Chapter 13: Destiny is Inevitable (3)

“By the way, the spaceships in this work are quite impressive. It seems you have many talented people in your studio.” “My boys have skills that would hold up anywhere, I assure you.” “Of course, of course. Haha.” “Oh, I have something to ask as well.” “Yes, please go ahead.” “What about our Dong-mun?” “Ah, naturally we should release his book. He is a full-fledged manga artist from now on, after all.” “Then, around when?” “How about we start working on it right after the two volumes of this project are out?”

Following the publisher’s words, I heard Kang Dong-mun’s voice.

“Thank you, President.”

The conversation was primarily an exchange of demands between the publisher and Teacher Park Chul-min. And nowhere in that exchange was my name mentioned. I didn’t mind, but it felt a bit strange to hear a conversation where the person who played the most crucial role was completely excluded. Oh well, who cares? As long as I get paid. Besides, in this era, no matter how great the manga, the story writer’s name was usually buried. It was a time when only the artist’s name became known. That remained true well into the 80s. Artists worked under contract with specific publishers, and if the publisher didn’t give them work, they starved.

Watching them talk, Lee Jung-ho noticed something in my expression and smirked.

“You look disappointed that they aren’t talking about you, huh?” “Not really.” “Ehey, your face says otherwise.”

He chuckled again. That annoying brat. In the diary, it said Shim Kyung-chul was the hardest to deal with, but this guy was actually the more irritating type—the kind who sucks up to seniors and looks down on juniors. His mouth kept running.

“It can’t be helped. Story writers have no names and no presence. That’s why manga books only ever have the artist’s name on them.”

Thanks for reminding me of something I already knew. Just then, Shim Kyung-chul, who had been listening silently, cut in.

“Hey, Lee Jung-ho.” “Yes?” “Do you know you’re being a real prick right now?” “Huh? What did I do…?” “Enough, you punk. Just do your own job. You’re barely drawing backgrounds and you’re trying to give lectures?”

Startled by Shim Kyung-chul’s sharp tone, Lee Jung-ho turned back to his desk, his shoulders sagging. Heo Dong-soo giggled at the sight. I looked at Shim Kyung-chul, wondering what had gotten into him, but he avoided my gaze again. He’s actually a bit of a cute tsundere.

After a while, the publisher, the female employee, and Teacher Park emerged from the office.

“We’ll see you again soon.” “Yes, please do.” “Well then.”

The publisher and the employee bowed to the Teacher and gave a light nod to us assistants. After Park Chul-min and Lee Ki-chul saw them out, they came back inside. Teacher Park looked at me.

“Yi-chang, let’s talk.” “Yes, sir.”

As I stood up, the eyes of the other seniors fixed on me simultaneously. Leaving their gazes behind, I entered the office.

“Have a seat. I have something to tell you.” “……?”

When I sat down, he opened a long blue box on the table and handed me something. A Choco Pie. It had been a long time since I’d seen the vintage packaging.

“Eat that. It’s incredibly popular these days, you know?” “Yes, I know.”

In my past life, I wouldn’t have cared for it, but in this era, such things are so rare that my hand moved automatically. It felt like being back in the military. Since Choco Pies had only recently been released, they were even more precious now than they were in the army. As I started eating, Teacher Park began.

“Actually, I have a proposal for you.”

I nodded while chewing.

“Instead of doing the finishing work, would you like to take charge of the stories?” “The stories?” “Yes. I’d like you to focus solely on the writing for this studio.”

I had considered the possibility, but I hadn’t expected a formal proposal so soon. I thought he still saw me as just a 19-year-old greenhorn. But he had recognized me solely based on my skill.

“The book isn’t even out yet, so we don’t know the reaction.” “The reaction doesn’t matter. And you heard what the publisher said outside, didn’t you?” “Yes.” “Both Ki-chul and I were quite shocked by the story you created. We really didn’t know you had this kind of talent.”

I didn’t know it either. I was doing both the art and the story much better than my past self ever could. It felt like my brain was working at an abnormally high speed, perhaps because of this young body.

“What do you think? Want to try?”

I pretended to deliberate for a moment before speaking.

“I’ll think about it.”

Teacher Park paused. He hadn’t expected that response. But he soon smiled and nodded.

“Alright, do that. Making a sudden decision isn’t always good. Let’s talk again after the book is published.” “Yes, sir.”

I left the office. Honestly, if I became a story writer, my pay would likely go up significantly. However, even if it did, this place was too small for what I envisioned. I had no intention of spending my entire life using my newfound abilities in a small studio like this.

Late Evening.

Only Go Ju-bong and I were left. As the finishing work neared completion, I spoke up.

“It’s done. Go ahead and get some sleep.” “Already? I’ve only finished three pages.” “I’ll finish the last one, so you go wash up and sleep.”

Ju-bong stood up, came over to my desk to check my work, and gasped.

“You… seriously, what’s going on? How did your skills improve so suddenly? Are you sure you’re the Park Yi-chang I know? Where’s my friend? Give him back, you alien!”

He laughed as he said it. I felt a pang of guilt. Even though he was joking, I struggled to keep my poker face. Living with a secret really does make one anxious.

“It’s a joke, why are you looking so shocked? You’re making me feel awkward for saying it.” “Who’s saying anything?”

Ju-bong laughed even louder at my reaction. “Haha, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you that flustered. Now you finally feel like yourself.” “……” “But really, aren’t you coming in? You seemed to stay in the studio until late last night too.” “You knew?” “Am I an idiot? I woke up in the middle of the night and you weren’t there, so I peeked. You were drawing something very intensely.”

I gave a small smirk. “It’s nothing. Just preparing something.” “I thought the Star Five story was finished?” “It is. This is just something personal.” “Personal?” “Yeah. Preparing for the future, just in case.”

Ju-bong’s eyes widened. “What kind of preparation?” “I’ll tell you later when the time is right. I can’t really talk about it now.” “Ah, okay. I get it.”

He nodded. He looked curious, but he didn’t push.

“Well, I’m heading in. Don’t overwork yourself. You might collapse. You’ll get a double nosebleed.” “Got it.”

Once Ju-bong went to his room, I resumed my storyboarding. This time, I was preparing the mechanic designs and settings more meticulously, so progress was slower than with Star Five. But the results were satisfying, and when I got into the zone, I lost track of time. If I had a smartphone, I would have set an alarm. Since it was still winter and the sun rose late, I had to keep checking the clock.

That was when I heard it.

“Busy?”

I jumped at the sudden voice. I looked up to see someone standing in the shadows. Crap, you scared me. It was Lee Ki-chul.

“Not too busy.”

I said, subtly closing the notebook. Did I look suspicious? But Ki-chul didn’t seem to care.

“Is that so? Then shall we have a talk?” “Now?” “Yeah. Outside.” “Alright.”

I stood up and followed him out. He’s not going to tell me to ‘put my head on the ground’ or something crazy like that, is he? If he did, I might actually fight back.

Outside, Lee Ki-chul looked at me. “Want a cigarette?” He pulled a pack from his pocket and offered one.

“No, I don’t smoke.” “Really? I’ve been smoking since I was fourteen.”

He didn’t call me out here to tell me his smoking history. He took a drag and exhaled a long cloud of smoke. He glanced at me.

“The Teacher asked if you wanted to be in charge of stories, didn’t he?” “Yes. How did you know?” “I heard, obviously.” “Ah. So what about it?” “What did you decide?” “……”

Not knowing his intention, I stared at him for a moment. He smirked, noticing my wary look.

“I’m just asking. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

He didn’t seem to have bad intentions. I opened my mouth.

“I told him I’d think about it.” “What? Really?” “Yes.”

Ki-chul stared at me and suddenly laughed. “You’re much bolder than you look. Honestly, I’m a bit surprised.” “Why?” “I thought you’d jump at the chance.” “Is it something I must do?” “No. Not necessarily.” “Then why did you think that?”

He looked at me as if I was asking the obvious. I knew why. In a studio, the Teacher is like a god. His offer was good, and there was no reason to refuse.

“When you first got here and were always moping because you couldn’t adapt, I thought you’d quit immediately. I’m starting to wonder if you’re even the same person.” “……” “The Teacher’s offer wasn’t bad. If you take over the stories, you’ll make more money than I do. Do you hate money?” “I like it.” “Then why? Are you planning to go somewhere else?” “I don’t know any other places.” “Then it’s even weirder.” “Is it that strange?” “Very. Extremely.”

Ki-chul took another drag of his cigarette.

“If you’re recognized for your stories, you can make a lot of money. People who are good at storytelling are in high demand. Even the publisher today was curious about who wrote it.”

True, he was.

“If they find a talented writer, they might try to contact them separately. That’s why the Teacher didn’t tell him.” “The publisher directly?” “Yeah. Our Teacher is currently affiliated with this publisher too.” “Is that so?”

I knew, but I pretended I didn’t.

“You really don’t know the state of the manga world yet. Have you ever heard of ‘Hapdong Publishing’?” “I’ve heard the name.” “Oh, that’s surprising. How do you know that?” “I think I heard someone talking about it before.” “Ah.”

Actually, I’d heard about it from a senior back in the early 90s when I debuted. They were the entity that created the dark ages of the Korean manga industry in the 60s and 70s. Many publishers merged to form “Hapdong,” which eventually monopolized the entire industry and turned the market into a wasteland. They made artists their slaves, and rental shops nationwide had to take only the books Hapdong provided. There were no returns, and they even pocketed the manuscript fees that should have gone to the artists. I’d heard the head of it was called the “President of Sinchon” because he made so much money.

To me, this was history I learned in the 90s. But from the perspective of the current “now,” the 90s are the future. Thinking of the future as the past felt very strange.

“The Teacher used to be at Hapdong before moving to this publisher. He suffered a lot under those Hapdong bastards.” “He was with Hapdong?”

Of course he was. From the current perspective, the Hapdong monopoly era only recently began to crack.

“Yeah. The current publisher was founded to stand against Hapdong. But recently, the Teacher’s works weren’t doing well, so he was becoming an outcast even here. But thanks to you, he’s in the spotlight again. He probably has mixed feelings. They treated him like a nuisance, but now that a good work is out, they’re suddenly acting all friendly.”

So that was the situation.

“Anyway, I’m surprised. So, after thinking it over, do you plan on becoming a story writer?” “I don’t know yet.”

I had no intention of doing it, but I didn’t want to show my cards yet.

“But why are you asking me this?” “Well…” “What would you do if you were me? Would you take the offer, like you said?” “If it were me…”

He paused for a beat before answering.

“I would refuse.”

Huh? What kind of talk is that?