbbed like hell from the hangover, but I managed to pull myself together. I hadn’t even bothered taking off my clothes before crashing. I splashed cold water on my face and changed. By the time I tidied up the messy apartment, it was nearly 4.
Checking my smartphone, I saw texts from Professor Seo and Seo Jae-a. The professor’s message had all the details on the interview schedule and info, while Jae-a had sent over the novel he’d written. I started with the professor’s first. The date was sooner than I’d expected—next Thursday. Since today was Wednesday, that meant basically a week from now. Probably a last-minute fill-in gig. Some pre-scheduled author must’ve bailed, and I was plugging the gap.
Still, the reporter’s name rang a faint bell. Jin Seo-hye? It felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Any woman’s name I remembered was unlikely to mean anything good. A twinge of unease hit me. I searched online for articles by her, but almost nothing came up. Newbie, maybe? I found a couple pieces, but nothing suspicious. Shrugging it off, I turned to Jae-a’s novel instead.
It was a short story with some decent length. After reading it through carefully, I got a sense of him. One story wouldn’t let me see through the kid completely, of course, but novels reveal more about their writers than you’d think. Still, what I saw wasn’t quite what I’d expected. It didn’t scream “smart choice picking me as a tutor.”
Well, that was for face-to-face talk. Friday loomed a bit worryingly now. Time to prep.
~
On Friday, I grabbed lunch and headed straight to the meetup spot—a university study room I’d told Jae-a about ahead of time. Figured exam season would make booking tough, but the professor hooked me up with a decent one no problem.
On the way there, a voice called out.
“Oh, sunbae.”
Only one person at this school called me that. I ran into Muk Ha-neul, arms loaded with what looked like a ton of heavy books. Even after that incident before, she hadn’t cut ties with me yet.
“Hey. What’s up.”
I gave a casual greeting, and she beamed.
“What brings you all the way back here?”
“Just some business.”
“Oh, I see.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, but I ignored it and tried to walk past. That’s when a loud crash came from behind—books spilling everywhere. Ha-neul had tripped.
“Ow ow…”
Even I couldn’t just ignore that and keep going. With a deep sigh, I started helping pick them up.
“Thanks, sunbae…”
“Forget it.”
How does someone trip in a perfectly flat, non-slippery spot? And without a scratch? It was kinda annoying. Once the books were gathered, I grabbed most of the stack.
Luckily, time was still on my side.
“Where to?”
“You’re helping carry?”
“Yeah.”
“Um… to Professor Yeon’s office.”
“Where’s that?”
“Same building as Professor Seo’s office.”
Not too far—good. “You don’t need to take that many. I can handle more.”
“Nah, what kinda woman carries this much?”
Her face stiffened at that. Maybe I didn’t mask my expression well enough. We barely talked the rest of the way. She stayed quiet, and I had nothing to say anyway.
Finally there, she spoke up. “Thanks for carrying them in, sunbae.”
At least she knew basic gratitude.
“Whatever.”
“Um, if it’s okay… mind if I ask why you’re here today?”
I’d thought I’d brushed her off earlier.
Irritation flickered, but I answered anyway. “Professor Seo asked me to tutor his kid. No big deal.”
Her face tightened oddly. “It’s… a girl?”
“Boy.”
She visibly relaxed, which was kinda ridiculous. “Oh, got it.”
“I’m out.”
“Wait, so you’ll be coming around more from now on?”
“Maybe.”
I turned without waiting for her reply. From behind: “See you later!”
I didn’t respond. Phone check—running a bit late. I hurried to the study room.
Jae-a was there, glued to his smartphone.
“You’re here?”
“Yeah, sorry. Got held up.”
“It’s fine.”
He didn’t seem too bothered, thankfully. “I saw, actually. You were helping Ha-neul noona, right?”
“You know her?”
“Met her a few times at Dad’s office. You two dating?”
Dating? Hell no. Not even close. Maybe she had some feelings for me—who knew. But not me. Hating women didn’t mean I liked guys. Anyway, I wasn’t in any shape to love anyone right now.
Ha-neul was attractive, sure. Docile for a woman, decently smart. Body was meh, but her face was pretty, like he said. Still, not my type.
“Heh, Ha-neul noona’s cute, but you’re not into her?”
“I only like women who write better than me.”
“No such thing.”
“Gotta be out there somewhere.”
“Nah, what kinda ideal woman is that?”
“Fair point.”
I brushed off his snark and started the lesson. Handed him the printout of his story, lightly corrected.
“Fixed typos, grammar stuff. Added some comments—read through ’em.”
“More serious than I thought.”
He took it with a grave look and scanned it. Finished, face puzzled.
“Not a novelist for nothing, huh.”
“But why the face?”
“…Nothing.”
“I get the gist. Ready to really start?”
“Yeah.”
“Stow that printout. It’s what the professor—your dad—wants. Not needed now.”
He blinked in confusion. “What?”
“Sure, if you’re aiming for creative writing or the lit scene later, follow my notes. That’s probably what he wants. But not you, right?”
“…Not me?”
“You don’t wanna write pure literature.”
He flinched visibly. It was obvious in his story—half-assed lit imitation, but reeking of genre hunger.
“How’d you know? From one story?”
“Obvious. Won’t guess the exact genre, but anyone could tell it ain’t lit-world stuff. Professor probably noticed too.”
“Dad knows?”
“That’s why he sent you to me—to fix you.”
Though the prof didn’t count on me ignoring his intent.
“Yeah. I don’t wanna write like Dad.”
“Why?”
“It’s… not fun.”
I smiled with genuine pity. Not wrong. The professor’s whole philosophy: novels shouldn’t be fun. Reading them should hurt. Writing? Even more so. I’d studied under him, so I got it somewhat.
Kafka said it: “True reading is to read only those books that stab and wound us,” and “A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.” I felt that bone-deep every time I wrote. If someone told me to churn out pure entertainment, genre trash, I’d sooner take a knife to the throat. That wasn’t real literature.
But I wasn’t here to deny Jae-a’s writing. Everyone deserved to chase their own style, even if it was wrong. Choice was free. So I’d help him dive in, fail, crash—whatever. He was young; time to get back up.
“Yeah, write what you enjoy, right?”
For that, I’d even pulled all-nighters reading webnovels for the first time. Purely for his tutoring, but damn if they weren’t fun.
“Honestly, I don’t know your kinda stuff. Haven’t read much, never written it. So for this to work, we both gotta study up. But I won’t knock what you wanna write. So tell me.”
What do you wanna write?
He hesitated forever before mumbling softly.
“…This.”
Too quiet. “What?”
“Int…ernet…”
“Sorry, my ears must be going. One more time?”
“Internet broadcast novels!”
I nodded. Right, internet broadcast novels. Mm, internet broadcast… wait.
“What the hell’s an internet broadcast novel?”
The tutoring was already going off the rails from the first step.