Novelist Running Through Time
Chapter 168

TL: KSD

Receiving a thank-you from someone whose voice once made my heart constrict tightly was something I could never get used to.

“Thank you so much for spending time with our Yu-na.”

Clatter- A plate was placed in front of me with the sound. It was an American-style breakfast with two fried eggs and thick-cut bacon.

On top of the soft and delicate yolks, green parsley powder was sprinkled, and the bacon was cooked to perfection, not too crispy, nor too limp.

All in all, it was just a simple breakfast, but it was clear that a great deal of care had gone into it. As if it was being served to a very important guest.

And that important guest was me.

How in the world did things end up like this?

“Would you like a glass of milk too?”

It wasn’t really a question. Min Chae-won placed a glass of milk in front of me as she spoke. The answer was already decided, so all I had to do was respond. (TL Note: if you forgot Min Chae-won is Gu Yu-na’s mom)

“…Thank you.”

“No, it’s me who should be thanking you, hoho.”

Min Chae-won, who was more venomous than pufferfish poison, smiled warmly at me. It felt as though a barricade had been set up in my throat, making it hard to swallow my food.

Then, just like a stereotypical father in a 90s American drama, Gu Hak-jun, who was eating breakfast while spreading a newspaper out at the table, gave a rebuke.

“Hey, why are you putting pressure on the kid while they’re eating?”

“I’m just grateful, that’s all. For being with our Yu-na…”

Gu Yubin, who was hurriedly finishing breakfast and getting ready for university, covered her mouth and chuckled softly.

“Are you guys using formal speech right now? Just because there’s a guest?”

“Wh-why are you bringing that up now? I’ve used it before occasionally.”

“As if. I’ve never heard you use it before…”

The bickering between Gu Yubin and Min Chae-won was put to an abrupt end by a single word from Gu Yu-na, the tyrant of the Gu household and the embodiment of 70s and 80s patriarchal values.

“Water.”

Splash-

Gu Yubin respectfully poured water into Gu Yu-na’s glass.

Gu Yu-na downed it in one shot, like a salaryman drinking soju at a street food stall after work, let out a strange sigh “Krrrr” and then abruptly stood up from her seat.

Then she grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me up.

“Let’s go write now.”

“W-wait! I haven’t finished eating yet-”

Supreme and unique, Gu Yu-na is not one to be tied down by trivialities.

As I was being dragged away by Gu Yu-na, I caught a glimpse of Gu Hak-jun chuckling softly, Gu Yubin giggling brightly, and Min Chae-won scolding them furiously for being rude to a guest.

But even Min Chae-won couldn’t hide the faint smile on her lips.

Over the weeks I had been going in and out of the Gu household for the collaborative writing project with Gu Yu-na, I had somehow become a part of their family.

“……”

Perhaps, could such a future have come to me in the past as well?

Ironically, the one pondering this question was none other than the past me.

However, I had already found the answer within myself: time isn’t linear, nor planar; it exists in the form of memories.

Therefore, only the cold truth existed that time already experienced cannot be reversed.

So I resolved to leave my regrets as regrets and focus on the story I was writing now.

What matters most is-

EP 10 – Starry Sky

“This is not literature.”

That was Lim Yang-wook’s answer.

After much contemplation, anguish, and selling books over and over, the conclusion remained unchanged.

Therefore, Lim Yang-wook answered the two editors’ question of ‘why we should join forces’ like this:

“What affects sales figures isn’t the content of the novel.”

“……”

“It’s the packaging.”

The packaging of a novel, namely the cover and the book band, is adorned with cliché phrases. Things like “A masterpiece that moved the nation”, “The most talked-about new release”, or “This year’s sensation…”

Of course, among all these cliché phrases, the most effective one is: “Winner of such-and-such literary award.”

In other words, Lim Yang-wook was asserting that a novel’s commercial value and sales are entirely dependent on such external factors.

Literary merit comes second.

It was a statement that would have made Gu Hak-jun frown in disapproval and driven Park Chang-woon to whack Lim Yang-wook’s head with flute in exasperation.

However, Kyosensha’s Yohei Iwamoto gave an awkward yet insidious smile, while Collins Press’s Rachel Surface whistled, calling it a rather bold statement.

They weren’t people who wrote books; they were people who sold books. For book peddlers covered in all kinds of dust, such a remark wasn’t anything novel.

After repeatedly slamming into the cold walls of the industry, it was a thought everyone had buried in the dark corners of their minds at some point.

Thus, the two editors

Kyosensha’s Yohei Iwamoto and Collins Press’s Rachel Surface, focused on Lim Yang-wook, who had unearthed the darkness within the hearts of editors.

And Lim Yang-wook, too, had secretly invited these two by using his personal funds instead of company money to gift them plane tickets.

Business class, no less.

And round-trip, too.

To make sure the terrifying expense that had chopped his salary into pieces didn’t go to waste, Lim Yang-wook carefully chose and re-chose his next words.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Lim Yang-wook finally rolled the dice.

“Somewhere along the way, we entered an era where the content of novels no longer matters much. People pick up books not knowing what the novel is even about. They only care about how famous the author is, what awards they’ve won, or how many copies it has sold. So…”

“……”

“…why don’t we deceive the world?”

* * *

The phrase “lacking fortune in awards” doesn’t apply to just anyone.

It’s natural for someone who seems unlikely to win an award to not win one. The expression “lacking fortune in awards” is used for someone who, by all accounts, should have been able to win but didn’t.

Moon In was a writer who lacked fortune in awards.

Although he had made a sensational debut, simultaneously winning as many as 16 literary awards, he had strangely been devoid of luck with awards ever since.

The only notable instance was being shortlisted for a literary award on the other side of the globe in England, but that was just a case of being almost awarded, not actually receiving it.

To put it elegantly, it’s called being ‘nominated’.

To put it bluntly, it’s just ‘almost-d’Or’. (TL Note: From award Palme d’Or)

Thus, aside from being an ‘almost-d’Or’ for the Booker International Prize, Moon In has no significant history of winning major literary awards, an unadorned, crownless novelist.

And it was highly unlikely that would change anytime soon. The backlash from his exposé on the debut fee practice, which bruised the egos of every literary magazine out there, was severe. Even the Booker Prize, the world’s most commercial literary award, had only used Moon In as a tool to stoke public interest.

Why? Giving a literary award to a minor would inevitably create countless enemies who couldn’t accept it. Therefore, anyone with even a shred of sense would naturally be cautious about whom they award.

Lim Yang-wook felt this reality keenly.

Who was the one who came up with the idea to make a stormy debut by purchasing literary awards and then expose the debut fee practice by saying, “Sorry, I stirred things up just to show you this”?

It was Moon In who, while causing trouble, decided to escalate things by targeting not just one award but 16, pouring fuel on the fire. But the one who first conceived and proposed the idea was none other than Lim Yang-wook himself.

Contrary to public misunderstanding, Lim Yang-wook was not a cephalopod but a primate, and thus could not escape feeling pangs of guilt.

To sell books, you need a literary award.

But that’s a matter of fate.

You can’t receive a literary award just because you want one, and even if you go to unethical lengths to try, there’s no guarantee of success.

Of course, if you were a major publisher like Baekhak Publishing, the story would be different.

After all, there was the Baekhak Literary Award, hosted by Baekhak Daily, a subsidiary of the Baekhak Group.

If Lim Yang-wook had shouted “We’re family!” Moon In could have easily won the Baekhak Literary Award four times.

And, in truth, they weren’t even really others. Historically, publishing companies and media outlets share common roots, and Baekhak Daily and Baekhak Publishing used to be the same company.

Every member of the Baekhak Literary Award’s judging committee had some connection to Lim Yang-wook, either directly or indirectly. In fact, it wouldn’t have been strange for Lim Yang-wook himself to be part of the judging panel.

But Lim Yang-wook had not awarded Moon In the Baekhak Literary Award, even though it was one of the top five most prestigious literary prizes in Korea.

Why? Because readers weren’t fools.

Moon In was far too close to the Baekhak Group. In fact, it wasn’t much of a secret. Therefore, the first reaction to Moon In winning the Baekhak Literary Award wouldn’t have been “Congratulations” but “Suspicion.”

Whether Lim Yang-wook had actually influenced Moon In’s win didn’t matter. The point was simple: Moon In was a writer who could not win the Baekhak Literary Award. That’s why Lim Yang-wook had gone so far as to exert pressure to ensure Moon In wouldn’t win.

Ironically, that’s just how the world worked.

Thus, a more sophisticated kind of “deception” was necessary.

That was Lim Yang-wook’s judgment.

* * *

While Lim Yang-wook couldn’t bestow a literary award upon Moon In, he could make him a bestseller anytime he wanted.

In truth, Moon In’s fame had reached a point where not being a bestseller was stranger than being one. If Moon In failed to top the charts or fell from the top spot too quickly, it would draw criticism and ridicule.

So when Lim Yang-wook deployed the full force of promotional resources, seeing the following phrase on online bookstores wasn’t difficult at all:

<Today’s Bestseller>

Starry Sky.

“Hm…”

Kyosensha’s senior editor and translator, Yohei Iwamoto, grinned slyly at the words glowing on his smartphone screen.

No. 1 Bestseller in Korea.

That was the “signal flare” Lim Yang-wook had promised.

The operation had begun.

Yohei Iwamoto pushed his desk with force, and his wheeled chair rolled backward, naturally bumping into a staff member behind him. Turning to them, Iwamoto gave his instructions.

“Miyamoto-san.”

“Yes!”

“Submit ‘Starry Sky’ for release tomorrow.”

“Understood!”

Everything had already been prepared. The translation was complete, the printing was done, and distribution to bookstores nationwide had been finalized.

The books were even adorned with book bands that read, “No. 1 Bestseller in Korea.”

This phrase had been prepared before ‘Starry Sky’ was even released in Korea, a product of meticulous planning.

And if the plan unfolded as expected, preparing the next phrase wouldn’t be difficult either.

Moon In’s popularity in Japan hadn’t waned, the publishing revenue from Moon In’s works in Japan was highly favorable to Kyosensha, and Yohei Iwamoto, as the person in charge, had secured his status as the exclusive translator for future projects…

In short, the industry, the company, and the person in charge were all sending positive signals for the business.

With this trinity cutting through the labyrinth of shady connections, they were fully prepared to sweep through the notoriously insular Japanese publishing industry.

“Ufufufu…”

Yohei Iwamoto let out a sinister laugh, licking his lips with his tongue.

“No. 1 Bestseller in Japan.”

Just thinking about devouring that glorious title as if it were freshly prepared winter yellowtail sashimi made him unable to hold back his laughter.

* * *

The small ball launched in Korea was received in Japan, and by the time that ball was passed to the U.S., it was no longer a small ball.

Therefore, Collins Press editor Rachel Surface could engrave these phrases on the cover of the novel ‘Starry Sky’:

<No. 1 Bestseller in Korea>

<No. 1 Bestseller in Japan>

“Oh.”

It perfectly encapsulated everything Americans imagined to be a charming Asian. China was seen as a mortal rival, and most Americans couldn’t even pinpoint Southeast Asia on a map.

So Rachel Surface, twirling her hair around her finger, deliberated for a moment before refining the catchphrase.

<The Sensational New Release Sweeping Through Asia!>

<No. 1 Bestseller in Japan>

<No. 1 Bestseller in Korea>

If it had swept through Japan and Korea, then from the perspective of Americans, it had indeed swept through Asia. And since Japan was more recognizable, she swapped the order of Korea and Japan.

Perfect!

“Great!”

Rachel Surface didn’t forget to include the prestigious title of ‘The Booker International Prize Nominee’. After all, it’s an S-tier literary award that always resonates in the English-speaking world.

Thus, the novel Starry Sky, which suddenly appeared out of nowhere without any prior buildup, briefly became the No. 1 bestseller in the U.S.!

Of course, it wasn’t on the overall rankings.

It wasn’t even on the rankings of online bookstores.

It was simply No. 1 in the literature section, based on a 24-hour tally, for a very short period of time.

And then, just as quickly, it vanished somewhere around 39th place.

But that was more than enough.

Rachel Surface sent an email to the bald editor Lim something from Baekhak Publishing.

– Mission complete.

* * *

Sometime later,

The book bands for ‘Starry Sky’ were updated in both Korea and Japan.

The new book band now carried the fact: “No. 1 Bestseller in the U.S.”

This marked the moment when Lim Yang-wook’s operation was half a success.

*****

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