The Great Storyteller

Translated by: ShawnSuh

Edited by: SootyOwl

A laughing voice said from behind them. There was not one bit of guilt in it. Nodding inadvertently, Juho locked eyes with Hyun Do. As the young author looked away awkwardly, Hyun Do asked calmly, “You heard that?”

“I did.”

Hyun Do didn’t sound like he was calling the young author out. After that, the two made their way into the underground subway station. The further they went down the stairs, the stuffier the air became.

“Nobody deserves to die.”

“Because life is precious, and we’re all equal?”

“That’s the only way society can function,” Hyun Do said, putting his hands in his pocket.

“‘I’m sorry?”

“Think about it. You’ve written about war. You would know. If there was such a thing as people who were deemed unnecessary to society, society would collapse on itself as soon as they were born. At which point, all individuals would lose the ability to function properly in the society they were living in. This is what makes murder a crime.”

Then, Hyun Do took out a bill from his wallet and gave it to the homeless man, who nodded while avoiding Hyun Do’s eyes, not even bothering to look at the generous giver.

“Good luck,” Juho said while thinking about the convenience store employee. At that point, a peculiar look appeared on the homeless man’s face. Walking past the homeless man, Hyun Do went farther into the subway station, and told Juho, who was catching up to him, “Everyone’s contributing to society somehow. Even if they’re doing nothing but breathing, existing. We’re all part of something greater. We’re all serving a purpose.”

It was a remark that almost sounded like something Wol would say. Remembering that he had just met Wol himself, Juho chuckled. Meanwhile, throngs of people walked up and down the stairs.

“If you tell that to people who actually work hard, they won’t appreciate it.”

“By saying what?” Hyun Do asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

“That you shouldn’t put them on equal footing with homeless people. That they’re different.”

“They’re not wrong. They’ve led different lives. Of course, it wouldn’t be fair to treat the two the same way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you watch the news yesterday? There was a homeless man who was wanted for murder.”

“…”

“Not everyone’s equal.”

Juho looked back at the homeless man on the ground. Filthy. Ugly. Sympathy was the last thing that came to mind when looking at the man. No matter how Juho looked at him, the harder it became to like him. However, the young author decided not to treat the man like a murderer. Frankly, Juho was well aware of what Hyun Do was saying. At that moment…

“Did you see that?”

“I’d rather kill myself.”

… A group of people walking past the young author said. Juho looked toward Hyun Do, who started walking ahead without firing back.

“Oh!” Juho let out, stopping in his tracks. Although his sudden behavior caught the people who were behind him off guard and forced them to go around him, Juho didn’t care one bit. He felt that he couldn’t afford the attention nor the time.

“What’s the matter?”

“I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Figure out what?”

“Your version of the white book.”

“…”

“Did you kill the protagonist, by any chance?”

Then, turning toward Juho, Hyun Do asked, “What makes you think that?”

“You told me that you wrote about Mr. Kang’s death in different ways. Meaninglessly, heroically, meaningfully, silently, agonizingly, and peacefully.”

Juho distinctly remembered Hyun Do having said: “Wol clung to me with all kinds of looks on his face.”

When Juho looked at Hyun Do, he dropped his head, shrugging and saying, “… You should go write that story.”

Then, inhaling deeply, Juho said, “I think I just realized what I needed to change all along.”

“Is that so?”

“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Lim.”

Turning around, Juho left the subway station. Upon arriving home, the first thing he did was erase everything he had written.

—

“It’s night again.”

“The dark will always find a way.”

Wol was sitting on the roof with a shameless look on his face. Next to him, was a tall pile of broken ceiling tiles.

“So, this happened today,” Juho said, giving Wol an update on what had happened with Hyun Do the previous day. Wol seemed delighted to hear about Hyun Do or Yun Seo through Juho, as if intrigued to hear about how they were doing.

“Well, seems like they both aged gracefully.”

“I realized something though.”

“What?”

“… that I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Is that so?” Wol said, looking out into the distance. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to offer any help. Ignoring that, Juho kept on, “I’m going to remove the narrator and the homeless man altogether.”

“Why? It wasn’t that bad. Hyun Do must have really left an impression on you.”

“That’s part of it, but it doesn’t justify my decision as a whole.”

“Well, what else is there?” Wol asked, picking his ear.

Looking down at him, Juho replied, “I’m going to make the most out of the characters that you made.”

“Pff! You already turned him into a bum. Now, you’re changing your mind?”

“Yes, and that was my mistake. I realized that I was actually running away from the task by turning your story into a flashback.”

The protagonist who became homeless, and a client whose body had long decayed. Characters once full of life had suddenly become lifeless as the young author forced them into the past. ‘Yet, here I was, thinking that I was being bold,’ Juho thought to himself. The young author was starting to realize that he couldn’t make the story take place in the future. In fact, he realized that he had to be a part of the story that Wol had written.

“I wanna pick up where you left off,” the young author said, determined not to make Wol’s story a mere backstory. That wasn’t what Juho wanted. In fact, the characters and the background Wol had created needed to remain intact, just as they were.

“So, are you not gonna kill the client?” Wol asked haphazardly. That time, Juho knew better than to fall for his trick question.

“The protagonist kills the protagonist. I’ll show you what that looks like,” Juho said.

“You seem confident in your ability to convey death.”

“I mean, you have no interest in the afterlife, right?”

At that, Wol chuckled, shaking in an exaggerated manner as the wind blew.

“Making the protagonist homeless just doesn’t make sense to begin with. If one committed murder, then they would need to pay the price. There’s a reason for why murder is a crime. He doesn’t even deserve homelessness,” Juho said. Wol stared at the young author calmly, but with eyes filled with life.

“Do you even know what death means?”

“Yes, I do.”

Lying on his back while using one of the tiles as a pillow, Wol said, “The way you depict death resonates with a lot of people. You did get a lot of good feedback, didn’t you? And it was actually decent.”

Then, Wol proceeded to list some of the reviews the young author’s books that focused on death had received.

“Seriously, when it comes to the subject of death, you just can’t beat someone who has actually experienced it firsthand.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Forget that. Let me ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

“How are you alive?” Wol asked, rolling his eyes toward Juho. Although Wol was far too late in asking that question, Juho answered calmly, “I don’t know either, but who knows why they were born? Nobody knows what makes them who they are. Yes, people justify it in different ways, but at the end of the day, there is no right answer, and I think I can say the same about my luck too.”

“You don’t say?” Wol said in a mischievous tone, which often meant trouble. “Did you say that you were going to kill the client?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Are you doubting me?”

“No, I’m concerned,” Wol replied, crossing his legs while moving them to and fro, adding, “From the sound of it, you didn’t even die properly, so I’m wondering if you really have what it takes.”

Clenching his hand into fists and curling his lip, Juho asked, “Sounds to me like you want me to do a bad job.”

“You heard it right.”

“But it’s your book, Mr. Kang.”

“You’re the one writing it,” Wol said, his legs moving rhythmically. “I just thought it wouldn’t be that bad to hear you say that my books are better left untampered.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Kang, but you’ll never hear that from me.”

“Well, I still get to walk away with something, so…”

“Seems like you have two conflicting thoughts.”

“That’s the beauty of self-contradiction,” Wol said, laughing frivolously.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Juho asked, “Am I going in the right direction this time?”

That time, Wol nodded ambiguously. He was still impossible to read.

“Not too bad.”

Deciding to sound him out, Juho put his hands in his pockets and asked, “You were going to kill the client too, weren’t you? That’s why you made that character to begin with, am I right?”

“You got me,” Wol said, still wearing the same mischievous smile.

Swallowing nervously, Juho kept on, “How does he kill the client?”

“Look over there,” Wol said, pointing down at something. Juho looked down, but it was too dark to make anything out.

“And… Off he goes,” Wol said, pushing the young author’s shoulder. Grabbing Wol by the wrist, Juho asked, “I’m serious, Mr. Kang.”

“Was it obvious?” Wol asked.

“Can we take this a little more seriously?”

“Well, where’s the fun in that?”

“We’re not looking for fun here,” Juho replied, and suddenly, the mischievous smile faded from Wol’s face.

“Would you like to know what it means to die?” he asked. That time, feeling as though there would be an irreversible consequence, Juho couldn’t answer as willingly. Knowing the answer to that question would mean that he was no longer alive. Nobody who was still alive knew the answer.

“See? It takes the fun right out of it,” Wol said, turning around as if getting ready to leave. However, Juho didn’t let go of his wrist. Hesitating, Wol asked, “What is this about?”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Well, well! Look at you all smarted up! I guess picking people’s brains did pay off somehow, huh?”

“He buries the client alive, doesn’t he?”

At that moment, Wol’s eyebrow twitched. When he had pointed toward the ground, that had been the truth.

“It’s a person who gets buried in the cabbage patch, not the manuscript, isn’t it?”

At that moment, a gust of wind came along. Juho couldn’t keep his eyes open.

“Do you think you have what it takes?”

With that, Juho woke up, Wol’s voice still lingering in his ears.

—

“Mr. Woo? Mr. Woo!”

Nam Kyung’s voice sounded off from the receiver. Having dozed off, Juho sprung up, startled by the editor’s voice.

“Did you just pass out?”

“No way. I had a visitor.”

“… Please, Mr. Woo.”

Letting out a big yawn and clearing his throat, Juho put the phone on speaker mode. Nam Kyung’s voice reverberated through the room.

“Where were we?” Juho asked.

“I asked about your progress.”

“I started writing.”

At the young author’s response, Nam Kyung let out a long exclamation. Catching on to the editor’s ambition, Juho chuckled quietly and started to explain himself in an attempt to lower the editor’s expectation.

“I JUST started it.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Woo. You tend to write a lot faster than most people.”

“But this is different. I never had to finish another author’s book for them.”

“And that author is Wol Kang, right?”

Then, Juho started to grumble about his situation, which amused the editor.

“Well, I don’t have much add since I don’t know what kind of story Mr. Kang left behind, but break a leg, Mr. Woo. Also, remember to let me read it once you’re done writing it,” the editor said.

“We’ll talk when I’m finished.”

“Oh! I really hope we can work together again on your next book!” Nam Kyung said, sounding like an insurance agent. Replying haphazardly, Juho moved his hands to the keyboard. Then, as if hearing the sound of the keys, Nam Kyung’s voice tensed up slightly, and he asked, “… I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Hm.”

“Mr. Woo?”

“I am in the middle of writing. You know, the story Wol Kang left behind?”

“… Should I hang up?”

Having learned from Hyun Do, Juho had reached the point of being able to write while talking on the phone.

“It’s OK. I can multitask.”

“So… Do you think you can let me in on what you’re writing, Mr. Woo?” Nam Kyung asked desperately.

To which, Juho replied, “… As long as it’s a snippet.”

“Really!?”

Then, Juho read from the manuscript of his story about the homeless man and the young narrator, which he had erased from the main manuscript.

“The narrator asked,” Juho said, closing his eyes. Thankfully, Wol was nowhere to be seen. His last words still lingered in Juho’s ears: “Do you think you have what it takes to write about death?” At that moment, a dog barked in the distance.

“What’s their relationship? Hello?”

“Yes, I’m here.” Having forgotten that he was on the phone, Juho replied with a slight delay, “There isn’t a whole lot to it, really. Well, you heard enough, right? I’m hanging up now. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Hold on! Don’t forget to call me when you finish the manuscript, all right!? Otherwise, I’ll assume that you failed. Well, seems like Mr. Kang’s capable of intimidating even an author like…”

At that moment, Juho hung up without hesitation, switched his phone off, and started typing away.