Chapter 1: The Brutal Truths of a Younger Sibling

“It’s common. Too common. So common, in fact, it’s utterly predictable. There must be roughly seventy-five thousand, four hundred and thirty-two stories just like this out there. Among such a glut of generic tales, is there truly any compelling reason I should read *your* work, Noona?”

“Hey, you’re hitting me where it hurts, aren’t you?”

That’s just how people are. Instead of humbly accepting constructive criticism, she immediately flared up in anger. How could anyone possibly offer an objective opinion in such circumstances?

When I silently questioned with my eyes if this was truly the attitude of someone willing to accept criticism, her sharp, upturned eyes softened, their corners drooping noticeably.

“Being common isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” she insisted. “If something is common, it means many people see it, and if many people see it, that makes it a major trend, doesn’t it?”

“No, but there’s a limit to everything,” I countered. “It’s not just common; it’s *excessively* common.”

A whoosh of air escaped from the fist that suddenly flashed past my eyes. It seemed I had nearly crossed a line without even realizing it.

“I! *I*, who should be enjoying my freedom to the fullest after the Suneung exam! I’m investing this incredibly precious time in you, Noona, and yet your attitude is rather… insincere, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hold on, anyone listening would think I’m exploiting you for free labor,” she retorted. “You claimed you couldn’t even afford to go out and were desperate for a part-time job. Didn’t I, your only sibling, give you this work—and even pay you—because I was worried you’d throw your back out doing something like parcel loading? Whose attitude is truly more insincere here?”

“My younger sibling is insincere, then.”

‘I suppose I was in the wrong,’ I thought. ‘I really should have been more polite.’

Gathering all my politeness, I clasped my hands together and plastered a business smile across my face.

“Madam CEO,” I began, my tone formal. “Having reviewed your ten most recent works, I’ve concluded that the writing feels regrettably predictable. It’s common, ubiquitous even. With so many similar stories already flooding the market, is there truly any compelling reason for a reader to choose *your* work?”

“Your attitude may be polite, part-timer, but the content remains utterly insincere,” she remarked dryly.

“It would be fortunate if mere commonality were the only issue,” I retorted. “However, your own works bear an uncanny resemblance to one another.”

“That’s simply the author’s unique style shining through in each piece…” she began defensively.

“No, it feels more like self-replication,” I interjected. “I wouldn’t be surprised if, in a few years, a hundred similar works have spawned from your pen.”

Rough snorts of breath erupted from her nostrils. Fearing I might actually get scorched, I subtly shifted my rear backward.

“Should I just stop criticizing?” I asked, a hint of challenge in my voice. “Should I only offer praise?”

“…”

In response to my query, Noona, who had remained silent, slowly shook her head.

Her recent new releases had reportedly been performing poorly, so she must be under an immense amount of stress. As her only younger sibling, it was, therefore, my inescapable duty to offer my assistance.

“To truly improve, you first need to identify your shortcomings,” I explained. “You have to address the negative aspects and bring them to zero before any positive growth can even begin. Whether you conceive a truly innovative concept or imbue a character with overwhelming charm, if the fundamental flaws remain, the hateful comments will persist indefinitely.”

“In this market, malicious comments are an inescapable fate, no matter what you do,” she countered with a sigh. “They’re simply proportional to one’s popularity.”

“I understand that preferences are a matter of taste,” I conceded. “However, there’s a distinct difference between having *some* negative comments and having *only* negative comments.”

Struck by my impeccable logic, Noona fell silent for a moment, as if searching for a retort she couldn’t find. I hadn’t wanted to be quite so harsh, but if I had been given a task, wasn’t it my duty to strive for the absolute best? As a man who always gave his all to his work, I was more than willing to continue hammering nails into my sister’s chest, metaphorically speaking.

“First and foremost, there are simply too many male lead candidates,” I declared. “Perhaps in the past—say, back in the ’70s or ’80s—it was acceptable for three or four men to flock around a single female lead, fanning their tails like peacocks, until one was chosen. The others would then portray a ‘pure love’ devotion, declaring ‘Even so, you are the only one for me,’ and bless the couple’s love. But those days are long gone.”

“Having three or more male lead candidates is a privilege of the female protagonist,” she stated firmly.

“Yes, I like harems. Who said I didn’t?” I asked. “Everyone dreams of them, wants vicarious satisfaction through novels, and there are even people who actually put them into practice somewhere.”

‘If I had my way, I’d want to flirt with a dozen guys at once,’ I thought. ‘How wonderful would my own harem be? Just thinking about it makes me feel like I’d die of happiness.’

“If it’s a privilege, then let them actually *date*! Let her choose among them, hold hands, go out, kiss, and do the deed! This isn’t a mystery or a crime novel, is it? What you’re writing, Noona, are romance novels. What’s the point of having three or four male leads if some incident is constantly erupting, keeping them busy cleaning up the mess? They must have jobs, right? And they’re getting entangled with the female lead, tidying up after her. Are they working two jobs?”

“If there aren’t any incidents, they won’t have a reason to meet face-to-face.”

“No, I think I just heard some nonsense about how people can’t date without accidents, conspiracies, and wars. Does that mean everyone who dates has a life full of twists and turns? You’d probably die after two relationships!”

‘Noona, you had a love marriage,’ I mused. ‘Is the problem that you married your first love, or that your brother-in-law catered to your every whim during your courtship? Why doesn’t someone who had a love marriage understand romance?’

“And why do romance novels always include battles? There’s not a single work of yours without a war breaking out. In your most recent work, two out of five volumes were about war, weren’t they? I felt like I was reading *Romance of the Three Kingdoms*.”

“That’s precisely what distinguishes me from other authors.”

“Let’s eliminate this particular distinction,” I advised. “Find other differentiating factors. This isn’t a unique point that only you possess; it’s simply a point that others *avoid*. There’s absolutely no need to write two entire volumes detailing war scenes. This is a romance novel, a *romance*.”

I could guess why Noona put so much effort into war and battle scenes. I remembered her excitedly recounting how that specific aspect was praised in her debut novel.

*You’re different from other authors and works. So fresh.*

Seduced by a reader’s praise, she must have paid even more attention to it in her subsequent writing. But novelty only lasts once, and who would enjoy a romance novel that endlessly features battle scenes? Consequently, negative reviews increased, and income dwindled. Noona, in turn, became anxious and poured even more effort into war scenes, trying to ‘find her original intention.’

The result, in the end, was an inescapable hell of combat.

“You found your ‘original intention’ in the wrong place. That’s the problem.”

“What?”

‘Noona wouldn’t understand even if I told her,’ I thought. ‘A fool who knows nothing but war.’

“It’s okay. Let’s find some points for improvement.”

“Suddenly?”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. Now, hand over the synopsis.”

I wiggled my fingers, urging her to quickly take out what she had prepared. With an unconvinced expression, Noona pushed the printed papers she had brought toward me.

“See? I knew it. The low-born prince, the cold Northern Duke, the utterly insane Archmage. Three again, always three.”

I could tell just by looking at the characters. The female lead gets caught up in all sorts of incidents, and the three unfortunate male leads are left to clean up her messes. In the end, the tyrannical current emperor is overthrown, and the prince, who was scorned due to his mother’s low status, becomes emperor with the help of the other two male leads, who are essentially the female lead’s lackeys.

“It’s a war from beginning to end.”

The plot was so predictable, I felt tears welling up, even without reading the full summary.

“It’s ‘the prince is the male lead anyway,’ isn’t it? ‘The emperor is the male lead anyway.’ No, if you’re always going to make *him* the male lead, then why do the Northern Duke and the Archmage even appear? If you’re going to have three male lead candidates, at least rotate them, so each gets a turn as the male lead.”

“Because that’s my preference,” Noona said, smiling shyly.

“This isn’t a matter of preference. If it’s like this, having multiple male lead candidates becomes meaningless. Your heart has already decided who the male lead is. There isn’t even any curiosity about who will become the male lead.”

‘Readers should be thrilled, wondering who she’ll end up with as she flirts with this guy and that guy,’ I reasoned. ‘Aren’t many male lead candidates supposed to be a device to make readers curious about what happens next? Or is it just because she’s the female lead that you’re throwing every random guy at her?’

“If that’s the case, then just let the Northern Duke and the Archmage go. What hardship are *they* enduring? They appear in every work, only to clean up the female lead’s messes. They aren’t even weak characters, yet they suffer endlessly just to make some irrelevant prince an emperor.”

‘Do they even get to kiss the female lead, or do the deed?’ I wondered. ‘Is this some kind of unpaid labor?’

“And I have a question: why is the Duke always the cold Northern Duke? Can’t there be a warm Southern Duke? Dukes in other authors’ novels always seem to live in the cold North.”

To provide Noona with proper guidance, I had read various trending romance novels. My conclusion was that dukes must lead incredibly difficult lives. They’re always in the cold North. I imagine they’ll suffer in old age. Won’t their bones ache?

Noona looked at me with an exasperated expression. Her face suggested she had much to say but was refraining. That was precisely the expression I wished to make.

“Ugh, to think I have to listen to such things from someone who’s never even dated. Hey, the ‘cold Northern Duke’ isn’t about the North; the ‘Duke’ is the point. A cold Duke living in the cold North.”

“Then ‘cold’ would be the point,” I argued.

‘Cold’ appears twice, and ‘North’ and ‘Duke’ only once each, so why is ‘Duke’ the point?

“A Duke whose heart has frozen cold in the frigid North, only to burn passionately when he meets the female protagonist!”

“He’ll burn alone and then fizzle out,” I retorted. “Without even getting to use his burning… *thing*, his future is already decided in your heart: to spend his entire life gazing at a woman who becomes someone else’s. That’s what you’ve preordained.”

‘From Noona’s perspective, it might be pure devotion,’ I thought. ‘But from the female lead’s perspective, how burdensome would it be? From the male lead’s perspective, how unpleasant? And from the Duke’s perspective, how utterly miserable? You even make the male lead candidates virgins, insisting the male lead must be chaste. And after the male lead and female lead get together, he’s still forced to gaze at her for the rest of his life.’

Thinking this, I realized Noona was truly a harsh person.