Chapter 71
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 71
Chapter Title: A Budding Author
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"You don't have to go. It might just be a passing comment."
"I see."
That was a relief, then.
I didn't want to meet her father after her brother. Who knows, it might lead to something irreversible.
The car pulled into the goshiwon parking lot. The executive director seemed busy and left right away, so I headed back to my room.
"Phew..."
This place was still the most comfortable. Sitting next to famous singers whose names anyone would recognize during the auditions felt surreal now.
'I've pretty much selected everyone, so all that's left is to wait for things to proceed smoothly.'
Some singers suited solos, others groups.
Take Hye-ri, for example. She had a voice that could dominate the charts on her own, but it was uncertain whether she could harmonize her unique style in a team.
Would Team Leader Min handle it well?
I changed clothes and sat down at the computer. I hadn't written for two days because of the auditions, so I pulled up the manuscript I'd prepared in advance.
Even though I'd written it myself, rereading it revealed spots that needed fixing. A few word changes or sentence rearrangements could alter the feel entirely, so I had to be mindful during revisions.
'If only everything in the world flowed as easily as in a novel, just the way I wanted.'
I knew the future and wielded cheat-like knowledge, but without the physical time and effort, it didn't feel easy.
Even knowing what kind of novel would sell didn't make it free—I still had to write it.
Should I turn in early? But as I reviewed the draft, I naturally continued into the next part.
Writing one more chapter today would buy me a full day tomorrow. Two chapters would give me two days.
Talent played a role in novel writing, but perfecting the habit of churning out words like this would yield even greater rewards.
Write and write again.
Today, too, I am a writer.
As the night deepened, a creeping pressure to sleep built up, but she couldn't let go of her phone.
'Amazing. So fun.'
She'd started with Memento Mori's novels and drifted into the Talent Market platform.
It was still in beta, newly launched, so it didn't have a ton of novels or webtoons. With limited options, she dove into whatever was available.
Realizing it was past midnight, she finally set her phone down and closed her eyes. But sleep wouldn't come.
It wasn't the novel's plot or its vivid characters keeping her up.
'I think I could write something like this.'
Yes. She was evolving from reader to aspiring writer.
Me? How? No way. I couldn't possibly.
Her inner voice protested, but the urge to craft her own story burned strong.
"But what should I write?"
She didn't even have a genre locked in. She read everything, so ideas tangled messily in her head.
"Hmm."
Calmly sorting her thoughts in the darkness, a decent concept emerged.
'The protagonist is a girl.'
She had so many things she wanted to do. Not flashy or outgoing, she'd only dreamed about them until now. But in a novel, she could do it all.
'Her partner is a handsome knight!'
Knowing no one would read it without a dramatic hook, her imagination expanded.
'A terminally ill young lady, pitifully confined to her castle, never having seen the world.'
Facing death, she musters courage to confess to her crush, the knight.
'Stay with me, just for the time I have left.'
She escapes the castle with the knight and wanders. Street food, all sorts of people—she sees it all. Destination: the sea.
'No tragic ending. So how to cure her illness?'
She planned a vibrant journey fulfilling the lady's wishes en route to the sea, not gloomy. Sweet yet poignant romance with the knight along the way.
'It's fantasy, so maybe the knight slays a witch? No need for dragons.'
She became the lady, laughing and crying through the night.
"......"
Then her thin eyelids stirred at the light slipping through the curtains.
"...Ah!"
Morning.
She bolted up and hurried. Today was important—she couldn't be late.
She rushed to the subway. Her roughly brushed hair looked all the fresher, drawing glances from some guys. A few even asked for her number, but she had no interest in men.
-This station is Indeokwon, Indeokwon Station. Exiting doors are...
Arriving at her stop, she quick-stepped toward the distant building.
She'd first come on a recommendation to rack up volunteer hours, but four years later, she was still showing up.
"Ah! Teacher Hana!"
A nurse from across the way waved with a smile. Volunteer or not, they called her teacher.
"Hello!"
She flashed a bright smile and headed to the changing room. She aimed for every weekend, biweekly if busy.
She tied on a thick apron. Essential for when patients vomited or soiled themselves.
At first, she'd found it gross, but now she thought, they're human, they're sick—it's natural.
Meeting the nurse, she entered her assigned ward.
"Hello!"
The patients here all knew her face.
"Teacher Hana."
"Hard day ahead, Teacher."
"My, so pretty. Same as always."
Rooms ranged from 4-, 8-, to 12-beds, today a 4-bed.
This hospice was for the hopeless, their final stop. At least the 4-bed folks could talk; from 8-beds, they couldn't even get out of bed alone.
"Just a moment! Meals coming right up!"
Volunteers didn't do medical work, but the hospital's nature meant more odd jobs.
Check patients' bathroom needs first, then when trays arrived, blend everything—rice, egg pancake, seaweed soup, white kimchi, two lettuce leaves—into a porridge-like mush and spoon-feed them.
Whirrrrrrr.
Normal people couldn't stomach this. Pure survival, no thought to taste.
Watching the mess blend into one lump, she turned at a burst of laughter.
-From today, the maknae joins weekly meetings.
A drama played on TV.
'The Maknae of the Crooked Family.'
-Father! That's!
-Ridiculous!
-The maknae's not qualified!
The brothers reacted fiercely as the bedridden grandma spoke.
"Serves you right! Should've done better! You rascals!"
The grannies were hooked on dramas. Weekends rebroadcast weekdays' episodes, and this one was the hottest.
-Shut it! You pathetic lot! No faith in proving yourselves?
The brothers quieted at the father's roar, and the maknae son smirked lightly on screen.
The grannies beamed.
"About time he gets respect!"
"Good job! Keep it up!"
Why did they love it so much?
She read Memento Mori often, knew the source novel. Seeing it dramatized and loved even here felt strange.
'Could my novel get love like that?'
Last night's heart-pounding plot now seemed lame.
To win big love, switch to medieval Europe?
'Joseon instead?'
Make the lady a nobleman's daughter, knight a warrior. Might work.
'But then it probably won't sell.'
She loved romance fantasies too. Only occasional domestic ones if hits. If she thought so, other readers probably did.
"Teacher Hana, what're you doing? Blender's done."
"Ah! Sorry! Right away!"
Lunch had to finish four patients in time, so she hustled.
These could hold spoons, just transfer to bowls. Intensive care needed mush in giant syringes, squeezed directly into mouths for them to swallow.
"Thanks."
No healthy teeth, so when they grinned, she grinned back.
"Eat slowly."
She was calm, kind, genuine. No one forced her; no gains sought. Coming here just fueled her to cherish each day more.
Why health matters, what end-of-life thoughts and faces look like—it laid bare.
Maybe that's why her novel heroine starts facing death.
"Teacher, something bothering you?"
A granny eyed her face.
"No! Nothing. Same as always."
"Day or two off. Spill. Guy troubling you?"
Neighbor granny chuckled in.
"Men are like kids—coax and soothe 'em. Easier that way."
"No man."
She smiled; grannies turned wrinkled smiles to the TV. Reruns, but still fun.
'Even in such pain.'
They watched dramas unfazed. Was this stories' power?
Pat pat.
She rubbed a finished granny's back.
Humans born as babies, die as ones again.
Sometimes it left her hollow and blue, but she tried smiling. Knowing their time was short, she wanted to show happy faces over sad.
What was Number 7 doing, where?
"......"
Might seem pathetic from morning, but unthought, forgotten; forgotten, relationship ends. That's life.
Sometimes even my revenge against the Team Leader faded, chilling me.
That bastard must pay. Someone's still captive, bred like an animal.
Forget it just 'cause I'm thriving? I'd be no better.
Linked, Number 7 memories surfaced often. She didn't know me; if I didn't seek, we were less than dust.
"President?"
"Ah, sorry. What'd you say?"
Eating breakfast with Ye-jin on the rooftop cafeteria.
"Talent Market. Beta or not, low works mean loyalty's stagnant. Need solutions."
"Won't academy students' uploads improve it?"
"That's that. But official launch looms—we need marketing ideas."
"Hmm... Serious?"
"Zero reader influx."
Academy writing, my new release, more webtoons should fix it. But waiting lukewarmly frustrated Ye-jin.
"Contests?"
"Writers bite, readers don't. Even pros skip—prizes too small."
Makes sense. Works span months to years; contests won't flock big names.
Those names earned that sans prizes.
"No good ideas?"
Good ideas. My specialty.