Ch.BONUSWork Afterword

“You have depression.”

That was the diagnosis I received when I visited a psychiatrist for the first time in my life.

“Depression, is it?”

“According to the psychological test results, you’re generally leaning in a negative direction. Did something bad happen during your school years? Family problems, or perhaps issues with friends…?”

I thought everyone went through this.

That feeling when your heart suddenly sinks, waking up in cold sweat every time you sleep.

I thought that perhaps I came here seeking support because I wasn’t strong enough to endure on my own.

“You also seem to show some symptoms of panic disorder. I’ll prescribe some medication for now, and let’s adjust it after observing for about a week.”

After receiving the doctor’s careful diagnosis, I headed home with the packet of medicine clutched to my chest.

A cheap first-floor apartment in a building facing a park with a gym.

The noise from people bustling about for exercise was annoying, but it was a place I had long grown accustomed to.

Looking up at the ceiling and sinking into contemplation happened as smoothly as usual.

In that state, I thought about it.

What kind of person am I really? Why have I become this kind of person?

Tracing back to find the root, I recalled my first and oldest memory.

What occupied that place in my childhood memories was a child who cried endlessly.

A child who burst into tears every single day, desperately calling for his mother.

A child who could break into tears at any moment, inevitably left behind by children who simply enjoyed laughing and talking.

That was the beginning of my conscious life, and the foundation of who I am now.

It’s only natural that a boy who grew from such roots would be alienated from groups.

With confidence diminishing and peace of mind disappearing, life became nothing but a continuous escape.

Gradually, my family, disgusted by my powerless and inadequate self, gave up their expectations, and in the end, all that remained was an isolated teenager, abandoned alone in solitary confinement.

Perhaps that was the reason it all began.

Being alone, I constantly dwelled on my wounds, and my only means of expression was text written in a notepad…

Yes, that’s the root of my story as I see it.

It began with wounds, and a story that continued in that vein couldn’t possibly be bright and cheerful.

Because this world is full of people who are hurt, even if they don’t show it.

Content that picks at and aggravates those wounds won’t be welcomed, so the story I ambitiously put forward will disappear into the vast waves of information without receiving anyone’s attention.

When even I turn away from that story buried and lost in the world, the pain in my chest intensifies as if burning the story that began from wounds.

Some might call it growth to rise above such wounds.

But how can cauterizing a wound with a poker be described as healing?

The wound remains, the burning heat that sears the flesh still exists, and that memory may remain deeply embedded in the mind like a stake, forever reminding of that day.

With so much road still ahead to run, legs that couldn’t withstand the shock broke, and I might lose consciousness after falling and cracking my head.

I might run away from such pain out of fear.

I could compromise and give up, saying this isn’t my path, that a story born from wounds will only poke at those wounds, repeating a vicious cycle.

Yet why am I still writing at this moment?

Why do I insist on writing when I know that stories born from wounds won’t be recognized by the world?

Perhaps it’s simply because I’m foolish.

Because I was foolish, I stubbornly kept writing, and that stubbornness eventually grew flesh and muscle, making me feel an itch.

I must write, I must write.

As I continued to survive day by day like this, there always existed in my heart what could be called a modest expectation.

If I endure and persevere, someday…

With the hope that something good might happen someday, if not now, I tried to sustain my tattered writing one day at a time, cauterizing the wounds engraved in my heart.

And as always, I felt myself crumbling.

A story continued with cauterized wounds and a cracked head couldn’t possibly be normal.

Even in moments when I thought I’d finally found an opportunity, I collapsed against my own limitations, perhaps making the pain and fear feel even more intense.

And each time, the inner me asks:

‘Why not just quit?’

That would make things easier.

If what I’m holding onto is painfully killing me, maybe giving up is the right answer.

Just like I’ve done until now… Yes, because that’s what I’ve always done.

As always, I’ve turned away from stories born from wounds, and each time, what came back was even greater pain and self-loathing.

When that eventually entered the learning stage, even giving up became frightening. And when I finally gave up on giving up, my heart, unable to find its own answer, turned toward the outside of my dark, damp studio apartment.

A journey begun for the first time in my life. A choice made not out of courage but from escape piled upon escape.

Feeling the small pills in the medicine packet I clutched at the end of that journey seep into my body, I laid my head on the bed with my drowsy mind.

Let’s sleep on it for now.

And hoping that tonight, I won’t have nightmares.

****

Yes, there was such a time. With that reflection.

After reminiscing about that day, I typed the word “完” (complete) on the story I had been writing and took my hands off the keyboard.

With this, the story I started impulsively, without any particular plan, has come to an end.

This isn’t the first time I’ve put a period on a story. Though not revealed to the world, it’s something I’ve experienced countless times, to the point where it feels familiar now.

Nevertheless, the reason why this completion doesn’t feel real might be because the ending was achieved differently than usual.

For me, writing has always been a journey filled with fear and pain from beginning to end.

I thought this story would be the same. At least at first, I suffered from that pain and felt myself collapsing, consumed by the anxiety I created.

Broken here and there, full of parts where expression isn’t properly done… This story, filled with content that doesn’t even consider the public’s perspective, could truly be described as a doll covered in rags.

Yet there’s not a single burst seam visible on its surface, and its contents remain intact, maintaining its form completely.

Unlike the stories I’ve constantly turned away from.

Now, despite my shortcomings, I’ve finally been able to face a story born from wounds for the first time.

Isn’t it funny? Just by taking one pill, I can put a period with such a light heart.

All those things I considered hardships, trials, and the harshness of the world were just walls, fears, limitations, and absurdities I created myself.

The bitter smile that appears as I gradually realize this might be because the current me feels sympathy for the past me.

Born a crybaby, shunned by everyone, a boy who only received wounds can finally comfort himself.

Then what path will a boy who can comfort himself… what path will the man who grew from such a boy walk?

Will that future involve abandoning his past self and finding a new path?

At least I don’t think so.

Although it began with wounds, and the process only tormented me.

Nevertheless, I who wrote every day while cauterizing my wounds, maintaining that attitude, still remained.

How could I turn away? It is my root, and the result of growing from it is who I am now.

Even if that form changes someday, for now… at least for now, I should continue the story that began from such roots.

A story full of the cruelty and harshness of the world as I perceived it, and the desperation and frustration of navigating through it.

A story where happiness at the end, reached after striving to find and seize value in the belief that a small hope exists despite everything, stands out…

Feeling that such philosophy and individuality were becoming firmly established, I took the opportunity of this moment, having finished one story, to ask myself a question.

‘What awaits after a story ends?’

The answer came when I closed the densely filled notepad and activated a new, blank one.

“A new story will begin.”

To set aside the regret of a finished story, I prepared to write my thoughts about it.

Though it started from wounds, and the process was a mess.

To write a letter to the precious comrades who believed in and followed me despite such shortcomings.

‘****

Hello, I’m Globale, the author of “I Became a Foreign Laborer Loved by Transcendents.”

The story I started hastily for the challenge event has finally come to an end.

Focusing only on this novel made the publishing schedule for my other novels sparse… At that time, my condition wasn’t good, and even publishing day by day was very burdensome.

I tried to start with a light heart at first, but at some point, my heart became heavy…

I tried many experimental attempts while serializing, and I worried a lot about whether these attempts were really right, whether readers would accept such attempts.

And I made mistakes too. I showed quite a few irritating behaviors due to impatience and impulse.

An author should just write well, why do I keep looking for answers elsewhere? Haha.

It’s all because I’m lacking. I should reflect. I should reflect so I don’t do this in my next work…!

But before writing the next work, I need to finish this one first!! With that thought in mind, I’ve been stubbornly running forward with a wavering heart like a reed.

The process may have been precarious and incomprehensible in many ways, but I somehow managed to fit the story together and reach the conclusion without abandoning any foreshadowing or characters.

And the ending turned out happy contrary to concerns, so that’s good, that’s good~ Medetashi~ Medetashi~

Of course, it’s disappointing that a novel you’ve been reading for so long is ending, but stories inevitably come to an end, so we shouldn’t hesitate to conclude due to such regret.

There are things like side stories or a second part… but for the second part, there are no immediate plans.

That’s not something to consider right now, but in the very distant future, for example, when I move beyond the small world of Novelpia to a wider place.

Instead, I’m thinking of preparing some modest side stories, but I think it’s better to do this after some interval rather than immediately.

I’ve been running for a long time, so I need to rest first… That’s how I can continue running in the future.

For that reason, I’m thinking of taking a month off and then serializing some side stories around the end of May.

That would be until the challenge event starts again in June.

Rest, serialize side stories, then participate in the challenge event… That’s my current plan.

For my next work, if there are no changes to the plan, I think it will be fantasy adventure + healing/parenting.

To outline the plot a bit, it’s about a war hero protagonist who was a general in a steampunk world setting, who retires and tries to spend the rest of his life in a frontier settlement, but tries to solve problems that arise, and in the process, travels around the frontier with a mysterious girl he meets and solves cases with mysterious beings he encounters during his travels… a rather orthodox flow, I’d say…

It’s a story quite distant from the mainstream of Novelpia, and since my next work will have even more experimental attempts than this one, there are quite a few concerns.

But well… I have to try.

If I can’t learn what to do and what not to do from someone else, I have no choice but to test it myself by diving in.

Above all, the challenge is giving support funds to serialize such experimental things, so I should actively participate. Hehe.

Anyway, now that this serialization, which had many words and troubles, has ended, this inadequate author will now withdraw.

I thank everyone who has read “I Became a Foreign Laborer Loved by Transcendents,” and promise to return with news about side stories and my next work planning in a month.

Stay healthy and happy, everyone~!