NOVEL WEB Chapter 25
I decided I couldn’t listen to any more, so I hung up the phone. Soon, I started receiving a flurry of messages from the editor, but I ignored them.
Maybe following the editor’s words was the easier path. But I had already abandoned the comfortable route to come this far. There was no way I could break my conviction now.
My beliefs were not that weak.
However, contrary to my thoughts, the situation worsened. By evening, many media outlets had released articles, and the area where I lived was completely identified. Although they didn’t have my exact home address, just knowing the region was enough to cause significant stress.
But let’s think this through. In the end, nothing had really changed.
It seemed I wouldn’t be able to leave the house for a while anyway. No matter how much was said online, it didn’t matter as long as I didn’t see it. I hadn’t terminated my contract with the publisher, so my means of making a living weren’t cut off, and eventually, the public opinion would settle down again after some time.
It was simply a matter of letting it pass by without worrying.
In reality, things seemed to progress that way. That evening, I received texts from Jae-Ah and Muk Ha-neul asking if I was okay. I told Jae-Ah not to worry and just to write, while I vented to Muk Ha-neul that problems had arisen because of her. I couldn’t help but sigh in response to her overly dramatic apology.
I spent each day ignoring the internet completely. What stressed me more than the internet was, ironically, wearing the underwear I had bought recently—specifically, the bra. I felt like I should have just stuck with a junior bra.
I spent the weekend without major issues. I still didn’t feel motivated to write, so I started reading the many novels I had bought in the past, passing the time that way.
Finally, on Tuesday of the following week, my first tutoring session with Jae-Ah after this change began.
When Jae-Ah saw my appearance through the webcam, she opened her mouth in shock without a proper greeting.
“What are you doing?”
“Really, is that you, hyung?”
“Then who else would it be?”
“No, you really don’t look like Seol-guk hyung at all. I know you’ve changed, and I’ve seen your face and height in the articles, but honestly, I didn’t believe it until I saw you with my own eyes.”
“I still can’t believe this is me when I look in the mirror.”
“Honestly, you’ve really changed a lot….”
Jae-Ah didn’t manage to hide her expression of astonishment at all. Her painfully honest expression annoyed me, but I figured it was something I couldn’t blame her for since she was just a kid.
The tutoring went smoothly. At first, I thought we would discuss the web novel that Jae-Ah wanted to write, but ultimately, I had limited knowledge about web novels. Naturally, the tutoring shifted towards literary writing, specifically pure literature and participatory literature.
“What are you planning to do about college?”
In that sense, this question was necessary. It mattered significantly whether she would enroll in the creative writing department or not.
“You won’t tell Dad, right?”
“Why would I do something crazy like that?”
My relationship with Professor Seo wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t particularly good either. I was widely regarded as Professor Seo’s protégé and had learned a lot from him, but he was eccentric and not the type to give affection to someone. So, I too maintained just an ordinary teacher-student relationship with him.
Of course, he was close enough to try to arrange an interview for me, but our relationship was also distant enough that he wouldn’t even make a single courtesy call after this situation.
Anyway, given that I told her not to tell Professor Seo, I could predict what Jae-Ah was going to say.
“I’m not going to college.”
“Good for you.”
I answered Jae-Ah’s declaration nonchalantly, leaving her bewildered.
“Aren’t you going to stop me?”
“It’s your life; why should I? Besides, someone who made three thousand dollars during high school writing isn’t going to college, so why should I force you to go?”
“Well, that’s true, but….”
Perhaps I was the first to say something like this, as Jae-Ah seemed a bit awkward.
“Then I should at least teach you the basic curriculum from the creative writing department.”
“Is there anything special about it?”
“First, you need to read a lot, write a lot, think a lot, revise a lot, and gain a lot of experience.”
“That’s something anyone could say.”
“I’m telling you the basics. Sure, one could mechanically spoon-feed knowledge with ‘write like this’ or ‘think like this,’ but in the end, that doesn’t become their writing. No matter how much you hone your skills, they have no meaning if you lack your own foundation. Whatever it is, just write it down and then revise.”
Of course, Jae-Ah couldn’t write a complete short story in that brief time. I assessed her writing, which was almost like a rough plot.
“You wrote well.”
“That’s not a compliment, is it?”
“You’ve already become a wonderful creative writing student. After writing web novels for a long time, though, the plot-driven narrative has become too ordinary. In art, being ordinary is akin to a sin.”
“Is that so….”
“And it’s a hot mess. From this, I can’t tell whether you want to write pure literature, participatory literature, or genre literature that straddles the two. Web novels are ultimately just about satisfying the readers. However, what we are trying to write now is meant to carry meaning.”
At that, Jae-Ah looked a bit upset.
“What do you mean that web novels only have to satisfy readers? They have their own philosophy and get evaluated too.”
“Is it something like, ‘What’s that voice…’?”
At my words, Jae-Ah shut down her chat. For reference, that line is the reaction of the protagonist in Jae-Ah’s novel when they first turn on the microphone.
Jae-Ah didn’t manage to respond to my question until the end of our tutoring session. She probably hadn’t completely figured out her path yet.
For now, I evaluated the writing Jae-Ah presented and offered some feedback, urging her to think about whether she wanted to continue with it or search for something new.
As the tutoring ended and the night grew dark, I pulled my cap down firmly and stepped out the front door.
I had been told to refrain from going out, but there were things that couldn’t be resolved without stepping outside. It wasn’t like a lot of trash accumulated at home. However, after eating delivery food consistently, the trash began to pile up naturally.
The trash disposal was right below. At this hour, there were likely no people around, and since I was the only one living in this house, I probably wouldn’t get caught.
I quickly disposed of the accumulated trash and returned home.
Once inside, I relaxed and sat down slightly.
Even though reporters wouldn’t rummage around at this hour, I couldn’t help but feel worried.
The problems arose the next day.
It was around a little past lunchtime. After being here as usual, I ordered a rice bowl from the Japanese restaurant I often frequented. When the doorbell rang, I checked outside through the intercom. Nobody was there.
I relieved, I opened the door to retrieve my rice bowl.
I was not wearing my hat.
After eating, leaving just under half of it, I lay around while watching YouTube on my smartphone. I had become quite lazy in the past few days. If I wasn’t reading novels, I was spending all day watching YouTube.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang again. No one should be coming…. Who is it?
Looking outside through the intercom, I saw a young woman standing there. I didn’t open the door or speak through the intercom. Something felt suspicious and ominous.
And that suspicion was proven right.
The woman knocked loudly on the door.
Then she called out.
“Are you the writer? Is this Seol-guk’s residence? I’m from TTBS. Can we do a quick interview?!”
At that moment, I felt a chill run down my spine.
She was definitely a reporter. How on earth did she find my home?
As she continued to knock and ring the doorbell, I suddenly felt nauseous.
Ignore her. If I leave her alone, she’ll eventually give up. After all, she couldn’t force her way in, and if she tried, I could just call the police.
But with what she said next, I had no choice but to open the door.
“Writer! Here’s a photo of you! A really well-taken photo! It seems like it even has your house number in it….”
It was an obvious threat. I wondered when the photo was taken, but seeing the one the reporter had online, it was from when I received my rice bowl earlier. She must have been lying in wait.
If I left her alone, the photo would be leaked. It was taken far more clearly than the previous one. That didn’t bother me. But having my home address exposed was unacceptable. I remembered a fellow writer who had recently caused a stir and found their home inundated with reporters and cyber-lackeys. I couldn’t let that happen.
Cursing under my breath, I opened the door.
There stood a grinning woman, the reporter. Gritting my teeth, I said to her.
“…Come in.”
“Thank you!”