Chapter 25
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 25
Chapter Title: A Prodigy Emerges
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'He was a talent freak.'
Number 11 was a natural when it came to turning imagination into text.
It started off a bit rough around the edges, but in just a few months, he figured out exactly what he needed to do.
I had no idea how much he earned back then, but the fact that he outshone the other ten meant he had massive potential.
Go Ye-jin spoke up.
"Please review the contract carefully. If you sign with us..."
"I'll do it! Absolutely!"
Number 11 didn't even let her finish. He flipped through the contract in a flash and declared he'd read it all.
"So, what do I need to do now?"
I smiled warmly and replied.
"Wrap it up. Don't get hung up on your first small success—write whatever you want as an author. You don't have to stick to one chapter a day; try writing more to build the habit."
"Really? That's all?"
"What you need right now is experience. No one can teach you that. Simply put, your eyes and brain are level 10, but your hands are still at level 1, so you can't execute properly yet."
"Got it! I'll trust you, Memento Mori, and write like crazy! Thank you!"
What worried me was Number 11's safety.
"Even if you head home today, make sure to leave a note on the author's board saying you've signed with us. That'll help you avoid a lot of hassle."
It was a message for that fly-like Team Leader bastard, but now that Number 11 was my author, I'd protect him by any means necessary.
"And... you might want to change your pen name. Who knows when you'll blow up? 'Shitflop Life' isn't exactly fitting for someone who might hit the big leagues."
"The big leagues? M-Me?"
"You will. As long as you don't give up."
Number 11 clutched the contract to his chest like a treasure and left.
On the way back to the goshiwon, Go Ye-jin asked,
"He had that much potential?"
"He doesn't even know it himself yet."
"How did you spot it, President?"
"I've been through it."
"Can you really tell just like that?"
"To a certain extent."
"Wow, I want to get that good too. That way I could take some work off your plate."
"You're already doing more than enough."
It wasn't empty flattery—Go Ye-jin was pulling the weight of ten people. I didn't know what drove her to push this hard, but seeing her so bright and different from her civil service exam days made me proud.
"Oh, right, Ye-jin. For the authors we've signed, call them every three days at least to check in."
"Will do. Maybe have me handle the male authors and Jin-seong take the female ones?"
"Smart idea."
Writers get lonely. Writing alone is grueling, and they mostly interact with the opposite sex through their monitors from their rooms. Just hearing a friendly voice would encourage them—and let us confirm they were safe.
"Note their birthdays and send something. Organize it by month."
"They'll love that."
"They deserve that kind of treatment."
The market wasn't big enough yet for them to hold their heads high socially or popularly, but in ten years, the world would change. I figured I could speed that up a bit.
"What about gifts? Shouldn't we send premium hanwoo to the top performers?"
"No, keep it uniform."
"The same for everyone?"
"Self-esteem matters most to writers. Your work might be someone's all-time favorite, whether it has a hundred readers or a thousand. You can't judge value by sales alone."
"Why does that sound just like something you'd say? But you've been number one from the start."
"......"
I could only laugh it off. In this era, I looked like a breakout success, not a flop.
"No hanwoo for first place and toothpaste for last. Everyone deserves the same joy on their special day."
August 15th.
The month when Kunlun Return and Infinite Reincarnation wrapped up—and when the July settlement hit.
144,001,943 won.
Now I was officially a 100-million-won-a-month author.
'The Youngest Son of the Gangster House should go paid by month's end too.'
Focusing on one series meant stockpiling chapters steadily, so I could easily drop about ten on launch day.
Tap tap tap.
Today, like always, I wrote.
My routine kicked off at 8 a.m.
I'd skim yesterday's work for issues, write a chapter, grab breakfast-slash-lunch, then grind till dinner.
That netted five to seven chapters, and at night I'd review submissions, scour serializations, and hunt for old colleagues.
'Now that I've found Number 11, I need to comb even more thoroughly.'
It was a monotonous, repetitive daily grind, but the company felt like it was growing.
Tonight was the meeting for Webtoon Teams 2 and 3. With a big group expected, I'd rented out a whole beer pub.
With a spare moment, I checked the comment compilation Ye-jin sent.
-Wow, this needs to be a drama!
-Make it a drama!
-Drama time!
'Drama, huh...'
Was that feasible in this era? Webtoons might become movies, but webnovels were a step further. And video producers probably weren't thinking about us yet.
'Too risky before OTT platforms take off.'
Above all, recouping production costs would scare off most studios.
'Focus on webtoons for now...'
Who knows? If crypto booms later and cash flows, I might produce it myself.
-This is the most immersive story ever. Keep delivering this fun—I'll follow to the end!
-Hey, no plans for a new series? I've got the funds ready!
-Author! I love you!
The pub was packed when I arrived.
"Manhwa artist Lee Dae-su."
"Manhwa artist Jang Ho-min."
The ten artists introduced themselves one by one, briefly.
"Ddaengddaengyi."
"Ginny84."
About half were women.
'Pretty.'
'There's pretty artists like that?'
The men's eyes locked on Ddaengddaengyi, but the women focused on two guys.
"Jin-seong, Jin-guk... why are you standing there? You're making people uncomfortable."
Ye-jin forced a smile and spoke as nicely as she could, but Jin-seong stood with hands behind his back like it was obvious.
"On security duty. Can't have important meeting materials leaked."
If you're gonna be that serious, at least wear sneakers instead of slippers. Did you even wash your hair?
"...Jin-guk, move the whiteboard over here."
"Yes, sir!"
With the TV blocked by the board in a spot everyone could see, Ye-jin began her presentation.
We knew the webtoon team setup by now, but they looked puzzled. It was still normal for artists to hire a few assistants and work solo—weekly serializers did it alone.
"Memento Mori understands your struggles as artists, so we're committed to thorough division of labor to ease your physical burden and save time. Thank you all again for joining us to work on the webtoon adaptations of Infinite Reincarnation and The Youngest Son of the Gangster House."
This wasn't the era for webnovel-to-webtoon yet, so questions poured in.
"What if the work flops—do we still get advance payments?"
"Of course."
"What happens if we miss deadlines?"
"Unless it's a natural disaster or unavoidable circumstances, that's on you."
"Who judges quality?"
"Primarily your own pride, but if it's deemed too sloppy, the team leader steps in."
About an hour in, the mood lightened as curiosities eased.
"Feel free to chat and eat up!"
Everyone was positive about joining, so it turned into a beer party.
The initially reserved artists loosened up with drinks, laughter breaking out more often.
'Was worried for a sec...'
No familiar faces among them.
I had no intention of ignoring webtoon folks. The 36 who'd survived that hell over ten years were all creators—didn't matter if words or art. Colleagues.
Except Number 13.
"I've been following The Youngest Son of the Gangster House daily. Never knew fantasy could be this fun."
"Infinite Reincarnation is great too! Kinda worried if I can do the original justice."
Grouping creators led straight to shop talk.
Lee Dae-su approached with a beer glass, Ddaengddaengyi shyly following.
"Author—or should I say President? Mind if I sit?"
I extended a hand with a grin.
"Of course."
Jin-seong and Jin-guk had been dragged to the women's table, leaving me alone with Ye-jin.
"The world's changed so much. Twenty years in manhwa, and I never imagined teams this big."
Anyone would think that now. But I knew the future. Even back then, webtoons' growth was immeasurable.
"Watching today, I admired you as a creator of fun originals and as a driven businessman."
Not sucking up—he meant it.
"Um... excuse me."
Ddaengddaengyi asked,
"You mentioned a studio—any chance I could move in?"
"It's nothing fancy. Just a single room, haha!"
"That's fine! I need to move by next month anyway. Just temporary..."
Ye-jin answered.
"No vacancies in the women's dorm right now, but one opens end of the month. That work?"
I'd vaguely heard Room 302's lady was heading back to her hometown.
"Yes! Thank you! I won't overstay!"
Japan's Dragon Ball or Slam Dunk legends raked in fortunes and lived large.
Our manhwa market wasn't there yet. Most scraped by, many abandoning dreams.
Ten more years till that dam burst.
'Won't take that long.'
If I succeeded, others would follow. Kunlun Return's regression trope, Infinite Reincarnation's codes, The Youngest Son's clichés were already reborn in other hands.
Once regression went mainstream? Webnovel revolution.
'Nice hanging with creators like this sometimes.'
Ye-jin and Jin-seong were like family, but only fellow writers got certain talks and vibes.
Maybe that's why? Chicken and beer had Number 7's face flickering in my mind.
'Drunk already?'
Time to head up. I signaled Ye-jin.
'Wrap it up.'
'Got it! Rest up, President! I'll handle it!'
No need for heavenly armies—with Ye-jin, I had all I needed.
I slipped up and headed for the door. Then someone grabbed my shoulder from behind.
A chilling voice whispered,
"Did you think you could escape me?"
"...!?"