Ch.24Chapter 24 – Origin (1)

When I look back on my childhood memories, many moments rush through my mind like a dam breaking.

Memories of having to wear long sleeves and pants even in the middle of summer to hide the marks from my father’s beatings.

Memories of studying desperately wanting to be like my brother, always trying to surpass his shadow, but never quite managing it.

Memories of silently enduring tears while facing bullying and verbal abuse from other children, all to maintain the image of being a good kid.

And then,

“You really can’t write.”

I remember hearing these words from the classmate sitting next to me while I was filling blank manuscript paper with black letters.

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“Your writing has too many commas. The line breaks are weird, and in the end, you’re just saying things only you understand.”

My first meeting with Seol-hwa couldn’t be described as pleasant, even as a white lie.

She was the one who peeked at what I was writing during the school writing contest and evaluated it while I was filling the manuscript paper out of obligation.

Having one’s work dismissed as a creator could be offensive to anyone, but then she continued:

“Your problem is that your thinking is too extreme. Who would want to read something that’s just sad all the time?”

At that time, she didn’t realize this fact.

The trajectory of her life as the granddaughter of a conglomerate had shaped her into someone who had no hesitation in evaluating others and correcting what she perceived as wrong.

“So what?”

For the record, that’s what I said back then. Writing had always been my emotional trash can.

I would break down the people I disliked in text, inflict wounds on them, and somehow it made me feel a little better.

“W-what? Are you talking to me like that?”

“Yes, who do you think you are to tear down someone else’s writing?”

To be honest, I was really upset.

I hated how this lucky person, who had never experienced even a fraction of my life, was pretending to know about the pain I had poured into my writing.

“I won a gold award at last year’s writing contest, and I even won the grand prize at the national writing competition.”

I remember Seol-hwa’s expression as she stared at me with disbelief.

In a world where only results matter regardless of the process, I really hated that world, so I retorted:

“So winning awards gives you the right to tear down other people’s writing?”

“……”

Normally, I wouldn’t have said such things. I should have pretended to be a good kid.

But I felt upset because it seemed like the world and characters I had imagined throughout my life were being denied.

They were friends who had kept me company during my miserable childhood, like my one and only children in this world.

“Just as every finger hurts when bitten, every work is precious to a writer. Watch what you say.”

“Yes, come to think of it, you might be right…”

When my attitude suddenly changed, Seol-hwa finally nodded and acknowledged her mistake.

“Then, can you tell me why this protagonist needed to have such a past?”

She finally got to the point after glancing at my manuscript paper repeatedly. She could have just said she was interested from the beginning, but instead used this roundabout approach.

What I was writing on the manuscript paper was the prequel content for my future martial arts web novel, “Diamond Fist King.”

“This child is like a monster. Born with the karma of the Star of Heavenly Murder, he’s a character who can’t survive without killing.”

I was writing the narrative of Bi-wol, who would appear as the final boss.

Perhaps Seol-hwa approached me because she questioned whether a mere middle school student should be writing such dark scenes.

“So that’s why you started with a village suffering from famine? And the swarm of locusts filling the sky is the root of all problems?”

“That’s right. I think the Heavenly Demon is a character who punishes the heavens for not hearing the cries of the people. That’s why I made the sky dark.”

“Hmm… the direction is quite good.”

Only after I explained did Seol-hwa nod as if she understood.

She even took notes on the content of my manuscript, organizing the settings and plot.

“Then, is it necessary to include details about suicide by poisonous mushrooms, or boiling and eating already dead human or animal corpses? I find it too dark.”

“People will do anything when pushed to the edge.”

In the past, I had thought about dying countless times and tried many methods.

I couldn’t bear my father’s domestic violence after my brother’s death, and I often faced problems because rumors circulated among the girls simply because I was good-looking.

“Harsh environments can transform even good people into taking extreme actions. But you probably wouldn’t know about that.”

I glanced at the items Seol-hwa had. Her wallet, schoolbag, and even common writing tools—everything exuded elegance.

I had learned to read people’s expressions and observe my surroundings to avoid getting scolded by my father.

“W-who says I don’t know?”

Perhaps I had hit a nerve, as Seol-hwa fanned herself and tried to play innocent. She widened her eyes like a cat and started making excuses.

“I know that much too! Despite appearances, I’ve been thoroughly trained as an heir since childhood, and I’ve studied countless cases of how people change when they fall into despair…”

“…So in the end, you’ve never experienced it yourself.”

“……”

I slightly lowered the collar I had kept up, showing her the hidden wounds.

The red, swollen handprints were traces of being strangled by the person called my father and marks of self-harm.

Normally, I would have kept such pain hidden, but perhaps my guard was down because everyone had gone outside for the writing contest, leaving the classroom empty.

“I just… thought you had the talent to write better, and I felt sorry seeing you write such negative things. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize. Everyone makes mistakes.”

After seeing my wounds, Seol-hwa let out a short sigh of “Ah…” and then hung her head, muttering.

“And I didn’t even know…”

Drip, drip—she even shed tears. It was fortunate no one else was around; if someone had seen, they might have called me trash for making a girl cry.

“Hey, are you crying? Stop it. Stop.”

“I-I’m sorry… waaah…”

Faced with this sudden accident, I patted Seol-hwa’s back to comfort her.

“I-I just wanted to become friends with you…”

As I later found out, Seol-hwa was such an enthusiastic fan of my writing that she would cut out and keep what I wrote.

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After that, the distance between Seol-hwa and me rapidly closed. To be honest, what man would refuse a pretty girl who liked his writing?

“Why did you name the character Bi-wol?”

“In my neighborhood, the moon hanging in the night sky is incredibly beautiful. It’s the only light that illuminates a place where even streetlights barely reach.”

“So you named her Bi-wol, using the characters for ‘flying’ and ‘moon.’ That’s romantic.”

From then on, we began building two independent worldviews by sharing settings.

A third-generation chaebol girl and a boy living in a shantytown.

Light and darkness clearly defined—they met despite being from social classes that would never have interacted outside of school.

“How about making this character the final boss instead of the protagonist? A story about overcoming a dark past would be more impressive.”

“Hmm… what should I do? I’m not really sure.”

“I’ll give you a kiss later. Please do it that way.”

My negative colors were being influenced by her, changing like how the world turns pink when seen through the eyes of a boy in love.

Looking back now, many elements seen in my disciples in this world were borrowed from her.

I described Bi-wol’s beautiful black hair while thinking of Seol-hwa’s hair, and I wrote about Verdandi’s pure and innocent personality while recalling her sunny smile.

“This girl, isn’t she too similar to me?”

The seductive behavior that Azazel often shows was based on actions that Seol-hwa frequently displayed to me.

“So, do you dislike it? I’m specially featuring you in my novel.”

“No, I love it…!”

Moreover, making Bing-seol-hwa, the half-sister of Bing-yeon who appears in my first web novel “Diamond Fist King,” the heroine connected to the protagonist was also largely influenced by her.

“The protagonist Kim Hyul originally ends the story fighting alone, right? Even after killing the Heavenly Demon, his revenge isn’t fulfilled.”

“Yes, that’s right. That’s how I originally planned the story.”

“Then let’s make it so you and I are dating. The heroine comforts the protagonist’s wounds.”

With her round and pretty handwriting being added to my notebook, she was creating hope in the sad ending I had predetermined.

“I think all stories should end happily. So that the author writing the story, the readers reading it, and the characters in the novel can all be happy.”

“Yes, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The reason I’m now searching for final bosses and trying to save them is all because of the values Seol-hwa talked about.

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It was a nostalgic dream.

It felt like I had gone back to my childhood, tasting once again the moment when I first met Seol-hwa and dreamed of becoming a writer.

“……”

I pulled out a worn notebook with frayed corners from the bookshelf. It was labeled “Han Do-hyeon and Yoo Seol-hwa’s Dream,” a somewhat childish name, but…

It contained traces of my efforts to write better despite failing again and again, from middle school through high school, college, and even during my military service.

“1. Write stories that make both the writer and reader happy.

2. Become a writer who can be proud of their pen name.

3. Han Do-hyeon and Yoo Seol-hwa must get married in the future!

(We wrote this together! No taking it back later!)”

It was something more precious to me than my life, containing the untainted purity of childhood.

The reason I’ve continued writing until now.

The reason I tried not to give up even when told I had no talent.

The reason I wrote novels despite wearing wrist guards for pain, dozing off in front of the computer, and ruining my health.

“…It was all thanks to you.”

It was all thanks to my first love, Yoo Seol-hwa.

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I couldn’t help but smile bitterly as I flipped through the old notebook and read its contents.

Unlike my crooked, rough handwriting that could only be described as poor penmanship…

– Do-hyeon, why do you always write such passionate love stories?

There was Seol-hwa’s round, pretty, cute handwriting.

– No, I do like romance novels, especially pure love stories. But this heroine talks exactly like me…

In truth, the reason I continued writing the novels I started in my childhood was largely due to Seol-hwa’s contribution. Back then, I secretly liked her.

A girl’s intuition is sharp like that.

– Do you perhaps like me?

Because it was an emotion that couldn’t be fully expressed in words,

Because it was a love that couldn’t be written down…

– Yes, I like you very much.

I had once written an embarrassing answer in red pen. I couldn’t help but smile seeing the small “Me too…!” written below it.

We wrote about such trivial love in our notebook and talked about the happy future that would someday come.

– Are you the type who puts sugar in rolled eggs, or salt?

– Salt.

– I’ll remember that for future reference, noting it down here.

– What if someone sees this…

After this note, during home economics class, Seol-hwa secretly made rolled eggs and fed them to me.

The taste of love I experienced in middle school was the salty and savory taste of rolled eggs.

– It’s okay. If rumors about this notebook spread, we can just tell the class that you and I are dating.

– Aren’t we too different? In terms of social status, money… You even paid for lunch again today.

– Think of it as the price for seeing your face up close, Do-hyeon.

– ???

As we continued our written conversations into high school, a big change occurred.

– Do-hyeon, will you continue writing even if I die?

Tear stains appeared on the notebook, and her handwriting gradually became harder to read.

“……”

A great misfortune in the form of a traffic accident.

The truck that hit her was a hit-and-run vehicle that still hasn’t been caught, and the spinal infarction from the accident gradually stiffened her body.

– Don’t say such things. I’m here with you. What are you worried about?

– But… I can’t even move my arms enough to write in this notebook anymore.

– It’s okay. If you tell me the sentences, I’ll write them down for you.

As the notebook progressed toward the latter half, her handwriting disappeared, and only mine remained.

– Do-hyeon, honestly, I’m more afraid of being forgotten in this world than dying.

By the time I entered college, her body had stiffened to the point where she couldn’t walk without a splint.

– As a writer, I should speak through my writing, but I hate the thought of dying without publishing a single book.

Slowly dying, Seol-hwa was telling me depressing sentences, completely opposite to her usual positive self.

– Do-hyeon, your writing is interesting. You have to keep writing, okay?

Around the time I had to join the military and couldn’t take care of Seol-hwa anymore, she made an extreme choice.

– I love you. So much.

Leaving only those two words as her last.

Whether she wrote with her mouth instead of her arms that wouldn’t move well, she was expressing her love in barely legible handwriting.

And so, all the love written in this notebook came to an end.

From then on, I continued writing without giving up.

I wrote to fulfill Seol-hwa’s unfulfilled dream, to make her remembered in this world.

Even after being discharged from the military and graduating from college, I kept trying to write better despite failing again and again.

But I didn’t succeed.

Despite wearing wrist guards for pain, dozing off in front of the computer, and ruining my health.

Should I call it first love from childhood, or an adult’s lingering attachment refusing to accept reality?

No.

It would be more accurate to say I sold my life for love.

Believing without doubt that I would succeed someday, I even twisted my dream of becoming a novelist toward becoming a web novelist.

[Author, please don’t stop your series. I’ve read all three of your works, and if this one disappears too, what am I supposed to read?]

And so,

[If that’s the case, I have no choice but to show my ‘sincerity.’]

After seeing a comment from a devoted reader, I stepped into this strange yet beautiful world of novels.