Chapter 198

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The Wicked One Ⅰ

I’ve been going on about writers for quite a while now, but to be honest, all of that was just a prologue.

If the word "prologue" doesn't sit well with you, perhaps calling it something like dicing vegetables before diving into the main dish would fit better.

Since I’ve shown you an example of a ‘great writer,’ the contrasting example I’m about to present will stand out all the more.

It happened around the 600th cycle. Maybe the 700th.

It didn’t matter which cycle you picked, actually. In every cycle, the SG Net novel serialization board was filled with notices like these:

[LiteraryGirl] This is Oh Dok-seo… (5 minutes ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Delay notice (1 day ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Notice on tardiness (3 days ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Hiatus announcement (4 days ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Change in serialization time (8 days ago)

And so on.

[LiteraryGirl] Serialization frequency irregular due to the author's health (1 year ago)

[LiteraryGirl] The author's statement on recent serialization (1 year ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Today’s hiatus (1 year ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Transitioning to 3.25 chapters per week for the time being (2 years ago)

A total of 1,019 notices.

It was like the inbox of a primitive person who had never learned the concept of organizing emails, all marked as ‘read.’

Out of curiosity, I clicked on the message that had arrived in my inbox just five minutes ago.

[LiteraryGirl] This is Oh Dok-seo…

Sir, I’m sorry, but I feel I should inform you that I won’t be able to publish today’s chapter on time. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope you still trust that I’m always doing my best, and that’s why I’m writing this. Here’s my excuse. There’s not enough time lately.

“Hmmm…”

I propped my chin on my hand. Not because I found it particularly puzzling or surprising, but because I was impressed by how Oh Dok-seo mirrored the rhythm in the last line.

‘Not bad,’ I thought.

Indeed. Oh Dok-seo’s delay notices were practically an art form.

Imagine if one side were late to a summit meeting between world leaders. Of course, it would be a serious ‘mistake’ and a ‘breach of protocol.’ But if the lateness happens a hundred times? It would be lauded as ‘Putin’s political strategy.’ That’s how the world works.

Oh Dok-seo’s tardiness had reached that level of chronicity. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call her a master of hiatuses. If the Constellations truly existed in this world, Oh Dok-seo would undoubtedly have earned the [Achievement Unlocked: Author Who Posted 1,000 Hiatus Notices] title by now.

I’m not sure what effect such an achievement would have. Probably something as insignificant as a bug.

Unfortunately, Constellations didn’t truly exist in this world, and since Oh Dok-seo belonged to the Regressor Alliance, deceiving her with fake Constellations wasn’t an option. Thus, I flexed my fingers and sent her a realistic reply.

[ZERO_SUGAR] Dok-seo.

I read your message. Don’t worry too much. Writing never goes exactly the way you want it to. As someone who’s seen many authors, I understand that well.

Why not take this cycle off entirely? The you in the next cycle will do better.

Wait.

To prevent any misunderstandings, let me clarify something.

I am not Noh Do-hwa, the Vulgar Craftsman. In other words, I wasn’t born with a tongue that rotates 360 degrees, spewing twisted sarcasm with every word. If I say something in a conversation, take it at face value. There’s no need to embark on a linguistic excavation to find hidden meanings.

But writers, by nature, are the kind of people who read between the lines, between paragraphs, even when there’s nothing to read. They have this occupational disease that makes them proudly declare, “This is the hidden meaning of the work!”

And rather unfortunately, Oh Dok-seo was a writer.

“Sir! How could you say something so cruel to me?”

Bang!

Oh Dok-seo burst through the door of the café hideout. She swung her arms and legs at me wildly, like Nobita’s windmill technique from Doraemon, which she had apparently mastered.

“Huh? You’re saying this cycle is a bust! A bust! You’re saying this cycle’s me is hopeless! I don’t care if you’re a regressor with no blood, tears, or hair follicles! How could you say that?”

“Dok-seo, my hair follicles are just fine. They just got a bit shorter while searching for a Walther PPK.”

“You’re saying I’m not even a writer anymore? That this cycle’s me isn’t worth your expectations, so you’re going to give up on me? Huh?”

“No, that’s not what I meant at all—”

“I want to write. So. Badly!” Oh Dok-seo grabbed my collar and shouted, her head hanging low.

For some reason, that peculiar barrier of youthful drama surrounded her. Even Jeong Daeman from Slam Dunk would have acknowledged the sheer desperation in this scene.

“If only my hands were a little faster! You’ve already gone past the 800th cycle! I swore I’d write your story for you―me in the previous cycle, me in the cycle before that. Why? Why can’t I write better than this―?!”

Pause.

Let me explain the method behind our Prophet's creative process—in other words, how my biographical novel is made.

1. First, I tell her a story. Since both Dok-seo and I live in the Inunaki Tunnel, I can tell her stories whenever we’re bored.

2. Based on my story, Oh Dok-seo writes. Let’s call this draft the ‘first version.’

3. Then, I hand the ‘first version’ over to the Oh Dok-seo of the next cycle. Thanks to my Complete Memory Ability, I can upload every letter of it.

4. Oh Dok-seo continues writing from where the ‘first version’ of the previous cycle left off.

5. Since writing alone is hard, she changes the names of the characters and proper nouns slightly, pretending it’s a ‘fictional story,’ and serializes it on the SG Net novel board. By the way, the title of the serialized novel changes with each cycle, but in the 888th cycle, it was .

In short, it’s a relay novel. And in every cycle without fail, after reading the ‘first version’ of the previous cycle, Dok-seo always leaves the same comment.

‘Why was I only able to write this much?’n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

And she was ignored every time.

‘Wow, don’t worry, don’t worry. The previous cycles’ Oh Dok-seos were trash who couldn’t write, but I’m different this time around.’

Scorned.

‘Let’s get to work then… Writing might be a laborious task to those without talent, but to someone who has it, it’s just a simple hobby like chewing Denver bubble gum.’

Confidence.

That’s one set.

And before long, my inbox would be overflowing with messages like ‘This is Oh Dok-seo…’ One might call it the rare case of bubble gum ripping out human teeth.

Logic had it, then, that this chronic serialization disease was almost certainly the curse that the ‘Admin of the Infinite Metagame’ cast in the end.

Honestly, it’s the only explanation that makes sense. Only 200 chapters or so had accumulated across hundreds of cycles. If that’s not an anomaly, then what is?

“Dok-seo, I’m fine, really,” I said as I took off my barista apron. It had become soaked with the Prophet’s snot and tears. “No writer in this world wants to take a break from serializing. Every writer would love to charge forward with their story, pulling off six or ten chapters a day. But when they can’t do that, they shrink back, and if they keep shrinking, their heart shrivels up too.”

“……”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I really am okay—”

“It doesn’t matter whether you’re okay or not! That’s a secondary issue!”

What?

“I’m! Not! Okay!”

“……”

What was I supposed to do with that?

Fortunately or unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Oh Dok-seo had sought me out for answers. She chewed her nails (I’ve told her to stop countless times, but she never listens) and muttered to herself, “This won’t do. It can’t end like this… I have to find a way… No matter what… By any means necessary… I have to speed up my writing…”

And looking like Light Yagami after being cornered by L, she stomped out of the room.

Everything went quiet, like calm after a storm.

Let me remind you, this was in the 1,300-meter deep section of the café hideout. There weren’t many of them, but we definitely had a few customers present, and among them was Ha-yul.

As a witness to the youthful drama, Lee Ha-yul said the obvious line.

“Oppa, aren’t you going to follow her?”

“It’s fine. She might wander a bit, but she’ll pull herself together soon enough. Instead of chasing after her and worrying over every little thing, I’d rather believe in her and wait.”

“You’re just too lazy, right?”

This is why I don’t like sharp kids.

So, it had been the usual routine for Oh Dok-seo to write a few chapters, then toss the first version over with a message saying, “Sorry! Next cycle’s me, do something with this…!”

But surprisingly, in the 888th cycle, a new route emerged, one even I hadn’t anticipated.

[LiteraryGirl] will now be serialized daily at 16:00.

It was nothing short of a miracle.

To help you understand the gravity of this miracle, let me explain further: Oh Dok-seo originally serialized three days a week. But now, her rate had increased to daily serialization.

Have you ever seen such a thing?

You haven’t. And you probably never will. Once an author’s serialization frequency decreases, it’s like the balance of a bad credit holder’s account—it never increases again.

Yet Oh Dok-seo did it.

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 273 (1 day ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 272 (2 days ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 271 (3 days ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 270 (4 days ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 269 (5 days ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 268 (6 days ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 267 (7 days ago)

Not even a minute late—perfectly on time.

And there was something even more chilling.

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 276 (5 minutes ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 275 (5 minutes ago)

[LiteraryGirl] Regressor’s Epilogue Chapter 274 (5 minutes ago)

At least once a week, she’d drop three chapters in a row! Sometimes, she’d even go as far as releasing ten chapters at once.

Naturally, the SG Net novel board was buzzing. Readers, who used to eagerly await the delay notices so they could mock them, were now busy commenting.

- Anonymous: Hey, what’s going on lately? Why isn’t LiteraryGirl late anymore??

- Anonymous: She even does batch releases now; she’s gone mad;;

- Anonymous: She awakened lmao

- Anonymous: Oh Dok-seo___> Please enter a prompt…

※ GPT-MSYH can make mistakes. Double check important info.

A question mark popped up in my mind.

Before my brain could answer that question, Oh Dok-seo’s fingers danced across the laptop keyboard in a rapid-fire tatatatak. With the grace of a pianist, her fingers typed the following words into the blinking prompt on the screen:

>> Protagonist: The Undertaker, Regressor, 300th Cycle, Starts at Busan Station, Strange Story

Oh Dok-seo clicked enter. Moments later, the laptop screen began to spew out sentences.

The Undertaker was in his 300th regression. Busan Station was always strange to his protagonist eyes. No matter how many times he returned to this same Busan Station, one thing was always the same. Strange things always happened at Busan Station, and the protagonist, The Undertaker, had to fix them. This was how it always was.

The Undertaker let out his 300th strange sigh as he donned the black suit he bought at Busan Station.

The 300th strange story of the regressor, The Undertaker, at Busan Station was about to begin.

“Phew.” Oh Dok-seo wiped her forehead. “Worked hard today! Serialization done!”

“……”

Uh.

Dok-seo…?

Footnotes:

[1] Derived from "Hell Joseon" (헬조선), a slang term used by some South Koreans to criticize their own country, implying that living in South Korea is like living in hell due to various social, economic, or political pressures. Joseon refers to the Joseon Dynasty, a historical period in Korea, often used in a modern context to refer to Korea in general.

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