Novelist Running Through Time

TL: KSD

The Novelist, Eisaku Siedehara.

At the age of 71,

Passed away due to longstanding colon cancer.

“……”

This is the last memory I have of Eisaku Siedehara. I may not remember which stocks rose or fell, but this much I remember clearly.

Because, then and now, literature has been my everything.

So, the sense of unease I feel right now is certainly no delusion.

Eisaku Siedehara, died at the age of 73.

Why?

Is it the butterfly effect caused by my small ripple? Or perhaps a mere coincidence of cellular-level cancer metastasis?

Maybe a single careless word I said to him gave him the will to live.

Or maybe his lingering regret over failing to win the Booker International Prize made him endure for two more years.

But that’s something no one will ever know.

It’s a story closer to fate than life.

And fate is not within the realm of humans but rather that of gods.

Unless it’s the very being that threw me into the river of time, there’s no solving the mystery entwined in Siedehara’s fate.

Thus, the only truth humans can face is death. The death of a human being standing right before you. Anything beyond that fate cannot be known, nor understood.

And so, Eisaku Siedehara has died.

That’s all there is to it.

EP 10 – Starry Sky

Even I, who has experienced death once, did not know what lay beyond death. All I understood were the sensations, how death was cozier, quieter than expected, and the surreal experience of sinking slowly, as if throwing oneself into a black swamp. ⱤÅ𐌽Ỗ𐌱ЁS̩

Therefore, death still feels overwhelming and puzzling to me-

-and frightening.

So frightening that I wish I didn’t have to recall it.

But the funeral hall kept bringing forth thoughts about death in my mind.

Not about Siedehara’s death, but about my own.

If I hadn’t traveled backward through time, but was simply thrown into the past with a young body, and my original world continued on as it was…

Who would have come to my funeral?

No, would a funeral even have been held?

When a young man from an orphanage, with no family to care for him, dies, he’s usually treated as special waste, disappearing quietly.

And that lonely death remains as the number ‘1’ in countless statistics, occasionally appearing as a six-second stock clip in news segments discussing the issue of young adults dying alone—fulfilling its purpose.

If you’re born without parents, without family, without wealth, that’s how it goes. From the moment you’re born, far too much is already determined.

But since I struggled and flailed for my entire life, a funeral may have been held, at least. I’m sorry to say, but 46-year-old manager Lim Yang-wook, who often visited to demand manuscripts from me, would likely have been the first to discover my body.

After that, New Light Spring Orphanage would have been contacted, but probably no one would have come looking for me. I was ashamed of being from an orphanage, and I didn’t hide it either.

But Yuna.

Yuna would have come to my funeral.

A genius writer in her early 20s, still not even an adult, a fragile young woman in her early 20s who had recently held a funeral for Professor Gu Hak-jun, who died in a car accident…

She would have faced the memorial photo of a friend and ex-lover whom she had dated for ten years.

“Ah……”

What on earth had I done?

A single tear ran down my cheek.

The fact that I couldn’t undo whatever I had done to Yuna, the fact that the waves of time may have continued even after my death, and the fact that I could neither reverse it nor even know what happened—it all saddened me deeply.

I missed Yuna.

“I-In-seop…”

Lim Yang-wook looked startled as he noticed my tears. Only then did I glance around and realize that more eyes than I had expected were fixed on me.

When I think about it, my recent rise to prominence in Japan is quite a recent phenomenon. Unlike in Korea, my fame here hasn’t yet waned.

Nearly every mourner was stealing glances at me, while the bereaved family looked at me with pity in their eyes, mixed with a faint expression of gratitude.

Lim Yang-wook had informed me beforehand that Japanese funerals value quietness as a virtue, so I quickly wiped away my tears and adopted a somber expression.

After that, a Buddhist monk began chanting sutras. I followed Lim Yang-wook to a corner of the room and sat down. Lim Yang-wook had told me that leaving at this point was not an option. I would need to remain seated for quite a long time.

I briefly prayed for Author Siedehara, hoping that he too had somehow, like me, returned to his youth and been granted a chance to correct the mistakes of his past.

And then, as was natural, my mind wandered, idly filling the time with thoughts.

I feel a little guilty saying this, but my sadness over Siedehara’s death wasn’t enough to completely fill my heart.

But that wasn’t the case for Kenji Matsumoto, sitting on the other side of the room.

His heart was still overflowing with sorrow, and it spilled over as tears streaming down his face.

Holding back sobs to avoid making a disturbance, he bit his lip and sniffled quietly—it was a pitiable sight.

Kenji Matsumoto, director of the animated film Guitar.

Eisaku Siedehara had once handed over more than 2 billion yen to Director Matsumoto, who had boldly approached him seeking funding.

In the end, Siedehara received more than his investment in return, but giving such a large sum to an unknown film director was practically an act of charity.

A truly peculiar thing.

To offer one’s wealth so freely to another simply because they are an artist.

Eisaku Siedehara had given 2 billion yen to a director he had just met.

Eisaku Siedehara had done everything he could, even tarnishing his own reputation, to promote the book of a neighboring country’s young writer who had damaged his dignity during the Booker International Prize competition.

Why?

It was a question I had wondered about before and continue to ponder even now, but I think I might finally understand.

For art.

So that even after he vanished from this world, he would be remembered forever.

So that, even though his physical body might disappear, he could leave something behind in this world.

Sensing his impending death, the old man struggled until the very end.

And it was a feeling I found all too familiar.

Then and now, I too was still struggling.

Struggling to ensure that a worthless orphan born in an orphanage would be remembered by the world,

That someone born at the lowest place could rise to sparkle like a star at the highest,

And…

“Let’s go.”

“Ah, yes.”

I followed Lim Yang-wook to the next part of the funeral. Japanese funerals were entirely different from Korean ones, and I didn’t want to make a mistake by stepping outside of Lim Yang-wook’s guidance. Without caution, a single misstep could instantly turn me into human garbage….

As such, my demeanor at the funeral was less like a mourner and more like that of an android acting according to pre-programmed commands. My nerves were so tense that even the elaborate sushi served as part of the meal tasted like nothing.

Yet despite it all, one thought refused to leave my mind: the art Eisaku Siedehara had struggled to leave behind until the very end.

What was that art?

Was it about bringing joy to others?

Leaving behind his name for eternity?

Achieving a monumental artistic accomplishment akin to a golden tower?

I pondered it throughout the entire funeral, but no clear answer came to mind. How could the living understand the anguish of the dead?

But there is one field in this world that makes such understanding possible.

Surprisingly, the answer was revealed right after the funeral, through the mouths of the bereaved family.

While I was making plans to return to Korea with Lim Yang-wook, we heard that the bereaved family was holding a press conference, gathering the journalists who had flocked to the funeral hall. We hurried to attend.

At the press conference, held immediately after the funeral, the family came forward holding a book.

Though I couldn’t read Japanese, I had a feeling I knew what that book was.

Still, I asked to confirm.

“What are they saying right now?”

“…They’re announcing Eisaku Siedehara’s final work.”

Anxious, I stumbled over my words as I asked further.

“The title, what’s the title?”

With a slightly trembling voice, Lim Yang-wook answered.

“…Beautiful in Itself.”

“Ah.”

At least to me, that book is not Eisaku Siedehara’s final work. I’ve already read Eisaku Siedehara’s final work.

Harvest and Decay. That was Eisaku Siedehara’s last book. At least, in the timeline I knew, it was.

But now, I was encountering this book for the first time.

“Ahhh…….”

So, for me, this is not a final work.

It was a new work.

***

Eisaku Siedehara lived two years longer than he originally had. And during those two years, he left behind one more book.

Beautiful in Itself.

It was only natural that I became engrossed in Eisaku Siedehara’s last book.

The fact that it was a rare new work in the otherwise repeating timeline I’d experienced was only half the reason.

This book was his new destination.

“Hmm…”

I had always agonized over where my literature should be heading, and now, before me, lay the final point someone else’s literature had reached.

So it was impossible for me to skim through this book casually.

I began reading thoroughly for the first time in a while. I placed a notebook beside me, jotting down notes as I meticulously read it sentence by sentence.

At least I wasn’t like that heretic, Gu Yuna, who would drag a highlighter across sacred books, defiling them. So, in a sense, I was exercising restraint.

How could anyone even think of putting pen to sacred books? What an absolutely terrifying and horrible thought?

Fortunately, the current Gu Yuna had been thoroughly… no, properly educated since her childhood. Thanks to this, she no longer defiles books with highlighters, nor does she stack them carelessly on her desk. She’s now a respectable reader.

Leading a fallen soul onto the path of light—surely, this too could be considered a virtuous act.

“Phew…”

The fact that I was getting distracted with such idle thoughts while reading suggested that my concentration for the day had been entirely used up.

I closed my notebook and then shut the novel. Before I knew it, it was already 1 a.m. I had spent five hours reading since the evening. Honestly, if I studied like this, I could’ve gone to Seoul National University.

I chuckled softly at the joke that came to mind and then burrowed into the blanket sprawled on the floor. Wrapping myself up tightly, I surrendered to the slowly creeping wave of sleep.

The postponed trip to the U.S. was drawing closer.

It would probably be best to finish reading the book before I left…

“…”

Just before I fell asleep, my phone vibrated.

It wasn’t a text. It was a call.

I had no choice but to wake up.

“Ugh, seriously…”

Who on earth calls someone at 1 a.m.? Where did they learn such awful manners? How incredibly rude it is to contact someone at this hour when everyone’s asleep!

I glanced at the screen and saw it was Gu Yuna. So, I restrained myself from cursing her parents.

“Hello?”

I’m outside your house.

“What?”

Come out for a bit. I need to talk to you.

For a moment, I thought I might have misheard, but the tone, saying ‘come out’ instead of asking ‘can you come out?’ made it clear that it was indeed Gu Yuna.

And when Gu Yuna calls me out, I have to go. It’s just how my body is wired. So, I hurriedly threw on some clothes and went outside, only to find Gu Yuna standing there like a ghost in the dimly lit street.

“Yuna!”

“Hi.”

Startled, I rushed over to her, but her expression was anything but ordinary.

More than surprise, concern came over me first.

What’s going on? Did she have a big fight with her sister and run away?

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

But, as always, the words that came out of Gu Yuna’s mouth were far beyond anything I could’ve expected.

“You’re… going to the U.S., right?”

“Yeah.”

“If you go, you won’t be back for a few months, right?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Can’t you… not go?”

Gu Yuna looked up at me like a puppy caught in the rain.

My hands and feet started trembling.

In her face, I saw something I recognized.

Gu Yuna was now in her third year of middle school. The face I knew is slowly emerging. Like Gu Yu-bin.

And I couldn’t say no to a request made with that face.

“N-n-no, I can’t…”

I barely managed to stammer out a rejection, but Gu Yuna pressed on with her momentum.

“I’m not saying never go. Just… wait until after the school trip.”

“What…?”

“Can’t you postpone it until then?”

School trip? It’s only a few weeks away. But if I postpone the schedule now, I’ll have to delay it for an entire quarter.

And that would make things difficult for Lim Yang-wook as well. Wasn’t this U.S. trip already finalized with great effort?

Obviously, it’s not possible!

“Of course I can!”

Damn it. My tongue betrayed me.

But Yu-na smiled brightly, having succeeded in her tantrum.

Seeing that smile, I found myself thinking – that’s enough.

“I’ll go.”

“Okay…”

Gu Yuna disappeared into the dark night street.

Like a ghost. Quietly, just like that.

It felt like I’d been enchanted by a spirit.

***

The reason why Gu Yuna stubbornly insisted on dragging Moon In to the school trip.

Of course, it was–

Because of writing.

“Lately… it feels like it’s been so hard to see you at school.”

Gu Yuna learns writing from Moon In. She’s practically his official pupil.

But it’s become troublesome since Moon In keeps running off somewhere.

“We can’t go to literary contests together like before, or even read novels at the library…”

If they don’t spend time together, how could she possibly learn anything about writing?

Of course, literature is taught at school, but Gu Yuna has already far surpassed that level.

It’s because Moon In has already awakened her genius.

And when it comes to teaching Gu Yuna, Moon In is even more qualified than Professor Gu Hak-jun.

Gu Yuna doesn’t realize it, but Moon In is someone who spent 10 years teaching Gu Yuna and 10 years being taught by her in turn.

As a result, whenever Gu Yuna tries to learn literature anywhere else, she finds it somewhat dull without Moon In’s guidance.

“Learning about novels from other people… it feels a little boring. Same with Dad and my sister…”

In short, she’s addicted to Moon In’s teaching style.

But Min Hyo-min, the one listening to this, didn’t see it that way.

“Huff… huff…!”

“Why are you breathing like that?”

“N-no! It’s nothing!”

Min Hyo-min, whether read forward or backward, still Min Hyo-min, the adorable youngest member of the girl group Benivis.@@novelbin@@

As a veteran of the entertainment industry, she prided herself on being an expert in romance! (Despite having no dating experience.)

Thus, if dark clouds loomed over her friend’s love life, it was only natural that she would roll up her sleeves and take action.

Unable to hold back her righteous indignation, Min Hyo-min sprang to her feet in determination.

Bang!

Slamming her hands on the desk in the club room, Min Hyo-min made a declaration to the world.

“…This is love!”

“What?”

And so began the chaotic romance simulation of a clueless Gu Yuna, who doesn’t understand human hearts, and a love-starved idol suffering under a dating ban.

*****

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