337p日本欧洲亚洲大胆

‘But… is it really necessary to go back to my real-world?’

To that place where he didn’t have a house, or family, or friends, or even a job since yesterday?

‘I don’t know how to go back anyway.’

His thoughts didn’t continue for long. His body, tired from falling into the water, soon succumbed to exhaustion. Kim Jungjin fell back to sleep.

In the Royal Capital Defense Corps-affiliated school dorm, located in the city of Rudein, Albion Kingdom, Dernier Continent, Kim Jungjin snuggled inside the warm blankets of his bed.

It was the very setting in the novel manuscript -Albion Kingdom’s Prince-, which he, the (former) editor, had been reviewing up to yesterday.

– Into the Manuscript (1) –

His five years of work ended fruitlessly.

The wholesaler they did most of their business with went bankrupt, so the publishing company that only had four employees could only nervously hold onto a dishonored check. Even without that problem, their books weren’t selling, and the business was barely hanging on. The head of the publishing company he worked on had no choice but to close the company.

Tonight was the last company dinner.

“Editor Kim Jungjin, you’ve worked hard up until now.”

“Ah, no, sir.”

“And you’ve shouldered all sorts of unpleasant tasks, too.”

An editor’s job has been romanticized a lot in the media, but in reality, it was closer to being an author’s servant. He had no authority to change the author’s subject or direction. He made annotations, took care of translation clarifications, and at times, he found himself tearfully imploring the author while white-knuckling the phone. Thanks to that, he properly learned how to smile while swearing internally. He wanted to punch this tiny old man, but he held out in hopes of receiving severance pay.

“Rather, I learned many things thanks to you, sir.”

“The authors always praised you and said you worked meticulously.”

“I didn’t do anything particularly impressive – thank you for speaking well of me.”

“That’s right; you’re this polite, too.”

The company head who, before, derided him directly, saying his work wasn’t satisfactory and he didn’t have any flexibility, spoke contradictions with the same mouth. It was his habit only to be kind when drinking.

‘Well, whatever. It’s the end now.’

News about nuclear rearmament or whatever continued on the television in the bar. At times like this, he wondered if it would even matter if the world just ended. They finished drinking in that heavy atmosphere after emptying several bottles of soju.

It was late at night, yet the stuffy feeling wouldn’t go away. Jungjin mindlessly walked home from the company in Gangbuk towards the rooftop room he had lived in for several years atop the hill in Sangdang-dong. It had been left while the owner waited for redevelopment, so the rent was cheap since the house was old and uncomfortable. He was informed that he had to vacate that as well, as the continuously delayed redevelopment would be starting.

‘If I leave this place, where would I go?’

He had come to Seoul as an adult, having grown up in a fishing village until high school. He had placed an application for an unpopular major in the liberal arts so he could leave that rural area. It seemed he had used all his life’s luck in just getting into college. After that, he lived life as a working student.

Five years ago, when a typhoon came, he had paid the hospital costs for his mother, who had been hurt while looking after the fishery. Eventually, his mother passed after several years on a sickbed. The hospital costs she accumulated before her passing was too much to handle for a young adult with student loans. No one was there to help him. His father had passed away on a ship when he was three years old; his younger sibling was lost playing near a reservoir when he was younger.

Nothing good happened to him throughout his whole life.

The streets were almost empty. It was already past midnight when he trudged up the sidewalk of Dongjak Bridge, over to the south side of the river. He felt bitter, being homeless in the middle of a packed forest of apartments.

How much time had passed with him in that state?

Brrr- brrr-

Kim Jungjin came back to his senses at the vibration of his cell ringing like it was telling him to stop spacing out. It was the alert for his work email.

‘It’s past two in the morning; who’s sending this?’

[RE: RE: RE: RE: Manuscript Submission]

[Hello, Editor Kim Jungjin.

This is Mousai.

Thank you for giving a positive reply to my previous request. I will definitely provide compensation for participating in the revision of the manuscript from now on as well.

The manuscript that will be written this time will be the -Final Manuscript- of -Albion Kingdom’s Prince-. It is my life goal to finish this story perfectly.

If you work with me, I think I will be able to continue with Part 2 this time properly.

Thank you.]

It was an unexpected email from the manuscript author. Seeing the email, the alcohol-fueled haze over his mind cleared.

“Wait, when did I say I would help?”

.

.

.

Kim Jungjin had received the first email from the author known as Mousai last Friday. It was in the middle of his late-night work, as the amount of work he had to do had been increasing as the company’s closing approached. It had arrived when he was utterly exhausted from trying to finish everything up at once, from organizing the translation license to calculating outsource fees.

[A new email has arrived. (1)]

[Subject: Manuscript Submission]

Attached file: -Albion Kingdom’s Prince-.hwp]

The company head was a cheap man who refrained from printing out the manuscripts as much as possible, but Jungjin printed out the attachment on an impulse.

‘I’d like to destroy that printer and make the office a mess, but could I do that?’

He shoved off his timid thoughts of sabotage and left work right away after pushing the manuscript print-out in his bag. The weekend would be busy as he searched the unemployment benefits request guidelines and job hunting sites. He even made a cover letter draft, though he didn’t want to. What he had was a bachelor’s degree in history that he wanted to apologize for and a so-so work experience at the age of thirty-two. He opened a can of beer and stared at the cover letter form. Eventually, his mind started to drift away from his task. Emptying the beer, he decided to pull the printed manuscript out.

-Albion Kingdom’s Prince- (by Mousai)

‘Is it fantasy? The author’s name also seems like a nickname.’

How did he find this old and small company in the first place? Their company does not publish novels. Maybe it was a mistake. Jungjin was accustomed to the persistent submissions of nationalist pseudo-historians, so he felt like reviewing something like fantasy would be a nice change of pace. The writing itself was surprisingly quite interesting, so he read to the end in a day.

But it wasn’t finished.

‘Six thousand pages? And that is just Part 1?’

There was an author’s postscript at the end. It said that the manuscript had been handwritten at first, then copied over. Also, it states that the author had fixed and rewritten it eight times.

‘Eight times?! The tenacity is impressive.’

Normally, it was custom not to even send a refusal email about sub-standard manuscripts, but this author had put a lot of effort into the writing. It was hard to ignore. Having finished reading it, Jungjin had sent a reply. The author responded immediately, so they exchanged several emails as he gave advice. Because Jungjin wasn’t really an editor that looked over novel manuscripts, he even kindly advised that it was sent over to a relevant publisher, like Golden B**gh or Ja*gwa Mo*.

‘I thought that the conversation ended with that.’

So why had this reply come at three in the morning?

‘Does the author not realize he was rejected?’

At a glance, an email that ended with [‘I hope we will be able to meet someday, and please keep writing well.’] could seem like it wasn’t a refusal, but normally… would people interpret that as an agreement to help?

‘Well, who cares.’

Jungjin closed the app and stowed his cellphone away. When he did, it looked like letters passed by his eyes.

[-The message has been received.]

“And now I’m hallucinating.”

He shook his head as he was about to finish crossing the bridge, a strong wind blowing in from the river. The streetlamps of the Dongjak Bridge turned off, and the lights from the apartments across the river flickered off.

“Huh?”

He wasn’t moving, but it felt like his body was tilting off the banister. The ominous dark river was below him, pulling him down. He hated water; bad things had always happened in water. To think he walked across a bridge on the Han River – while he was drunk, no less. Had he been in his right mind, he wouldn’t have done that.

‘If someone saw it, they’d think I’m trying to commit suicide.’

He didn’t want there to be an article about suicide due to job loss about him. He tried to lift himself over the banister, but he couldn’t break free of the water rushing around him.

Soon, he found himself getting swept away by the dark current.