Chapter 9: Star Five (2)

Lee Ki-chul simply stared at me with a peculiar look in his eyes. Then, in a calm voice, he asked:

“Something you must say?”

I nodded firmly.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Ki-chul looked thoughtful for a moment. Just then, a voice drifted from the Teacher’s office.

“Ki-chul, what’s going on out there?” “The youngest says he has something he wants to tell both you and me, sir.” “What?!”

The voice sounded absurdly shocked, but it soon turned into a laugh.

“Hahaha, the youngest?” “Yes, sir. He says it’s urgent.” “Well, then we ought to hear it. Tell him to come in.” “Yes, sir.”

Ki-chul turned back to me. “You heard him.” “Yes.”

As I followed Ki-chul toward the office, I glanced back. The seniors and Go Ju-bong looked as pale as sheets. They watched me enter as if they were witnessing a bomb being carried into the Teacher’s inner sanctum. I didn’t get the reaction—it’s not like I was walking into hell.

Inside, Teacher Park Chul-min was sitting at a table. The soju bottle Ju-bong had brought earlier was already half empty. Seeing only one glass, it was clear he’d been drinking alone.

I’d peeked into the Teacher’s office while passing by, but this was my first time actually inside. There wasn’t anything particularly grand about it. The desk in the corner was cluttered with books and drawings pinned to the wall, making the space feel cramped. On the other side sat a large TV with four legs—the kind with doors that I’d only seen as a kid. A bookshelf packed with volumes lined another wall.

“So, you have something you must tell me?”

I stopped scanning the room and looked at him. Park Chul-min was smiling.

“If it’s important, I should listen. Is it something about your family?”

I shook my head. “No, sir.” “Then?” “It’s about manga.” “Manga?”

He looked surprised. Ki-chul, sitting nearby, also looked curious.

“Yes. I heard from the seniors that you’re feeling stressed about a science fiction project. Is that correct?”

Perhaps because it was a bold question coming from a mere “youngest,” their expressions were quite a sight. I knew I sounded arrogant, and Teacher Park’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Dong-mun must have been flapping his mouth again. Honestly, this neighborhood is so small there are no secrets. None at all.” “Tell us what you mean,” Ki-chul said, his expression returning to its usual stoic calm.

“I personally have a story in mind. I thought you might want to try making it.” “A story you created?” “Yes.” “Is it something like Marine Boy or Astro Boy?” “It’s a bit different.”

At that, Teacher Park chuckled and crossed his arms.

“Fine, let’s hear what our youngest has cooked up. My head’s killing me anyway.”

He was clearly scoffing internally. It must have seemed ridiculous—a nineteen-year-old studio assistant talking big. But I was glad he had enough grace to listen. Honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if he’d kicked me out. I’d walked in with the mindset that I had nothing to lose. I didn’t plan on spending years rotting away here, anyway. I cleared my mind and spoke.

“The genre I have in mind is a Space Opera.”

Park Chul-min looked bewildered. “Space Opera? Ki-chul, do you know what that is?” “I’m not sure either, sir.”

Park turned back to me with a puzzled look. “What is a ‘Space Opera’?” “Think of it as a galactic adventure-spectacle.” “Oh, an adventure-spectacle. I like the sound of that.”

He nodded, finally understanding, though he still didn’t look like he expected much. The reason I chose Space Opera was simple: in this era, high-action adventure was far more popular than realistic sci-fi. Plus, I personally loved old-school SF. I wasn’t planning on something with the scale of Star Wars (which wouldn’t be out for a few more years anyway). A story where a powerful protagonist fights villains and roams the cosmos would be enough. I kept in mind that censorship was strict back then, so I had to avoid anything too radical.

“The setting involves a war in space where humans and AI robots are enemies,” I began. “Humans and robots at war in space?” “Yes. Humans are losing. Driven away by the robots, they wander from planet to planet.”

I organized my thoughts for a moment and continued.

“Then, on a planet resembling Earth, the protagonist finds ruins of a civilization from tens of thousands of years ago. There, he discovers five treasures that allow him to fight back against the robots.” “Five treasures?” “Yes. The same war happened on that planet in the past, and those treasures ended the conflict. They are actually companions who help the hero. They take the form of gems; when fused with one, the hero gains minor superpowers. As he collects two or three, his power grows exponentially, and his appearance changes significantly.”

Teacher Park looked intrigued. “Oh, that sounds interesting.”

Ki-chul, however, tilted his head. “Ancient ruins? It sounds a bit like Babel II.” “The publisher wants something like that because Babel II is popular. So the initial premise is similar. But the ‘five treasures’ aren’t monsters or robots like in Babel.”

Teacher Park nodded. “Yi-chang is right.”

Drawing from decades of manga and movies I had consumed, I explained the mixed-and-matched plot. I laid out familiar tropes of the era as bait, then added several fresh, exciting elements. Gradually, the expressions on both men’s faces turned serious.

When I finished the overview, there was silence. Ki-chul was quiet as usual, but Teacher Park looked deep in thought. Was the tone wrong for this era? It didn’t matter to me; I’d expected nothing. Just as I was about to excuse myself from the awkward atmosphere…

“This is excellent.” “Pardon?” “It’s very good. I’d like to make this into a single volume—no, a two-volume series.”

Two volumes. That meant moving incredibly fast. But back then, pacing was usually very brisk. Unlike the future, where readers are picky and knowledgeable, the communication between creator and reader was limited to letters.

“Do you want to try writing the script for this?” Park asked. “Me?” “You created it. Ki-chul and I don’t know much about this genre.”

I had assumed they would take the premise and run with it. I didn’t think it needed specialized design, but they seemed hesitant because they lacked experience in the genre.

“What do you say?”

I thought for a moment. “Actually, I have a request.” “A request? I won’t ask you to do it for free just because you wrote the story.”

Money. That was a nice surprise. I hadn’t expected much, but even a little would help.

“If this sells well, please give us a bonus.” “A bonus? Money?” “Yes.”

Originally, my goal was just to keep the studio afloat for Go Ju-bong’s sake. But if I had to write the script and likely the storyboards, I felt justified in asking for more. In my past life, this was a given, but in this era, such requests were rare and difficult.

Teacher Park nodded. “If it sells well, of course. That much is obvious.” “For everyone in the studio.” “Everyone?” “Yes.”

Honestly, I just wanted it for myself and Ju-bong. But if only we got paid, we’d be outcasts. It was a bit of a reach, but I figured I’d ask anyway.

“Fine. I can certainly handle a bonus for everyone.”

He accepted surprisingly readily. Ki-chul gave me another long, unreadable look.

“Is that true?!”

Ki-chul nodded at Shim Kyung-chul’s question.

“Yes. The youngest is writing this story himself to give to the Teacher. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, don’t pile work on him.” “The Teacher is actually accepting a story from the youngest?”

Ki-chul stared him down. “That’s what I said.” “Ah, sorry.” “And the youngest asked the Teacher for… never mind. That’s all.” “……?” “Anyway, starting today, Yi-chang will be working separately in the Teacher’s room. Understood?”

Kyung-chul’s eyes nearly popped out. “In the Teacher’s room?” “Yes. He ordered that no one is to disturb him.” “……Just what kind of story is it that he gets such special treatment?” “It was a story promising enough to deserve it.”

Teacher Park Chul-min’s Office.

The Teacher had already left for the day. I sat alone at a low table prepared for me.

“Sigh.”

A sigh escaped me. Dammit, I just wanted to throw them a lifeline because I felt bad for Go Ju-bong. Now I’ve ended up in charge of the storyboards. I wondered if I’d been too meddlesome. I never thought they’d dump such heavy responsibility on a “youngest.”

But then again, a premise alone doesn’t solve a story. Especially for an artist with no SF experience. Luckily, Teacher Park’s art style wasn’t hyper-realistic, so it wasn’t too difficult to adapt to sci-fi. In this era, mechanic designs weren’t overly complex either. I’d done plenty of mechanical drawings in my time, and storyboarding was second nature to me. I just had to remember that the trends of this era were different: speed and excitement over ironclad logic.

It was doable.

…At least, that’s what I was thinking. Am I sane? Even if it’s the 70s, SF isn’t my specialty. Yet, a baseless confidence and excitement kept rising within me. Thousands of SF manga and movies I’d seen flooded my mind. I didn’t think I had much background knowledge, but the ideas were pouring out. What was happening to me?