Naturally, there was no such thing as a warm, caring hand.
I was lonely. I was desolate.
Loss and trauma came as a bonus.
All I had was the stigma of being an orphan.
If I tried to list all the hardships I endured since childhood, I’d probably run out of paper.
But, somehow, I’d managed to survive in this world pretty well so far.
Unlike in the past, nowadays if you have a single skill, you can scrape by.
And that skill helped me feel less lonely in solitude, helped me hold on to my sanity.
[Enjoyed it, author-nim! I’ll look forward to your next work!]
[Thank you for all your hard work until the end. Much appreciated.]
[Chapter 132 was the first time a novel ever made me cry. I’m looking forward to your next one!]
[From chapter one to the end, I have no regrets about reading this. Because of you, I always waited eagerly for new updates.]
Countless comments on the ending chapter reflected in my phone screen.
Seeing them made my nose tingle without me realizing it.
Yeah.
I’m a webnovel author.
My works don’t really fit the current trends, so they don’t sell well, but at least I manage to earn enough to get by on my own.
“You looking at those again?”
But that feeling didn’t last long.
Because of the jerk next to me on the bench, glaring at me while holding a can of beer.
This was the park near my house.
A friend who’d said he was having a hard time had come over, we’d had a first round at a barbecue place, then bought some beers at a convenience store and were drinking them here.
And yet, despite my kindness in drinking with him, my shameless childhood buddy instantly shattered the precious afterglow of finishing my novel.
“What now?”
“Honestly, you’ve been living off that keyboard for ages and you’re still like this? It’s not even your first time finishing a novel, is it?”
“How many times has it been now? I mean…”
“And you still love reading reader comments that much?”
“Yeah, it’s thrilling. Always fresh. This kind of response is the best.”
[Dropping this novel. Author-nim, maybe try loading and unloading boxes instead. What about that one?]
“You punk. I told you that kind of joke is off-limits!”
This friend who goes back and forth with me so pointlessly is a fellow orphanage kid.
Well, to be precise, rather than being from the orphanage, we’re both Dongja Monk alumni.
My friend and I grew up in a temple when we were young.
He was there because his mother needed to leave him for a while.
As for me, my circumstances were a bit more complicated.
“Tch. You’re such a stubborn writer, aren’t you?”
“What do you care? You don’t even read my novels.”
“You keep it up and you’ll go back to the days when you were a shiny-headed Dongja Monk. You’re as stubborn as the head monk.”
“Shut up. I’m already using minoxidil, okay?”
“You were serious? Hahaha.”
So when I crack open a beer with the friend who comes to see me like this, stories from our days as Dongja Monks naturally come up.
Though, most of them are just us teasing each other like this.
But maybe because of his mention or just because I was reminiscing, I suddenly recalled a conversation I’d had with the head monk long ago.
‘…That wasn’t the end of it. There was a premature baby, left all alone, wearing an old-fashioned newborn’s shirt that only someone from the Joseon era would wear.’
‘Me? Really?’
‘Yes. That’s why I thought maybe you were a special child entrusted by Buddha. So I felt I should raise you well.’
One late autumn, there was an incident where a child was abandoned at the temple’s main gate.
It wasn’t unusual for parents to leave children at the temple, but this one wasn’t even caught on CCTV—it was like a ghost had done it.
So, my birthday became the date I was found at the temple gate: the 14th day of the 9th lunar month.
Of course, that didn’t mean I could believe everything the head monk said word for word.
But the recollection was brief.
Before I could get lost in thought, my friend started talking again, nonstop.
“You know, maybe you started writing because you’re like the head monk.”
What kind of nonsense was this?
“What?”
“You write with such an old man’s style, weighty stories with unnecessary seriousness—no wonder your webnovels don’t make it big these days.”
Now that I think about it, when other kids read comic books, I’d be pulling out difficult books from the head monk’s shelf.
Back then, living away from electronics, I had to entertain myself by imagining things.
Those imaginary friends and fantasy stories helped me a lot in becoming a webnovel author.
But I didn’t want to admit that fact.
After all, an author without ego is as good as dead.
“What do you know…?! My readers say my writing skills are good, you know?”
“With those great writing skills, you’re only earning about as much as me. Don’t act so proud.”
“Hey. Earning this much is impressive, okay?”
“Well, it’s nice if you can work comfortably from home and earn that steadily. Hmph.”
This friend, who just a moment ago had been guzzling soju and complaining about his boss at the barbecue place, was now picking on me.
Maybe he had a lot to get off his chest about me, too.
“At least write your next work lighter and easier to read. Add more humor. Maybe I’ll pay to read your stuff for once.”
“Again with that? If it was that easy, why would there be so many authors quitting because they can’t finish their novels?”
“You could do it. No, maybe your taste is just too old-fashioned to begin with?”
“Ahem…”
“I knew it when you got into a good university and chose literature instead of a field with good job prospects. And you only read ancient classics even there. I thought you were nuts.”
“Sh-shut up!!”
The problem was, as my closest friend, this guy knew exactly where to poke to hurt me.
And the worst part was, he wasn’t wrong, so I couldn’t even argue back.
“Just forget all the pure literature you learned at university and put something useful into your novels now.”
“Like what?”
“Alternative history or whatever is all the rage these days. Why not try that next?”
I got stabbed right in the heart.
No wonder—he was thinking exactly the same thing I was.
“Alt-history? Please. If a writer doesn’t know about that, it’s dereliction of duty.”
Because, I was actually considering that genre for my next work.
The notifications popping up on my phone right now proved it.
[[Web Alert][CK Korea Post_Delivery Complete]]
[[Web Alert] Jinhan Courier 1239_2324_1234: Your item will arrive between 1–3 p.m. today…]
[Ding dong♬ This is Charlotte Delivery, sincerely delivering your precious package…]
Those were all records of the history books and materials I’d ordered being delivered.
The books to fill out the study I’d recently set up in the corner of my living room had arrived today.
Even though it was only a two-room apartment, having a study filled with books had always been a bucket list item for me.
So, I was a bit annoyed to be dragged out here when I could have been happily organizing my new books.
Still.
“Right, alt-history. Since you like classic novels, you must know a lot about that era, right?”
Unlike my friend who assumed it was obvious, I had one obstacle.
“Nope. I don’t know much.”
“What?”
“All I know is what I learned in high school history class.”
To be honest, I’d only ever studied literary history, never actual history in depth.
Well, I did know a bit about the Yeongjo and Jeongjo eras when webnovels first became popular, and I picked up memes like “scientist king” and “soy sauce king” during my recent research.
Still, there was a reason I’d bought enough history books to fill an entire bookshelf this time.
If you’re going to write in this genre, you have to know an era deeply.
Honestly, unless you know exactly what happened when, how can you plausibly change history?
You also need to keep several engineering diagrams and inventions from that era in your head to revive a dying nation.
To write that kind of story, the author needs to have expert knowledge—no question.
Even so, I’d read plenty of webnovels in this genre that were entertaining even to a history-illiterate person like me.
For example, there were stories where someone was born as King Sejong’s son and invented all sorts of things, or became a five-star general in the US Army…
“Then just write an alt-history set in the Yeongjo or Jeongjo era.”
But my friend, who didn’t know the first thing about writing novels, spouted this nonsense.
It was as if someone was threatening me with a knife not to write about the Yeongjo and Jeongjo era.
Ha. I shouldn’t have taken the drunk’s advice seriously.
“I’ll have to study a bit more first…”
“Just write what you know!! Are you going to bury yourself in research and end up with another stiff, unreadable novel?”
“Hey, what do you know?!”
“Take it from a reader who spends a million won a year on webnovels! Take the advice!”
This jerk. Not a single won of that million had gone to my novels.
But, apparently having grown up stubborn too, he wouldn’t give in.
What was meant to be a simple drink in the park to sober up ended in chaos.
“Just think about it simply, okay? If you dropped into the Jeongjo era, what would you do? Just write that!!”
“I have to know something to write! If I went back then, all I could do is write novels!”
“You don’t know anything?”
“Yeah!! All I know is Jeongjo was a reformist king from class, and that some Romance Sageuk recently came out, I only know the title…”
At the word ‘reformist king,’ my friend’s expression twisted.
“Reformist king? More like tyrant! How can someone wanting to write alt-history know less about Jeongjo than a mere reader like me…”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“He wasn’t a reformist. He was a total Confucian stick-in-the-mud… If you fell back then and wrote novels, you might’ve been arrested.”
“Why? Wait, don’t tell me…”
“Forget it. Sorry. Just study more. I won’t stop you.”
The argument ended so absurdly.
My friend had finally realized just how clueless I was about history.
Although, to be fair, a vague memory of learning about this in college did come to mind a beat late.
Anyway, objectively speaking, I had won the argument, but it left a foul taste in my mouth.
“And be careful of trucks on your way home. If you drop into Joseon in your state, you’re screwed.”
“What nonsense. Are you drunk? Webnovels aren’t reality, you know.”
“Bought all those books to escape your history-ignorance? Unless you bring them along and reincarnate, you’re hopeless.”
If I really did go back in time, my friend joked, at least try yelling “status window” or “stats,” just in case.
Sigh. Should I kill him or not.
* * *
There was a brief commotion.
A very brief one.
After our argument ended, my friend, who’d been complaining endlessly about his boss, Bak Chang Hwan, soon got up from the bench.
As expected of a wage slave who never forgot he had to go to work in the morning.
“Hey, get home safe.”
“You jerk, not even seeing your friend off?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just go straight down the path to Hyohchang Park Station.”
Worried the subway would stop running, he dashed down the hill of the park in a hurry.
Really, considering I’d paid for the pork belly and the beer, there’s no way that tightwad would spend on a taxi.
“Huu…”
Thanks to that, I finally felt at ease.
I could enjoy the night breeze at the park to sober up a bit, then go home and organize my study.
Besides, I felt like I’d gotten some inspiration for my next work from that conversation just now.
“If I fell into that era…”
If I went to the Yeongjo or Jeongjo era?
My imagination began to soar.
This period is called the Renaissance of Joseon literature—a time of explosive growth.
From the 17th century, novels called paegwanjapgi had gradually become popular, and during this era, they became fully mainstream and diversified.
With booming demand, woodblock-printed banggakbon books flourished, drastically lowering book prices.
As a result, everyone from ordinary folk and women to noblemen in the palace read novels as a hobby, and countless works were created.
If I fell into that time?
If I combined my knowledge of classic novels, my so-called “old man” tastes, and the sensational storytelling skills honed by writing webnovels?
Maybe, just maybe, I could do surprisingly well as a novelist then.
“Aish. Useless daydreaming…”
I shook my head hard without realizing.
Those things only happened in novels.
Instead of wasting time on such fantasies, I should hurry home, organize my research materials, and jot down the inspiration I just got.
But, it was right then.
“….”
Walking down the path in Hyohchang Park, I caught sight of a strange shadow.
It was the figure of someone dressed in clothes totally out of place in modern Seoul.
Maybe a ghost?
But before the classic “coordinate axis” joke could cross my mind, I sensed something unfamiliar.
Normally, I’d be covered in goosebumps in this situation, but strangely, a warm and familiar feeling rushed over me.
[…Young Master.]
A woman dressed like a palace maid from a sageuk drama spoke strange words.
That voice, echoing like a message, was clearly directed at me.
[I have come late to serve you. Please forgive me…]
It was strange.
A warm feeling, and suddenly tears welled up in my eyes.
And at the same time.
My vision began to blur slowly.
It felt as if my whole body was submerged in cold water.
[I’m sorry, my ch—…]
In the midst of that icy sensation, for the first time ever, something soft and warm embraced me tightly.
My world faded to black.
* * *
I should have listened to my friend’s advice.
When I regained consciousness…
“The young master’s breathing has returned!!”
“Call for the royal physician! Hurry!!”
Even though I wasn’t hit by any truck, I really was born in Joseon.
And just like the king my friend and I talked about, I was the crown prince—the heir to the throne.
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