Chapter 1
Chapter 1
“Yes, yes, sir. Then I’ll leave it to you.”
The hour-long call finally came to an end. After confirming that the smartphone screen had gone dark with a beep, I let out a sigh along with the dryness and thirst I felt in my mouth.
“Was it that writer again?”
When I returned to my seat in one corner of the roughly one-hundred-square-meter office, a coworker sitting across from me spoke with a sympathetic look.
“Yeah. This is driving me crazy. If he’s that mentally fragile, why does he even read the comments?”
I was an editor for genre fiction.
I had only been employed for a few months, but as was the case everywhere in publishing or management-related fields, we suffered from a chronic manpower shortage.
As a result, even though the return deadline hadn’t passed yet, I was being run ragged without a moment to breathe.
An editor’s work basically involved discovering rookie writers and managing writers already under contract.
On top of that, proofreading manuscripts and giving feedback went without saying, and even going out on sales calls to platforms was considered one of the easier tasks.
The phone call just now had also been part of the job.
Originally, he was a mid-level writer I wasn’t yet qualified to handle, but due to a senior suddenly quitting, I had ended up taking him on by sheer happenstance.
Another senior had patted me on the shoulder, saying he was a kind person so I shouldn’t worry, but his fatally fragile mentality was truly a headache.
“I told him over and over not to read the comments.”
Listening for an entire hour to him whining about how this person insulted him this way and that person insulted him that way was enough to leave my head spinning.
“Tsk.”
Chewing on a red ginseng stick that had come in as a holiday gift, I rummaged through my emails.
There were three writers who were supposed to send in manuscripts today, but even though it was already past two in the afternoon, my inbox was spotless.
With a shred of hope, I refreshed every five minutes, but it was all meaningless.
Pressing my throbbing brow with my fingers, I barely managed to hold back the curses rising up.
‘……Should I just quit.’
The urge to throw away everything about being an editor and resign outright crept up on me. But thinking about my bank balance, all I could feel was bitterness at the fact that I couldn’t.
After sending reminder messages to the writers who still hadn’t submitted their manuscripts, I sank into a daze, weighed down by post-lunch drowsiness.
As recently as early this year, I never imagined I’d become an editor. Then again, that was only natural, since I had been in the position of a writer myself.
In fact, if I went even further back, I hadn’t even imagined becoming a writer either.
My original major was in computer engineering.
After finishing my first year, I enlisted in the military like everyone else, and after discharge, I thought I’d return to school and continue my studies.
If a fantasy novel that a senior was reading during my service hadn’t caught my eye, perhaps that would have been the case.
Amid the monotonous daily routine, it was like an oasis. Though it was nothing more than a string of letters, an endless world unfolded within it.
And as my discharge approached, I decided to become a writer.
I ambitiously prepared my first work, even applying for night-study extensions in the latter part of my service, and began serializing it the moment I was discharged.
Since it was my first work, written while sacrificing sleep night after night, I couldn’t help but have expectations. It shot up the bestseller rankings in an instant, and it felt like I’d soon be raking in a fortune.
But the greater the expectations, the greater the disappointment.
If it had been buried without drawing any attention at all, that might have been better. But for some reason, my work received a strange kind of attention, and a not insignificant number of people read it.
And every single one of them poured out icy criticism.
Not a single person.
Not even one.
There wasn’t a single person who left a comment saying it was fun.
Of course, I was prepared to hear some harsh words. In any era, foolish people who can’t distinguish true gems are bound to exist.
But when that number became tens and then hundreds, my fingertips began to tremble.
The work filled with my blood and passion was torn to shreds.
In communities, I was mocked with absurd remarks by faceless people and turned into nothing more than a joke.
Even so, the reason I stubbornly plunged into writing a second work was out of sheer spite.
One mistake was enough. For the second work, I’d write a masterpiece you’d never be able to laugh at.
With that grim resolve, I chewed over each piece of malicious commentary flying in real time, filling in my shortcomings.
A dragging story.
A plot that didn’t move forward.
One-dimensional characters.
Even inadequate writing skill.
My chest was slashed apart by those sharp daggers, but since they were facts, I took them in, telling myself there was nothing to be done.
And then, the long-awaited second work.
It seemed the *mang* in *daemang*(大望) had been the *mang* of ruin(亡).
Despite countless remakes and countless revisions, it failed spectacularly.
Cleanly and completely, to the point where there wasn’t even room for redemption.
Staring at the empty Hangul document, I was finally able to accept that I had no talent for writing.
The moment I posted a notice announcing the suspension of the second work’s serialization, I fell into lethargy and shut myself away in my room.
Had I ever in my life immersed myself in something like this? If it had brought about a good result, my life might have moved in a slightly better direction, but reality was a cesspit.
The one saving grace was that even if I lacked talent for writing, I did have, at least to some extent, an eye for reading.
A publishing company that had sharply criticized my first work and proposed a contract with them contacted me, asking if I’d like to try working as an editor.
Before writing my second work, I had once shown the editor in charge a report analyzing other works in an attempt to make up for my mistakes, and he had exclaimed in admiration.
At the time, he had casually remarked that while being a writer was fine, it seemed I also had talent as an editor.
Since it was really just an offhand comment, I hadn’t paid it much mind, but to someone who had fallen into an abyss, it came across with a slightly different meaning.
In any case, I had to make a living, so after much deliberation, I accepted the offer.
After completing several months of training, I had now become a fully fledged editor, and with that, the story of my life came to a close.
It was a pity that I couldn’t become a writer, but I was satisfied with my current life. Even if I talked about quitting or throwing everything away, no matter what, it was still a profession closely tied to writing.
And perhaps, just maybe.
As long as I stayed in this industry, I vaguely harbored the expectation that an opportunity to make a comeback as a writer might come again someday.
Bzzz.
“Damn it, there’s no time to rest.”
As I sat there for a moment, drunk on fatigue, the smartphone I’d left on my desk couldn’t hold back and started vibrating.
“Am I an editor or a babysitter?”
As I scrolled through the list of messages, a hollow laugh slipped out on its own.
One person needed to be coddled and soothed because they said a slump had hit and they were stuck on their manuscript, while another picked a fight, demanding to know why their work’s performance was so poor.
In my heart, I wanted to snap back right to their face that it was all because their skills were lacking, but since I couldn’t actually do that, all that burned away was my insides.
“Oh? It’s Writer Oneulnal today.”
Thankfully, this time it wasn’t a message full of self-pity.
Compared to the mid-level writer who’d forced me into an hour-long phone call earlier, this one had a bit less clout, but they were one of the writers under my charge who was just on the verge of completing their third work.
This writer, too, had been passed on to me due to a senior editor’s resignation, and they were the only one I addressed with an honorific.
That was because Writer Oneulnal, unlike other writers, never delayed manuscripts or made things difficult, and delivered their writing punctually on the designated dates.
Their performance was solid as well, so they were originally supposed to be handed over to another experienced editor soon, but I’d heard they hoped not to switch because I was kind.
Skill and character, both.
If angels existed, wouldn’t they be referring to someone like this?
“I heard that writer’s work is ending next week?”
A coworker sitting in front of me asked as they handed me a cup of coffee they’d just gotten.
“Yeah. They said they’d send the final manuscript today, so that’s probably why they contacted me.”
The title of the work Writer Oneulnal was currently on the brink of completing was ‘SSS-Rank Otherworldly Absolute’, shortened to SSSOA.
Looking back on it now, I thought it was quite a bizarre title, but back when serialization had begun, titles like that were in vogue.
However, unlike its third-rate mass-produced fantasy-sounding name, it gained explosive popularity thanks to the writer’s unique style and skill.
It wasn’t a jackpot, but it did hit what people would call a solid mid-level success, so even I, who had become the editor by chance, received a decent incentive.
I love you, Writer-nim.
I haven’t seen your face, but I firmly believe you’re handsome. Tall, too, and well-endowed—*ahem*.
[Oneulnal: Hello, Editor-nim. I’ve sent the final manuscript. I’d appreciate your feedback ^^]
The text displayed on the smartphone screen contained exactly what I’d expected.
I immediately replied that I’d check it, unlocked the screensaver on my neglected computer, and began reading through the final manuscript the writer had sent.
“Hoo.”
It was a neat, flawless ending. In fact, it was so clean that it was even enjoyable, leaving a slight lingering aftertaste.
[Writer-nim, I’ve checked it.^^ There doesn’t seem to be much that needs revision. The foreshadowing was wrapped up cleanly, and the story seems to have ended at an appropriate point.]
After sending a reply in a stereotypical editor’s tone, I wondered if it sounded too insincere, but this was my honest impression.
Writer Oneulnal had also said they didn’t really like unnecessary embellishments or empty flattery.
“Ah, still…….”
It wasn’t that there was nothing disappointing at all. But since it was truly a personal impression, I hadn’t intended to write it—yet before I knew it, I found myself, as a reader, tapping on the keyboard.
[Still, one thing I found a bit disappointing was that I wished the villain, ‘that prince’, could’ve ended up well too. Looking at the settings you laid out, he worked just as hard as the protagonist.]
[Oneulnal: Is that so.]
[Still, it’s a relief he dies with a good image. That way, even the people arguing about him being hypocritically evil or a necessary evil will probably accept it.]
[Oneulnal: I’m glad you see it that way. I think choosing you as my editor was the right decision. If you’d like, I could even shift the direction that way.]
[Hahaha, if I touch your manuscript, Writer-nim, I’ll get beaten to death by the team leader. I only do feedback and revisions. Thanks to that, I’ve got all the settings of your novel memorized. I even made Excel sheets analyzing which events happen from which chapter to which chapter.]
[Oneulnal: ㅎㅎㅎ^^ I’m always grateful.]
After that, the day passed without incident.
Even after quitting time had long passed, I naturally worked overtime, and only after the sun had completely set was I able to drag my exhausted body back home.
After scalding myself in steaming hot water, I collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent. But out of habit—whether a professional reflex or an addiction—I naturally reached for my smartphone and, just as naturally, logged into a novel platform.
That was just how being an editor was. I always had to keep my eyes peeled to find outstanding rookie writers, and the end of my workday was capped off by checking newly uploaded works.
“Hmm, this one’s pretty decent.”
I added promising pieces to my favorites, planning to look them over again after going to work the next day, and if they still seemed good, I’d send a contact note along with some light feedback.
Occasionally, if there was a work that felt just a bit lacking, I’d log in with the publisher’s account and leave traces in the author’s library, saving it for later.
Your heart will race, right? Honestly, I do it on purpose so it will. Because I felt excited too. That makes people write better.
“Ah, tomorrow’s going to be busy again.”
I complained out loud, but honestly, it wasn’t bad. It was something I wanted to do.
Reading new writing and meeting new writers. I thought that alone was a sufficient life.
I turned off my smartphone and stared up at the ceiling shrouded in darkness. My body, loosened by hot water, let out its fatigue, and my consciousness sank somewhere deep…….
“Your Highness, it’s time for you to cough.”
“……?”
Somewhere… did I go?