Novelist Running Through Time-Chapter 187

Chapter 187
Novelist Running Through Time
TL: KSD
Once upon a time.
That is, about two months ago.
Gu Yu-na, who lived in a detached house (two floors, with a yard) in the middle of Seoul, was spending her days in melancholy.
She had three people she could call friends: Kim Byul and Min Hyo-min, who were active celebrities and therefore had no time, and Moon In, that guy, was the root cause of her gloom.
Gu Yu-na decided to look for a way to relieve this gloom.
The answer was obvious.
When you’re feeling down, after all, you need to see a little blood to feel alive.
Gu Yu-na participated in a battle royale where people kill and get killed for trivial pleasure.
It was a writing contest.
There happened to be one held in Chungcheong Province.
It was quite far, but thanks to her mother’s flourishing business, the driver ahjussi that came along was fairly familiar now.
Gu Yu-na arrived in Chungcheong Province, escorted by the driver like a rich girl (which she was).
Thus, she entered the contest and, as usual, claimed first place.
Up to this point, everything was as usual.
Participating in writing contests was something she always did, and winning first place was something she always did too.
But after this, things were not like usual.
“Are you perhaps Gu Yu-na, the student who wrote ‘Starry Sky’?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this is delightful! It’s an honor to meet a superstar of our literary world. By the way, how is your honorable father doing? Oh, and as for where I work…”
Ever since ‘Starry Sky’ won the Hugo Award, Gu Yu-na had been encountering more and more sycophantic adults in her daily life.
The changes brought by the Hugo Award ended there.
The honor of the award belonged to the bald editor, the monetary compensation was less than her mother’s wealth, and the joy of literary growth had faded due to the severed relationship with Moon In.
That voice still vividly echoed in mind.
‘No.’
Not “I’m sorry” or “I don’t want to.”
Just ‘No.’
That was Moon In’s response to Gu Yu-na.
If it had been “I’m sorry” she could have tried to persuade him; if it had been “I don’t want to” there might have been room to change his mind.
But “No” was something a dog owner would say to a puppy begging for food.
So, did Moon In think of her as something like a leashed puppy?
Thinking that made the anger creep up inside her.
But she couldn’t be certain of that anger.
Because Gu Yu-na didn’t understand other people’s psychology.
And because Gu Yu-na knew that she didn’t know.
That “knowing of not knowing” is the beginning of all wisdom.
Gu Yu-na was too wise to claim she understood what she did not.
Through a cruel childhood brought on by a twisted personality, Gu Yu-na realized that she was someone incapable of grasping others.
Gu Yu-na resigned herself to the fact that if someone who cannot understand humans tries to communicate with their own will, the result is inevitably disastrous.
Therefore, the emotion Gu Yu-na had toward Moon In was mostly helplessness.
The reason Gu Yu-na accepted the response “No” wasn’t because she agreed with Moon In’s answer.
She didn’t agree, and she desperately wanted to rebel, but she knew that following her own twisted nature would never end well.
So what could she do?
Even though her first declaration of love in life collapsed in the most miserable way, all she could do was feel helpless and turn away.
“……”
Maybe she shouldn’t have confessed.
Maybe she should have just stayed friends.
‘Starry Sky’ had now become Gu Yu-na’s most hated book. Even hearing the title brought bad memories to mind.
So, Gu Yu-na ran away from the contest judge ahjussi who tried to befriend her by mentioning ‘Starry Sky’.
“I have another appointment. I’ll be going now. I’m sorry.”
Gu Yu-na said she was sorry even though she wasn’t.
She didn’t know why, but doing that seemed to make things in life go smoothly enough.
It felt like she had fallen into a strange country. She lived with that feeling. Always.
“Oh, if that’s the case, I suppose it can’t be helped…. At least take my business card. If there’s a chance next time-”
“Yes, thank you. Goodbye.”
With the etiquette she had learned, Gu Yu-na escaped the crisis of communication.
But she had come to the writing contest to feel better, and now she was in a worse mood.
What on earth was she supposed to do?
She didn’t know.
If you don’t know, you endure. Just like always.
“Ha!”
That’s when it happened.
A girl she had never seen before appeared.
“Are you Gu Yu-na, the one who wrote ‘Starlight’?”
The girl whose fierce gaze couldn’t be hidden even by her round glasses suddenly jumped out from around the corner of the hallway and blocked Gu Yu-na’s path.
Then, crossing her arms, she gave a hostile smile.
“Living the good life now, huh? Ignoring Writer Choi Young-ran like that.”
“Who’s that?”
“Wow, you don’t even know who you were just talking to?”
“Ah, they introduced themselves to me as a professor.”
“How arrogant…!”
Gu Yu-na stared at the girl who was clearly expressing open hostility toward her.
This girl was, without a doubt, deliberately provoking her emotions with a specific purpose.
But why?
Why on earth does she want to make me angry?
Gu Yu-na listened to the girl’s words with one ear and let them out the other, and with rational thinking, she quickly arrived at the answer.
All that was left was to confirm it.
As she pondered how to address this unnamed girl, Gu Yu-na quickly identified her most distinctive feature.
“Hey. Glasses.”
“Wha…!”
Then she stepped forward,
Brought her emotionless face close.
And asked.
“You. You feel inferior to me, don’t you.”
EP 11 – Evening Bell
“Stop. You don’t need to tell me any more.”
I cut off Gu Yu-na’s story.
Min Hyo-chan nudged me with his elbow, saying it was getting interesting, so why stop.
“Why? Don’t you want to hear more?”
“Sunbae, who do you think would win in a verbal fight between Gu Yu-na and Ahn Joo-hee?”
“Ah.”
Min Hyo-chan looked once at the expressionless Gu Yu-na, then once at Ahn Joo-hee trembling in the corner, then back at Gu Yu-na.
“Ah-ha.”
Min Hyo-chan seemed to understand and returned to his seat. He must have been able to imagine clearly the fate of Ahn Joo-hee, who had picked a fight with Gu Yu-na that day.
Gu Yu-na followed after Min Hyo-chan, poked him in the side with her finger. Leaving Min Hyo-chan’s scream behind, I turned my gaze back to Ahn Joo-hee and Moon Ji-seop.
“Well, welcome to our club. Ahn Joo-hee, will you be okay?”
“W-what do you mean?”
“You know you’re not supposed to put a shark and a sardine in the same tank, right?”
“Are you saying I’m the sardine! You think I’m just going to walk out of here? I’m not scared of anything!”
The sardine from Ansan, Gyeonggi Province didn’t seem willing to give up on club activities.
If she says so, then maybe so.
I slowly lost interest and returned to my own tasks.
The Popular Culture and Arts Research Club, which I was returning to after a long time, was functioning as normally as ever.
Min Hyo-chan was in the corner playing some low-grade Chinese otaku mobile game, Min Hyo-min was clinging to Gu Yu-na, pestering her, and Kim Byul was lost in her smartphone or so I thought, but she was only pretending to use her phone, her eyes shifting back and forth.
Apparently, Kim Byul felt awkward with the two new members who had just joined.
Or perhaps it was the unfamiliarity of restarting club activities after three years.
But in the end, it was something time would take care of, so I sat down in the corner and opened my laptop.
Then, absentmindedly, I glanced at Gu Yu-na.
“……”
“Hm…”
Our eyes met.
The fact that our eyes met the moment I looked over meant that Gu Yu-na had been staring at me.
But even in the continued eye contact, I couldn’t find any words to say.
After all, this was our first time meeting since the breakup and the kidnapping, what could I possibly say?
Starting a conversation as if nothing happened would be strange…
But then Gu Yu-na spoke first.
“What are you looking at?”
“……”
Faced with her chilling hostility, I instinctively lowered my gaze.
It seemed that Gu Yu-na had become even more aggressive…
I had no idea how to go back to those times when we used to talk about literature.
Was this something time could solve too?
Or was it just my problem…
Just as I was starting to feel a bit conflicted, someone tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Moon Ji-seop. Next to him stood Ahn Joo-hee, wearing her usual dissatisfied expression.
“Hey, In-seop.”
“Yeah?”
“What… do we do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Club activities. Aren’t we supposed to be doing something?”
I looked around.
Min Hyo-chan was tilting his chair like he could fall over any second, playing a low-grade Chinese otaku mobile game.
Kim Byul and Min Hyo-min were bickering on either side of Gu Yu-na, each claiming she was their emotional support doll.
It was the club, as always.
“Why? Everyone’s doing club activities.”
“…This counts?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah?”
As Moon Ji-seop and I traded question marks back and forth, Ahn Joo-hee, who had been standing with her arms crossed watching from the side, cut in.
“‘Yeah’ what do you mean ‘yeah’! You seriously call this club activity?”
“That’s right though?”
“Were you guys always like this?”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘always like this’.”
Thud! Ahn So-hee slammed her hand on the desk and shouted at me.
“You’re telling me you all got together during club time and did nothing but shoot the breeze?!”
Since I had not a single stain of shame in my heart, I answered confidently.
“Yeah.”
“Arghhhhhhh-!”
Ahn So-hee roared like a dinosaur.
She really is a strange one.
***
“Everyone, attention!”
Most spaces in school are basically classrooms. The clubroom was no exception.
So Ahn So-hee stood at the front of the blackboard, behind the teacher’s podium.
“Come on, gather up!”
Ahn Joo-hee from Ansan, Gyeonggi Province, was not only an admirable literature student but also a formidable student council president.
Her voice carried the faint authority of someone who had wielded a student government armband before.
On top of that, Moon Ji-seop was standing behind her like a bodyguard, all in the name of being a good friend, so even though it was a sudden summons, the club members shuffled and sluggishly made their way over to Ahn Joo-hee.
Of course, Min Hyo-chan, who couldn’t tear himself away from his phone, was the exception. He was engrossed in his pew-pew mobile game.
Ahn Joo-hee yelled.
“I said, gather up for a second!”
Only then did Min Hyo-chan, who had been lounging in his chair like a delinquent, slowly shift his gaze.
Through his drooping pink hair, the chic eyes of an active male idol shot out.
“Why should I?”
“…!!!”
When an ugly guy acts like a jerk, he’s just annoying. But when a good-looking guy acts like a jerk, it’s heart-fluttering.
Ahn Joo-hee, first-year high school student.
At that age where <Bad Boy> types hit hardest.
‘So he really is an idol… that face is something else…’
Ahn Joo-hee had a sudden heart-throb.
Then Min Hyo-min thumped Min Hyo-chan on the head with a loud bonk.
“Agh!”
“Hey, if someone’s calling you over, just go. She’s probably got something planned.”
“You’re just gonna hit your older brother like that without a care?!”
“You’re nuts. ‘Older brother’? What kind of ancient speech is that…”
“This crazy girl, seriously, the fans should see the real you…”
“Who are you calling a crazy girl, huh?!”
S-tier idol Min Hyo-min dragged C-tier idol Min Hyo-chan over, smacking him around. Such was the strict hierarchy of Baekhak Entertainment.
‘Goodbye, my love, Min Hyo-chan…’
With her rich imagination worthy of a literature student, Ahn Joo-hee had already simulated a 24-episode high school rom-com with bad boy Min Hyo-chan. She sank briefly into the grief of a breakup before recovering.
Then she returned to her role as a cold-blooded politician (two-term middle school student council president) and lamented reality in front of her audience.
“Everyone, can we really say that the activities of our Popular Culture and Arts Research Club are okay like this?”
Three hours into joining the club, Ahn Joo-hee was already calling it “our Popular Culture and Arts Research Club”.
Truly, it was a veteran move befitting a seasoned establishment politician.
“You might not know this, but among students of Baekhak Arts Middle and High School, Popular Culture and Arts Research Club is known as a ‘special’ club made up of truly exceptional students. But what we actually do here is just self-study? Shouldn’t we consider shifting to something a bit more meaningful, at least for the sake of those expectations?”
Kim Byul muttered.
“We don’t just do self-study though…”
Ahn Joo-hee, who hadn’t yet been drilled in ‘manners’ by veteran actress Kim Byul, raised her clear voice again.
“While we’re on the topic, let me ask! What exactly is it that this club does?!”
It was an interesting question, so instead of scolding her for her tone, Kim Byul went into serious contemplation.
And it was the same for everyone else. Even though they were in the Popular Culture and Arts Research Club, no one really knew what the club was actually about.
Starting with one or two people mumbling to themselves, everyone began to join the discussion.
Min Hyo-chan kicked it off.
“Uh… usually we just hang out and do our own thing? I guess?”
Moon In added.
“Sometimes when it’s over, Kim sunbae drops by and takes us to a pizza place.”
Kim Byul, with a slightly embarrassed look, recalled a memorable episode.
“Once in a while, we’d barge into Baekhak Entertainment and use the massage chairs, and then CEO Baek Seung-won would give us pocket money…”
“I still remember when Gu Yu-na’s mother took us for a meal. Wow- seriously, I didn’t even know restaurants like that existed. Just how rich is her family?”
“Should I ask?”
“No. Don’t ask and don’t tell us either. It’s scary…”
“Sometimes Director So Tae-woong stops by and buys us chicken and pizza, and sometimes we all go to the snack bar for treats, sneak out of school early without the teachers knowing, and sometimes…”
Ahn Joo-hee, unable to take it anymore, cut off the discussion.
“Wow, you guys really do nothing but play. Wait! Wasn’t this supposed to be a literature club?”
“No it’s not?”
“No, but still, you must at least study writing, right? Moon In is here! Moon In is hereee!”
Kim Byul, deciding that she would soon have to gently give this aggressive junior a little “warning” still answered kindly for now.
“Studying literature… well, actually, we did enough literature that it wouldn’t be wrong to call it a literature club. We used to write web novels together back in the day.”
Finally, hearing a topic of interest, Ahn Joo-hee perked up.
“But usually, only Moon In and Yu-na did the literature stuff, I think? It’s hard to even call it club activity. Because Hyo-chan, Hyo-min, and I were busy with company schedules and often couldn’t make it. So back then, Moon In would take Yu-na around to different writing contests, or he’d give her private lessons.”
Thanks to Kim Byul’s detailed and precise answer, Ahn Joo-hee had no choice but to face reality.
And that reality was bleak.
“Is this even a club…?”
Everyone awkwardly looked away, smiling sheepishly at the lament about whether such a poorly run organization could even be called a club. Facts hurt the most.
So Min Hyo-chan hit her with another fact.
“But still… the piece those two wrote together won the Hugo Award…”
“Ah.”
Ahn Joo-hee clutched the back of her neck.
*****