The Great Storyteller - Chapter 382

Chapter 382: The Crow Never Dies (3)

Translated by: ShawnSuh

Edited by: SootyOwl

“What do you mean?”

“Wol Kang is an amazing writer. From I’ve heard, he wasn’t as attached to his own writing as his fans were. Besides, you’re doing a very exciting thing,” San Jung said, patting Juho on the shoulder and adding, “I guess it’s blessing AND a curse. Kind of like signing a contract with the devil.”

Just like she had said, Wol tended to be notoriously free-spirited.

“As an author, I think it’s worth signing your life away,” San Jung said. Although her black clothes made the room feel mournful, there was life in the way she talked about death. Death tended to take on completely different meanings depending on whether it was described by a living or dead person.

Breathing in, Juho smiled and replied, “Worth it indeed.”

As the reporter’s laughter echoed through the room, San Jung rose from her seat in order to prepare for the interview, which was about to start soon. Before leaving the room, she said to Juho, “Don’t do anything extreme, though.”

At which, Juho shrugged.

—

“So, you were eating with people from Dong Baek Publishing?”

“Yes.”

The reporter nodded, writing down every word that came out Juho’s mouth, which would eventually turn into sentences. Juho stared intently at the reporter’s busy hands typing rapidly on the keyboard of his laptop. Yun Seo had previously told Juho that she had helped Wol write while he had been on his deathbed. ‘What did she feel back then? Did she write like this reporter?’ Juho wondered. Then, Wol Kang’s voice echoed in his ears: “Do you think you have what it takes?” All of a sudden, Juho couldn’t remember how he had depicted death in his own writing, which made him question if his understanding of death was nothing but a hollow shell.

“Mr. Woo?”

“Yes?”

“So, what happened with that man at the restaurant?”

Seeing Nabi sigh, Juho sat up and focused on the interview.

“The folks from Dong Baek were very professional in the way they handled the situation.”

“Was that your first time coming across someone who actively disliked you?”

“Sure, I guess so.”

“You must have been pretty flabbergasted by the situation. BUT, from what I heard, you handled the situation calmly and without getting physical.”

“I would have gotten in big trouble if I had acted differently. That man was older than me.”

“I heard he was drunk?”

“Yes. Seeing as how he was completely intoxicated in broad daylight, I assumed he was celebrating something.”

Nodding, the reporter asked, “So, did that incident affect your view of the project you’re currently working on in any way? Did it motivate you to do even better to prove the man at the restaurant wrong?”

“No. Not really. I’m just trying as hard as I can like I always have,” Juho replied, bringing up the first thought that came to him.

Then, sitting up on his chair, the reporter brought up the subject that he had been wanting to talk about all along, “So, you’re picking up where Mr. Kang left off in his last book, right?”

“Yes, which is a tremendous honor.”

“You see, I happen to be a big Wol Kang fan. I can confidently say that nobody could possibly hate his writing. He was an incredible author.”

“I agree.”

“On that note, what do you think of Wol Kang?”

After a brief pause, Juho replied, “Not only is he an exceptional author, but he’s also one of my role models. I would’ve loved to meet him if he was still around.”

“You’re still in the process of writing, right?”

“Yes, I am.”

“What’s the progress on that? Did you find yourself getting stuck at any point?”

“I’m always hesitating on something.”

Then, with a brief chuckle, the reporter asked, “You’re known for being a fast writer, but it seems like you’re taking your time with this particular project. Would you agree?”

“I’m not gonna lie. It turned out to be a lot harder than I originally thought. I never had to finish writing another author’s book, let alone Mr. Kang’s.”

“So, it’s a daunting challenge even for Yun Woo,” the reporter said, his nostrils flaring. He seemed to be in a good mood. “I can only imagine how pressured you feel.”

“Yes, very.”

“Do you think there’s a chance that you won’t finish? Say you just stop in the middle? Authors tend to write over a number of years when they’re not under contractual deadlines.”

“I’m sure it’s not entirely impossible.”

“You’d fall under a lot of criticism.”

“Well, if I can’t do it, then I can’t do it.” As the reporter opened his mouth to speak, Juho beat him to it, saying, “But, that hasn’t happened to me to this day.”

“Indeed. OK, why don’t we talk about Hyun Do Lim a little bit?”

From then on, the reporter raved on and on about Yun Seo, Hyun Do, and Wol for nearly thirty minutes. As Nabi signaled to him that his time was almost up, the reporter reluctantly said, “OK, this is the last question of the day.”

Trying not to appear exhausted, Juho nodded.

“If you found yourself in the same situation as Wol Kang, what do you think you’d do?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if you found yourself in crisis all of a sudden, while you’re writing?”

Juho looked around by reflex. Every staff member there was looking at him. Clenching his lips tightly, Juho replied, “I’d pour everything I have left into my writing.”

“So, you’re saying that you’d finish it no matter what?”

Whatever he might be writing at the time, leaving an unfinished story behind was something Juho refused to do.

“Death can wait.”

As the interview came to an end, applause echoed from the staff. Juho rose from the seat. Since he had already expressed that he wasn’t going to be at the dinner, Juho was able to leave without much trouble. Later, while he was waiting for Nabi, the reporter came looking for the young author. Although Juho tried to look away, the reporter was quick to catch on. Getting uncomfortably close to Juho, the reporter asked, “So, how are things coming along?”

“What exactly?”

Studying Juho’s face, the reporter asked, “You didn’t just start writing, did you?”

“You’re very persistent, you know that?”

“Well, it’s just that I’m curious. I can prepare myself if I know when to expect from it.”

Pushing the reporter away, Juho replied, “It’s confidential.”

Clicking his tongue annoyedly, the reporter put his hands in his pockets and said, “Well, take all the time you need, Mr. Woo. You’re still young! You gotta live up a little. Go clubbing or watch a baseball game. Go out and play with your friends. Something.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re very different from your peers, Mr. Woo, and it’s apparent even in the way you speak. Whenever I talk to you, it makes me think I’m talking to a really prominent author, especially today.”

Scoffing, Juho replied, “I was having digestion troubles.”

“Do you have indigestion?” the reporter asked, and Juho shook his head.

Seeing Nabi walking toward him, Juho said goodbye to the reporter, “Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Break a leg, Mr. Woo. Oh! The sooner, the better!”

‘Didn’t he just tell me to take my time?’ Juho thought to himself, smiling and turning away.

—

“This isn’t it,” Juho said, scruffing his face. In front of him, was the first completed draft.

Unhappy with the result, Juho bit his nail. After killing the client, the protagonist came to face the spirit of the client, which was something that he had never experienced in his twenty-year-long leather repairing/altering career. The spirit was unforgettably beautiful. Then, upon seeing the cloud of smoke, which was about the size of his fist, the protagonist came to realize that he had committed a crime. There was yet another desire in place of the desire that had been satisfied by his client. Now, he wanted to see a spirit. More accurately, his own spirit. The only reason Destroyer had been able to see his client’s spirit had been because he had been alive at the time of the killing. With that knowledge, the protagonist sought out a way to see his spirit while he, himself, stayed alive, coming up with all sorts of theories and testing them.

“Out-of-body experiences. Cults. Photos and videos. Mirrors. Can one identify a spirit through hearing? How long can a spirit maintain its shape? Is there a way to preserve it? Does the way in which the person dies impact the shape of the soul? Can one eat the spirit? Can I stitch it with a needle and thread? Can I repair it as I would a leather good? Where is it headed? Why do people die? Why must there be an end to life?”

Flipping through the pages, Juho rubbed his eyes.

“Wouldn’t there be a resemblance between the souls of the parents and that of their child?”

Destroyer nervously sought out a subject with which to test his theories. The first victim that caught the protagonist’s eyes was his coworker, with whom he had been working for the entire duration of his career. The coworker had a son and maintained a good, healthy, father-and-son relationship with him. From the moment the son was born, they had never been apart from each other and the result was that they both had beautiful spirits that looked quite similar to each other. Destroyer despaired that his parents were no longer with him and that he, himself, wasn’t capable of producing a child. In the end, the protagonist came to a single conclusion: “Nobody has to know that I did it.”

The moment the protagonist reached that conclusion, he went down the path of becoming a death row inmate in no time. Then, flipping through the manuscript, Juho chose a sentence at random and read it.

“After a very long time, he returned to his old work in leather repair.”

However, Destroyer failed at his job for the first time. Having become used to killing, his hands were no longer capable of carrying out the tasks of his old job. In other words, they had changed permanently.

“By this point, things like spirits actually seem like good things,” Juho murmured, resting his chin on his hand. Juho had written a story about a protagonist who changed completely. With the biggest challenge out of the way, everything else was bound to fall into place on its own. With only a limited time left in his life, Destroyer could no longer escape the present, whether he saw another spirit or not.

“Will I be able to measure up to Mr. Kang?”

Resisting the urge to yawn, Juho immersed himself in thought. ‘Is this going to be good enough?’ The more Juho read his writing, the less apparent the answer to that question became. With countless deaths taking place, Juho couldn’t tell whether he had done a good job or not. Leaning back on his chair, he let his head drop back and felt his consciousness fade away, his hands losing strength. As he closed his eyes, he heard a crow outside the window. It cawed.

“I almost fell asleep there.”

Cawing obnoxiously, the crow sounded quite angry. There was no way he could have a pleasant dream while listening to that harsh sound. Besides, meeting Wol was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Hey, there.”

“Damn it.”

Juho realized that he was standing on the safety rail of a bridge. When he looked to the side, he saw Wol lying flat and precariously on the rail somehow. Even the slightest breeze was bound to tip him over the edge.

“I knew it.”

It wasn’t long before Juho realized that he was having a nightmare. Under the bridge, was a river, and one misstep was more than enough to plunge the young author into the water. Meanwhile, Wol stared at the river.

“What are you doing here? It’s not safe.”

“Why, I’m enjoying the suspense, of course.”

“You might regret it.”

“Eh, I’ve learned that that’s not entirely true.”

“I mean it. We need to get down,” Juho said in a serious tone, sighing. Even looking down made his heart feel like it was sinking.

“Nope.”

“Mr. Kang.”

“There’s a certain view that you can’t see from anywhere else. Though, that would only be true if I were alive.”

“OK. All the more reason to get down, then. I’ll go first, all right?” Juho asked, looking down at the river’s intimidating current.

Scoffing, Wol said, “Seems like you didn’t sleep too well. You look like crap.”

“… Thanks to you.”

“No, no. You shouldn’t be blaming other people for your problems.” As Juho remained quiet, Wol said in a nasal voice, “Serves you right.”

“I still managed to finish it,” Juho replied

“Pff. You mean the first draft.”

“I’m the only person who’s gotten this far, you know.”

“I feel, very, very bad for you, kid,” Wol said, cackling.

“Well, do me a favor and just let me be for now,” Juho replied.

“It wasn’t half bad.”

“I’m sorry?” Juho asked, clearing his throat for no apparent reason.

Then, as if he didn’t care at all, Wol said nonchalantly while moving his foot up and down, “I liked that the protagonist starts to look more and more like his client as the story progresses.”

Juho couldn’t tell if Wol was complimenting him. Then, the young author realized that he still had more questions left to ask Wol.

“Society remains intact because the protagonist ends up on death row. Should he have been left unpunished and the world become filled with death, he probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer either. It’s a good thing. Besides, he never actually dies, anyway. Sure, he’s on ‘death row,’ but the society he lives in stopped executing people long ago.”

Standing awkwardly on the rail, Juho asked, “What kind of spirit do you think he has?”

“Who knows?”

“The client had a beautiful spirit. So much so, that it changed the protagonist’s life forever.”

“M-hm,” Wol replied, snickering.

Then, looking straight at him, Juho said, “You were also going to make him see his client’s death, weren’t you?”