The Great Storyteller

Translator: – – Editor: – –

Translated by: ShawnSuh

Edited by: SootyOwl

“Now, let’s talk about you,” Dong Gil said as Juho took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. It was sudden, but it wasn’t a surprise. That meeting had been set up for Dong Gil and Juho from the start.

Juho learned how unique of a person Dong Gil was. Now, it was his turn.

“Didn’t you want to know what I looked like?” Juho asked light-heartedly.

“I did, but that was until I met you. I wanted to know what makes you look like a genius.”

“I’m not sure if I am one. Speaking of which, you wrote the novel called ‘The Genius,’ right?”

“I did. It was about a genius who was born in a time that wasn’t quite ready to welcome him. He eventually falls into ruin.”

“He starved to death in the end.”

‘The Genius’ was written entirely in the first-person perspective. The protagonist was a pianist who came from a poor family. He was also a genius. He was recognized for his skills and received a special scholarship to a music school. Unfortunately, without personal connections or wealth, there was no chance for him to prove himself at that school.

In the end, the protagonist left the school and made a living performing on the streets. Sadly, he failed to draw attention and met with a tragic demise.

In his final performance, he resented his gift of music as his life slowly faded away.

“You’ve read it?”

“I have.”

At Juho’s short answer, Dong Gil showed him the back of his notepad. There, it was written: The list of things I clearly dislike.

‘What do you know?!’ If there was a list of things he clearly liked, Juho had wondered if there was also an opposite version of it. Unlike the positive version that started at the front of the notepad, that list started at the back.

“I wrote ‘genius’ on top.”

It wasn’t really necessary for him to show that. As a proof, Dong Gil put his notepad in front of Juho’s face. The word ‘genius’ was definitely on it. Underneath was ‘hairs of a beast.’

“I’m not a genius, so obviously, it makes me sick whenever I’m around one of those arrogant bastards. They think they’re so talented. They make me want to shut ’em up. That’s why I starved the protagonist to death,” Dong Gil said bitterly as he imagined the protagonist of ‘The Genius’ walking down the path of destruction.

To him, there was nothing positive about the word “genius.” His physiological response was to deny them. As a writer, he couldn’t help but to express such feelings in his writing.

“Whether somebody’s a genius or a criminal, everyone’s equal before starvation.”

“That’s true. They’re human at the end of the day.”

“Seeing these geniuses dying so tragically, it makes me wonder if God is as twisted as I am,” he said confidently with a blank expression and continued looking at Juho. “What do you think? If somebody like me were a God, a genius like you wouldn’t possibly be able to live happily ever after.”

His tone was dry, and Juho thought, ‘He might be right. If God really hates geniuses, then it makes sense that my life ended the way it did.’

Juho had lived such a life because he had been hated by God. He had become drunk with his own talent and stopped trying. He had been trapped within his own world and glorified himself as the king. If God was anything like Dong Gil, Juho would have certainly infuriated him.

Yet, Juho came back. He had been given a second chance and he was still living.

In that case, “I quit being a genius.”

There’s no other way than to quit.

At Juho’s answer, Dong Gil’s jaw dropped ever so slightly. It had been a completely unexpected answer, and soon, he started smirking.

“You’re a strange one.”

“Am I?”

“Very.”

As he muttered, Dong Gil wrote something in his notepad.

‘You’re one to talk,’ thought Juho. ‘Genius. He had created a character and then called him a genius. Had that been appropriate?’

“I didn’t think the protagonist was a genius.”

“What?”

Juho spoke his mind. He had been wanting to say that since a moment ago.

“The talent of a genius is bound to charm people, no matter the time and place. In any situation, that talent shines even if the genius is approaching death. The talent is merciless even to the one who possesses it. If the protagonist really were a genius, others around him wouldn’t have let him starve to death.”

There was no boundary in the fairness of talent. It was equally cruel to everyone. Juho had talent, and whoever possessed a talent was often referred to as a genius. People called Juho genius, and he had thought it would last forever.

Yet, he had eventually experienced failure, and there had no longer been anyone calling him a genius.

Though praised as a gifted author at one point, Juho had left the literature field. On the other hand, Dong Gil, who denied his talent, continued writing. At the rock bottom of his life, Juho read Dong Gil’s books and laughed.

‘His success does not come from his talent,’ thought Juho.

Then, his failure was probably not going to have anything to do with his talent either.

Juho’s failure hadn’t been for lack of talent. The protagonist in the book was the same.

“The protagonist is not a genius. He envied talent and was ashamed of putting in the effort. That’s why you starved him to death, right?”

He was merely envious of talent. He didn’t put in the effort. He had never fought to obtain it. He simply sank deeper into the depths. There was no resistance.

He didn’t bother trying to live. He didn’t want to eat. No wonder he had starved to death.

After listening quietly, Dong Gil’s mouth opened, and he said, “You seem very convinced. There’s always a handful of people who find out, no matter how well I hide it. There’s no reward in having secrets because of those people.”

Dong Gil was aware of how magnificent a talent could be. It was like a gem that shone on its own without sunlight. On its own, it had the ability to charm people.

He had come to learn that he didn’t have such a thing. A youngster who picked up a pen much later than Dong Gil had written something that exceeded his expectations. He remembered his first experience with Juho’s writing. His heart had pounded aggressively.

‘But I started first. I wrote so much more.’

Talent had been cruel to Dong Gil. To him, there was nothing more unfair.

Figure of speech was not one of Dong Gil’s strengths. He couldn’t write anything fancy or magnificent and he wrestled with his weaknesses. Then, he discovered Hemingway and received help from his writing.

‘Let’s keep it simple, cutting out whatever’s unnecessary. I’ll write something simple and to-the-point, just like my savior, Hemingway.’

“Everybody wants to be a genius, myself included at one point.”

As a young man, Dong Gil had wanted to be a genius. That had been why he had starved the pianist to death. Although it had been a shameful past, he hadn’t wanted to neglect it. For that reason, he had hid it deep within his writing. He had pretended to be clueless to the questioning critics.

Yet, of all occasions, this youngster, who had just quit being a genius, had found out about his secret. Dong Gil remembered the face of a friend who had discovered his secret immediately, just like Juho did. It was aggravating, but Dong Gil found himself smiling for some reason.

“Give me your number, now,” Dong Gil said forcefully as he took out his cell phone out of his chest pocket.

*

“Hello…” Dong Gil heard a cracked voice over the phone. That pathetic fellow must have been sleeping until that time. The sun was setting. It was obvious that he had been binge watching dramas that he hadn’t been able to watch while he had been writing.

Dong Gil said, “Come out.”

“Come out where? I just woke up, man. I’m still half asleep. I’m going back to bed.”

“I just met Yun Woo.”

Thump. Thud. It sounded like something fell on the floor. Dong Gil could picture the man’s messy room. From A to Z, there was nothing to like about that guy. Then, the friend on the phone answered with an excited voice, “Should I go to that restaurant?”

“Yep.”

Dong Gil got in his car and headed toward the restaurant he went to frequently with his friend. It was a mediocre place, both in taste and price, but they went regularly because of its convenient location.

Seo Joong Ahn hated going out with a passion, especially somewhere far. Dong Gil lived in the same neighborhood, and it was also convenient for him to stay close to home. For that reason, they made themselves regulars at that restaurant.

After parking his car nearby, Doing Gil went into the restaurant. There was a man wearing a black sweatshirt and pants. His untidy, bed-headed appearance made it obvious that he had just gotten out of bed. Dong Gil cringed at the sight. Upon seeing Dong Gil, the man raised his hand up and waved.

“I’m here.”

“Put your hand down. I can see you.”

After taking their seats, the two ordered a couple bowls of noodle soup.

“Man, you finally met him. I applaud your quick-to-act attitude. So how was it? Woman? Man? Do you have a picture?”

He was making a big fuss. On purpose, Dong Gil parted his lips as slowly as possible.

“Yun Woo is a boy. I don’t have a picture of him.”

“Why not?”

“Because… whether I take one or not is up to me.”

The food had made its way onto their table. As he slurped on the noodles, Seo Joong asked, “So, did you rip the young genius a new one?”

“Nope. He ripped ME a new one.”

“What? The infamous Dong Gil Uhm let a boy rip him a new one?”

“Who are you calling infamous?”

At the unamusing title given by his friend, Dong Gil expressed annoyance. Seo Joong waved his hand at his friend, a gesture meant to express that there were more important things.

“Hurry up! Tell me more! I’m dying to know.”

Seo Joong looked like he’d throw a temper tantrum, like a child if he didn’t get what he asked for. To prevent it from happening, Dong Gil calmly told his friend of his encounter with Juho.

Juho Woo. He was a type who would calmly munch on his cake amid bolts out of the blue.

“He quit what? A seventeen-year old said that?”

“Yes, he did. I ended up writing it on my notepad without even thinking.”

Dong Gil opened the front part of his notepad. There were three syllables written there: Juho Woo.

With his eyes on that not-so-funny list, Seo Joong said with a serious face, “So, he did have what it takes to write something like that, after all.”

Dong Gil nodded. Before Juho’s book had even come out, the furor that had already spread across the publishing industry was: ‘There’s an author making his debut at the age of sixteen.’

Frankly, Dong Gil had paid no attention. He clearly remembered picking up Juho’s book with a cynical smile.

However, the reality was not what he had thought. Until he read the book himself, Dong Gil hadn’t realized that he had been underestimating that author because of his age.

‘The Trace of a Bird’ was about a boy who was afraid of birds. He only left his house at night and wondered the streets. That was when all of the birds were asleep.

It was pure. It had literary value. Yun Woo knew how to control his emotions.

It was hard to believe that a sixteen-year old had written a book like that.

“I hadn’t cried like that from reading in years.”

There wasn’t necessarily a sad part in the book. Nobody died or got into an accident. The boy just faced the rising sun at the end.

It was such a simple scene. Yet, Dong Gil had been moved to tears.

“We must have looked ridiculous. Two older men, crying their eyes out, each with a book in their hands,” Seo Joong said as he snickered.

“Why did it have to be at my place?”

“What was I supposed to do? My mom wanted me to bring you some food. I wanted to eat while I was at it too.”

Back then, Seo Joong had gone over with a book in one hand and a bundle of food on the other. He had been wearing blue at the time.

“I guess there was nothing to worry about all along.”

“What do you mean?” Seo Joong asked with a piece of kimchi in his mouth.

“If he’s that much of a character, I’m thinking we can expect him to write another book. Think about it. Everyone’s going crazy around him. Wouldn’t you be overwhelmed? I would’ve hid on an island somewhere.”

“Weakling.”

Though Dong Gil answered bluntly, he had thought the same. At one point, he too had thought that he might never see another book from Yun Woo. That author had definitely had a bad start. He had become way too successful, way too young. A leaf was most vulnerable when it was freshly sprouted. Dong Gil had believed that until he met Juho in person.

“It’s possible.”

“We should be on our toes.”

Seo Joong’s eyes moved calmly. It was extremely rare for him to be nervous. However, Dong Gil couldn’t help but agree.

“We should.”