Chapter 15: For Now, Money Comes First, But… (1)

A moment later, Teacher Park Chul-min called me into his office.

When I entered, he pushed another envelope toward me across the desk.

“What is this, sir?” “What else? It’s your share of the bonus.” “I already received one earlier.” “That was for public consumption. This is the real deal. Go ahead, take a look.”

At his urging, I peeked inside the envelope. I saw old banknotes I hadn’t seen in a long time—10,000 won bills. And there were three of them.

“It’s… 30,000 won.”

I hadn’t fully grasped the value of money in this era yet, but even with my limited experience, I knew this was a massive sum. I’d overheard recently that a civil servant’s monthly salary was around 50,000 won—and while they were famous for being underpaid back then, 30,000 won as a single bonus was still staggering. At the very least, I could pay back Lee Ki-chul immediately.

Teacher Park tilted his head, looking a bit miffed. “That’s a lot of money, yet you don’t look very surprised.” “I am very surprised, sir.” “Was that supposed to be a surprised face?” “Yes.”

He looked at me as if he couldn’t believe my lack of reaction.

“Sir, I have a question.” “Hmm? What is it?” “How much does a small apartment cost these days?”

He looked bewildered by the sudden shift. “An apartment? Why the sudden interest in that?” “I’m just curious.”

It was a blunt and somewhat bold question for an assistant, but Teacher Park didn’t scold me. He furrowed his brow and thought for a moment.

“A small apartment on the outskirts… maybe 2 million won? I heard the decent ones currently under construction are about 300,000 won per pyeong? I don’t know the details myself.” “I see.” “But why ask?” “Just because.”

In truth, I wanted to gauge how much I would need to secure a future for this body’s family.

“Do you want to live in an apartment?” “Yes.” “A friend of mine lives in one. They’re expensive, but they’re more inconvenient than you’d think. I didn’t like it.”

In this era, that was probably true. Many still had coal-burning heaters, and while they had flush toilets, many weren’t the Western-style sitting type.

“They’re building a lot of them in Gangnam these days, but a proper house is better. I find apartments quite suffocating.” “…Ah, yes.”

Seeing my lukewarm response, he gave an awkward laugh. “Well, look at you, dreaming of an apartment. You’ll have to save up for a long time.”

Actually, sir, my dream is a building. The apartment was just for the family here.

Teacher Park continued, “Anyway, that publisher gave me an extra 100,000 won on top of the base manuscript fee. So, after handing out the 3,000 won bonuses I promised, I’m giving this to you separately from the remainder.”

That meant he was giving me nearly half of the extra profit. He was being genuinely generous.

“And I’ll give you your official manuscript fee later.” “You’re giving me more?” “If you’re satisfied with just this, we can stop here.” “No, no. That’s not what I meant.”

I wasn’t crazy. Why would I refuse money when it was my biggest priority?

“So, here’s the thing. Would you like to do a sequel to Star Five?” “A sequel?” “Yes. Looking at the atmosphere, a sequel is guaranteed to be a hit.”

So that was why he was laying the groundwork. I’d suspected as much when he was talking to the publisher earlier. He had said they were “in discussion,” which really meant he was planning to persuade me.

Honestly, even I hadn’t expected Star Five to get such a massive reaction. One might think being from the future makes everything a guaranteed success, but working on this project taught me that this era isn’t as simple as it looks. From a future perspective, many comics from this time feel forced, lacking logic, and often quite childish.

However, those styles might just be the “code” of this era. An overly advanced work isn’t always popular. Look at 2001: A Space Odyssey—it was so far ahead of its time that even critics called it a failure upon release. Blade Runner was the same. You can’t ignore the trends and codes of the time. Star Five worked because it captured the pure essence of the comics I enjoyed as a kid, combined with Teacher Park’s art and direction. It was a complex synergy.

As I sat in thought, Teacher Park asked again, more tentatively this time.

“So? What do you say?” “I haven’t officially decided to become a story writer yet.” “Just three or four volumes for the Star Five sequel. You can take your time deciding on the permanent position. Oh, and how about this? I’m willing to give you 20% of the earnings.”

Offering that much to a mere rookie assistant was an incredible gesture. It emphasized how much he valued me. I didn’t want to be tied down too much—which is why I was preparing my own work—but I felt torn.

Then, I thought of my sister again. I remembered the shrill, sharp voice of her “witch” of a landlady. Hadn’t I already decided to work for the sake of my family? Besides, my own project, Iron X, wasn’t even past the drafting stage. There was no guarantee Ddaeng-cho Books would accept it, and even if they did, I had no idea when it would start making money. That company was destined to fail anyway.

Everything about my independent path was uncertain. It was a different situation than when I thought I was alone.

I made my decision.

“Make it 30%.” “30%?!” “Yes. 30% of the manuscript fees from Star Five.”

Teacher Park flinched. He struggled to keep his poker face, and his expression twisted slightly. After a moment, he spoke with a heavy brow.

“That’s… too much.” “You’re worrying about money that hasn’t even come in yet, sir.” “I suppose that’s true.”

He let out a light laugh. He was clearly convinced this was going to be a massive hit. If so, 30% was no small sum. He looked conflicted, biting his lip and scratching his head. Even money that isn’t in hand yet can make a person agonize.

Finally, he met my eyes and gave an awkward smile. He seemed to have reached a conclusion.

“You’re tougher than you look. Fine, 25%. I can’t go any higher. I have to feed the rest of the studio and pay for the upkeep of this place. And you’re included in that upkeep.”

Why are you counting me in the expenses? I thought. This man was quite calculating. Then again, I was the same when it came to money. I agreed to his terms.

“Alright. 25% it is. However!” “There’s more?” “Yes.”

Teacher Park clutched his chest and laughed. “You’re going to give me a heart attack. Out with it.”

It didn’t sound like a joke. I looked him in the eye.

“Write me a memorandum.” “What? A memorandum?!”

He looked dumbfounded, then let out a hollow laugh. “Wow, you really are something. You’ll never get scammed in your life, that’s for sure.”

I’m doing this because I’ve been scammed so many times, I thought. I intended to claim every penny of my share.

In fact, even in the 90s when I started, story writers were usually given 30% of the manuscript fee for magazine serializations. However, once the series was published in book form, everything usually went to the artist. Writers often signed away their rights with that initial 30%. This led to numerous disputes later on.

“Fine. I’ll write it, stamp it, and even give it a thumbprint.”

I suppose for this era, Teacher Park was quite open-minded, considering he accepted the premise of sharing “all” income. But then again, it showed how much he wanted that sequel. So, I decided to add one more thing.

“Since you’re doing it, please add one more clause.” “Good lord, kid. What now?” “That if Star Five creates any other sources of secondary income, you will still give me the promised 25%.”

He tilted his head. “Secondary income? What else is there besides the books?” “You know… just in case. Later on.”

He nodded without much thought. “Fine. If such a thing ever happens.” “Thank you, sir.”

To be honest, this was an era with zero understanding of character merchandising or secondary rights. George Lucas became a billionaire because he secured those rights from the studio when he signed for Star Wars—he made more from toys than from the movies themselves. Of course, Star Wars hadn’t even been released yet, and this was 70s Korea. It was a stretch to think of such things for this manga. But nobody knows what the future holds.

Teacher Park did as he said, stamping and thumbprinting two copies of the memorandum. He handed one to me.

“Is this enough?” “Yes, sir.”

I read through the contents again carefully. He clicked his tongue. “Tsk, I told you I wrote it all. Why is a young kid so inflexible?” “I’m sorry, sir.”

I didn’t look up until I had finished reading every word.

“You’re something else, really,” he said, tapping the table. “From today, start working in my room again. You don’t have to do the finishing work for a while.” “Ju-bong might struggle on his own.” “A new assistant is coming this afternoon. So, don’t worry about it.”

This man… he already knew it would turn out like this. He was sharper than I thought.