Chapter 13

Relatives. Relatives whose names he didn't know. Relatives whose faces he didn't know. Relatives whose ages he couldn't tell.

While being moved here and there, he and his brother always held hands tightly.

It was the same when our final destination became the orphanage.

Things seemed pretty good at the orphanage.

Except for his brother's psychological counseling therapy that made no progress and their harsh school life.

He wondered which hurt more: getting hit in the head with a ball during dodgeball time or getting hit with a tin pot by his father.

But why was he thinking of such things now?

How old was he now?

Mud clung stickily to the back of his stained sneakers.

Mud had been a part of his life for a long time.

* * *

The mud flowed incessantly.

It was the same even in the warm director's office on a cold winter day.

"...so, because of your age, it's becoming difficult for you to stay here any longer. But since you'd have to leave anyway because of your university acceptance, let's try to look at it positively."

"Then my brother..."

"Your brother can still stay. But the problem is the result of his psychological counseling."

"..."

"I'm not sure how he'll behave when he's separated from you. He's already caused several incidents here..."

"I'll take him with me."

"You? Will that be okay?"

"Yes. I'll take him with me. As you said, I'm a bit anxious without my brother too. And I don't think he would like it either."

"Will you go near your school?"

"I have time until March, so I'm planning to work part-time."

"To live alone, you'll need rent money. And a deposit."

The director took off his glasses and sighed.

The director, who had been looking out the window, suddenly stood up as if he had thought of something.

The wrinkled hand that rummaged through the old metal drawer beside the desk pulled out a white envelope.

"This shouldn't be done, but don't tell anyone."

"Director."

A smooth envelope.

Even when receiving free school meals, he only felt dignified.

But now his face suddenly burned at the envelope handed by the kind director.

Was it wrong to feel miserable at such compassion?

"...Thank you. I'll definitely pay you back."

"Yes. You'll do well. It will be hard, but you must overcome it."

The chair was pushed back with a dragging sound.

The sound should have been noisy, but the chair, already submerged in mud up to its legs, was only silent.

Should he laugh or cry?

But wasn't it strange that he still had pride left?

Then he shouldn't need to feel this way.

* * *

"Brother, I don't think I can go to university."

At those words, the hand that was loosening the tie paused.

"You don't want to go to university? Is it because of your grades? Or the tuition fees?"

"Just thinking about various things... But I'll work part-time. I'll contribute to the living expenses."

For a moment, the words 'How will you?' rose to the tip of his tongue and then retreated.

Saying that dealing with people was hard.

Then how would he work part-time?

Even at a cafe or convenience store, he would have to face customers.

"Do you think I'm just saying this because of living expenses? You should go to university."

"With my grades, I can't get into a university in Seoul."

"Then go to a provincial university."

"Living alone would cost more money."

The tie drooped. The blue tie on the 1,000-won clothes hanger looked shabby.

"I'll help you pay. Just go to university. I've got a job now. Don't worry."

"Rather than taking out a student loan for university, it's better not to go. You can save money too. These days, they don't care whether you're a high school or university graduate anyway."

His mouth itched.

No, they do care. They care extremely. Everyone who said they wouldn't care in society actually does. How important is a school connection to say this now.

His insides burned black.

"Then what will you do?"

"I want to write."

"Write?"

What's this now?

His brother tapped the old laptop.

His face seemed quite confident in his own way.

"There are many free platforms these days, and I heard you can get contacted while serializing works there."

"Contacted?"

"Yes. They say you can receive a large advance payment too. I'll work hard."

"For novels?"

"For web novels."

News about web novelists earning tens of billions yearly was not uncommon.

But that's because those people were lucky.

Can you guarantee that you'll be that lucky?

You say you like writing, but you haven't won a single award until now.

Isn't it just because you like staying at home?

It's not that you're afraid of people?

Do you think I took out loans to study and got a job right away because I wanted to?

How long will it take until you receive that advance payment? One year? Two years?

You really have it easy...

Strength entered the hand hanging the suit jacket.

But his voice came out nonchalantly.

"Alright. Give it a try."

"Brother! Thank you, I'll write really hard!"

"You have to finish what you start. You know that, right?"

"Of course."

He repeated what his mother had told him.

Because you're the older brother, you have to take good care of your younger brother.

I.

Must.

Take.

Good.

Care.

Of.

My.

Brother.

I.

I...

His socks were damp.

It seemed he had stepped in mud again.

He didn't even want to open his eyes anymore.

What difference would it make if mud covered his entire body?

Just, leave me alone.

* * *

Several weeks had passed since his brother declared he would make a living by writing.

Perhaps feeling a bit guilty, his brother did remote part-time jobs like writing manuscripts for others alongside his own writing.

Somehow, it seemed to be enough to buy writing technique books or setting collections he wanted.

But that didn't completely alleviate his worries.

"Is this number the view count?"

"No, the one next to it. This is what's called a favorite work, similar to readers bookmarking works they like."

"So that's good?"

"Of course. Publishers sometimes send emails based on the number of favorite works."

In front of the small laptop, they were looking at the screen with their heads together.

The site where his brother said he was writing works was surprisingly quite large.

With many readers and writers, reviews and works were updated daily.

Among them, his brother's work was automatically classified in the 'New Work' category.

"That's because it hasn't been three months yet. If I write consistently for three months or the number of serialized episodes exceeds 50, I can get out of here."

His brother explained eagerly, but he was only half-listening.

More than that, he was concerned about where his brother's work was positioned.

Not on page 1, but vaguely around pages 5-6 where you could barely see it.

It was completely different treatment from the best works prominently displayed on the main page.

Can you really make money writing like this...

Isn't this just giving false hope?

"If I keep it up, more readers will come. Look, it's already over 50."

Yes, if you say so, it must be that way.

Ignoring the fact that two of the five stars in the rating section were empty, he nodded.

That was the problem.

He should have dissuaded him even if it meant scolding him then.

Contrary to his brother's bold claims, the work remained unknown even after leaving the new work category several months later.

Readers who were interested in the subject matter came but left disappointed due to the complex setting and difficult-to-adapt writing style.

'It's too serious, so it's hard to read lightly. I'm leaving.'

'Left after reading the beginning. The setting is all over the place, and it's not even fun.'

'I came because I was interested in the subject, but it's too hard to read.'

'Is this really written with a plan? Since the characters and settings keep changing, it feels like I'm having a mental breakdown.'

His brother posted a notice saying he would humbly accept reader feedback.

He looked at the laptop late into the night and flipped through books, saying he would revise the story.

He thought it was just enthusiasm.

Ambition that anyone could have, effort to improve, things like that.

But it was the struggle of someone driven to the edge of a cliff.

"Hey, what's all this?"

One day, when he returned a bit late after working overtime, the house was all messy.

Papers that had been printed were scattered, and there was a somewhat acrid smell.

Suppressing the rising irritation, he asked, and his brother hurriedly closed the laptop and stood up.

"Sorry, I just had something to do... I'll clean it up quickly."

"What's this smell? Did you eat?"

Looking at the table while opening the window, the covered dishes remained untouched.

It seemed he hadn't even touched them.

"What I ate in the morning didn't settle well."

"Then you should say something. I didn't have to prepare and leave it."

"I'm sorry."

"Why is the room like this?"

"Well. It's nothing strange."

His brother hesitated and then pointed to a thick book spread out on the bed.

It seemed to be one of the books he had bought saying it was necessary for writing.

"While writing the novel, there was something I wanted to find out, so I did it myself."

"What?"

What's all this about?

Instinctively, his face frowned. Is this how people normally write?

He knew famous writers emphasized direct experience.

But that was for normal literary works.

You're writing fantasy, isn't this abnormal?

"...Well, okay. I understand for now."

At those words, the intimidated face brightened a bit.

He thought what his brother was doing was a small prank based on a kind of fantasy setting.

Having never experienced social life, he might do something a bit childish.

But,

As the setting collections his brother avidly read became more worn,

As the rating of his brother's work decreased,

As the comments saying they were leaving increased,

As the criticism pointing out typos or setting errors grew,

The time his brother spent writing gradually decreased.

Instead, the time spent sitting blankly increased exponentially.

"You're not writing these days?"

"I posted a notice about that. Saying I'm taking a break."

"I know. I saw it. But I was wondering what you were suddenly thinking."

One day, he was hanging laundry.

His brother seemed to be sitting in the desk chair, watching him.

"Just... Should I take the high school equivalency exam now?"

"To go to university?"

He turned with a pleased expression, but his brother's face was shadowed and not clearly visible.

"You said it before. That I should go to university."

"Yes, you should go to university. With a diploma, you can do anything."

"You're saying that even though you went to a good school."

"Hey, I went there pooping blood. But you don't even have to pay tuition while working part-time. Compared to me, you really have it easy."

A moment of silence followed.

He shook out a towel and hung it on the drying rack.

"I was too stubborn about writing."

"You finally realize. But why suddenly? Is the writing not going well?"

"To be honest, a little."

"I'm not interested in writing like an author, so I don't know much, but don't you think you've gained something after doing it for so long?"

His brother's feet fidgeted.

They were white and thin from never having been exposed to the sun.

"Gained?"

"Well, it was enough time to try various things."

"I did it for several months."

"From my perspective, if you think it's not working out, you can switch to something else. There are cyber universities too. After getting a diploma, you'll be able to get a job."

"Writing isn't good?"

"I told you, I don't know."

A sock was mixed among the towels. Was it mixed by mistake?

"I don't know if it's good writing or bad writing. There was a guy who wrote really well when we were students, do you know what he said? He said talent is immediately apparent in these things. People can tell like they're psychic."

His brother laughed silently.

He continued the conversation.

"Looking at that, it's probably a matter of talent. It doesn't seem to be a matter of patience. Getting featured on the homepage or best works might be a matter of luck."

"I think you're right."

"Sometimes there's nothing you can do. You can write as a hobby. After getting a more ordinary job."

"Yes. As a hobby."

"You've tried hard enough. It's unfortunate it didn't work out, but you should know how to live in other ways too."

His brother agreed.

It seemed he had tried and thought it wasn't working out, so he changed his mind.

Pleased with this, he brought up various things like saying he would look into high school equivalency exam materials or cyber universities.

His brother seemed to be smiling the whole time.

And a few days later.

His brother threw himself in front of a moving car in broad daylight.

It wasn't an accident or a homicide.

His brother had shouted to him that he didn't want to live like that.

With his entire body.

'You have to take good care of your brother.'

Was it wrong to expect him to live normally like others?

If all of this was because of him.

Then he was surely an irredeemable piece of human trash.

The one who should have disappeared was him.

In his ears, he continuously heard the gloomy laughter of the monster flying between the stars.