Chapter 90: Sister’s First Day

[‘You Are the Star Within Me’ Movie Adaptation Officially Announced!]

#5 on real-time search rankings: Yoo Da-hye.

The bold letters on the monitor screen held Da-hye’s gaze.

For a moment, her heart skipped a beat, thudding in her chest. A strange and unfamiliar thrill ran from her fingertips.

She had seen the names of countless other actors before, but it was the first time her own name occupied that spot.

She couldn't quite believe she was experiencing this herself.

“No way... Me, of all people?”

She gripped the mouse a little tighter. She hesitated to scroll down, afraid the words would disappear, or be covered by another news story, making her movements unnecessarily cautious.

Even as time passed, she couldn't take her eyes off the screen.

She had never properly stood in front of a camera, nor shown the world her acting skills.

Yet here she was, ranking in real-time search terms.

“Oppa’s novel really was that famous, huh.”

‘You Are the Star Within Me’ was already on many readers’ lips even before any ads began.

For such a work to become a movie—and for her to be part of it—felt nothing short of miraculous.

Da-hye stared at the screen, feeling the weight of that miracle.

The excitement was huge, but so too was the sense of responsibility.

Her chest gradually grew heavier.

‘Will I be able to do well? Will I let everyone down?’

She hadn't even started yet, but it felt like countless eyes were already on her.

She wasn’t sure if she was someone who could withstand that scrutiny.

“I can’t let Oppa down.”

Thinking of her brother, Da-hye shook off the pressure and whispered to herself, almost as a pledge.

She clenched her small hand tightly, vowing to make her name, Yoo Da-hye, known as an actress through her own skill, not just luck.

Keeping her eyes on the screen, Da-hye took a slow, steady breath and braced herself.

The fear still lingered in a corner of her heart, but over it rose a deep, burning desire.

A determination not to miss this chance, to make the most of it, was taking root.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

Her short declaration echoed through the room.

She firmly resolved to carve out the starting point of her own path ahead.

I came home for the first time in a month.

“This is home.”

Compared to the mansion in Hannam-dong, this small building barely qualified for comparison.

A short wall enclosing a tiny yard and the door, now rusted with peeling paint, remained just as they always had.

“Nothing’s changed.”

If anything had changed, I might have felt a little sad.

I walked carefully, slowly, and reached for the doorbell.

Ding-dong!

A brief chime carried through the air into the house.

─ Who is it?

My mother’s familiar voice sounded from the intercom.

“Mom, it’s me. I’m home.”

I brought my mouth to the intercom and whispered softly.

─ Son!

With my mother’s joyful voice, the door opened.

I pushed it open and stepped inside.

“Oppa!”

Running out to greet me was Da-hye. Her hair was neatly tied back as she rushed into my arms. The month she’d spent at the agency dorm clearly hadn’t been short.

“How have you been?”

“I’m good! How about you, Oppa?”

“I got by, nothing special. But hey, congratulations. I never imagined you’d appear in my work.”

“Thanks, Oppa. Hehe. Just watch—I’ll debut in your work and become famous!”

A relaxed smile lit up Da-hye’s face. She was far more composed and confident than a month ago.

Even without saying much, I could tell what kind of days she’d spent.

Just then, Dad came out from the kitchen.

“Now that we’re all here, why don’t we grill some meat tonight in the yard? Make it nice and cool.”

“Actually, Dae-shik said he’d bring some meat. He called after hearing Seung-hyun would be home.”

At Dad’s words, Mom beamed brightly.

Hearing Dae-shik’s name filled me with warmth.

“Dae-shik is the only friend who really looks after Seung-hyun. Haha. In that case, I’ll go out and set up in the yard.”

Dad headed outside, pulling out the charcoal and grill to prepare for the barbecue.

Just the thought of a family meal together after so long made my heart race.

“I’ll call Dae-shik.”

I took out my phone and called Dae-shik.

“Dae-shik, I’m here. Yeah, I’ll wash up and get ready at home.”

Dae-shik seemed so excited that I was back, he said he’d bring prepped pork over with his parents, then hung up.

Meanwhile, a table was set out in the yard, and lettuce, perilla leaves, garlic, and kimchi were all lined up. Before I knew it, Da-hye and Mom had gotten the party ready.

In the short time I hadn’t seen her, Da-hye had really grown into a young lady.

She knew to help Mom on her own now.

Smiling at Mom and Da-hye in turn, I headed for the bathroom.

“Hey, finally get to see your face.”

About twenty minutes later, after coming out of the bathroom, Dae-shik was waving from the yard. He strode right over to me.

“Long time no see. How’ve you been?”

“Can’t you tell just by looking? I almost died, really. And how could you never even call once?”

“I’ve been out of it. Sorry.”

Come to think of it, I really hadn’t reached out to anyone while I was away. I felt a pang of guilt.

“You really are something else.”

Dae-shik’s tone was a mix of reproach and happiness.

“Guys, enough talking. Let’s sit down and eat.”

Just then, Da-hye cut into our conversation, tugging us both by the arms.

She really had changed a lot.

“Alright. Let’s go, Dae-shik.”

With Dae-shik grumbling, I dragged him over to the table.

The meat went onto the grill, and with a sizzling sound, the savory aroma filled the yard.

Watching all this, a gentle smile spread across my face.

‘Home really is the best.’

Sure, the life of a chaebol gave me some amazing experiences. From food I could never see at home, to all kinds of new opportunities.

But nothing could match the comfort and longing family provided.

Watching my family and Dae-shik after so long, I had time to really savor how precious they were.

The air in the yard was gentle and soft. The blend of grilling meat and laughter left a vivid impression in my mind.

A day after summer vacation ended.

At exactly 10 a.m. on August 31st, 2002, ‘fantasylife.co.kr’—long awaited by aspiring writers and established authors alike—officially opened.

[Serialization Requirements.]

※ At least 5,000 characters per chapter, including spaces.]

Clicking ‘Start Serialization’ brought up the above notice first.

Below it, a bright white page bore the big logo and an opening announcement.

One chapter per day!

Fixed payment of 800,000 won.

Up to 1,000,000 won bonus for diligent + popular writers.

Minimum of 100 chapters, any genre!

Free serialization until episode 25, support payments start from episode 50.

All these conditions had to be accepted for payment to be issued.

It was a measure to avoid any confusion.

A big chart titled [Real-time Popular Serialization TOP 100] popped up.

From 1st to 100th, you could see the work titles and author names, and on the right, view counts, recommendations, number of comments, and total accumulated views for each author.

At 10:01 a.m., more than a thousand members had signed up.

Writers and readers who had been waiting for the launch all poured in at once, and the main board’s new post notification blinked nonstop.

“All that consistent promotion really paid off.”

To have over a thousand signups at launch was a great result.

The number of registered members kept rising, and soon hit five thousand in no time.

“At this rate, getting over 30,000 won’t be a problem.”

The response was better than expected. Since it was the early 2000s, I’d conservatively thought internet novels wouldn’t draw much attention, but far more people were showing interest in ‘fantasy life’ than I hoped.

Watching the member count rise so fast made my heart swell.

“Wow, so many serializations are popping up.”

Works marked ‘New’ filled the screen in quick succession. As each new post pushed older ones down, the latest uploads took over the top.

“Well, maybe I should serialize mine, too.”

I uploaded the chapters I’d prepared.

Title: [Consulting for the Chaebol Family’s Troublemaker.]

Once I hit the register button, the title appeared in the ‘New Serialization’ list. Instantly, view, recommendation, and comment numbers showed at the top right of the page.

Not even thirty seconds after uploading, the view count changed to ‘7’.

Five minutes later, it was up to 32 views, 4 recommendations, and 1 comment.

“Oh, someone left a comment!”

More than views or recommendations, I was interested in comments.

I couldn’t resist clicking to read it.

[Bookworm: The setup is refreshing. I can’t wait to read the next chapter.]

“Yes, this is it. This is the feeling!”

It was like rediscovering a hometown taste I’d forgotten. The thrill I’d felt in my previous life on Runpia quickly returned.

It was just one short line, but as an initial response, it wasn’t bad.

+10 comments.

[Jujeori: Oh! Unreal Oppa-nim is serializing here too!!! As expected of Unreal Oppa-nim, I trust your work!!!]

A clear influx of readers who recognized me appeared. My ranking shot up to 58th in no time. Riding the wave of popularity.

The influx kept increasing, and before long my work had settled somewhere within the top 20.

Rankings updated every 15 minutes, and with every refresh, my rank climbed ever higher.

As my rank went up, so did the number of recommendations and comments.

[More Than Rice: Came for the title, the writing is great.]

[Novel Superfan: I like the protagonist’s personality.]

Retention wasn’t bad, and reader reactions were excellent.

What I watched most closely was the recommendation rate. If recommendations exceeded 5% of views, it was considered a very high rate.

The higher the rec-to-view ratio, the higher the conversion rate when going premium—something every writer knew.

Of course, that kind of system hadn’t been established yet.

Maybe because this was the first time, but the recommendation rate was very high.

It hovered around 10%.

“If it’d been like this during the Runpia days, the writers would’ve been buzzing.”

Swallowing hard, I watched the rec rate.

“I can’t wait for the premium conversion period.”

I was honestly curious to see how much sales would be guaranteed once it went premium.

“Since this is still before web novel platforms became established, and I’m running this as a monopoly.”

Naturally, writers and readers who loved genre fiction had nowhere else to go. Membership growth was slowing compared to launch, but even so, this was enough to guarantee stable income for the writers.

“Now the publishing ecosystem will have to change, too. I’m looking forward to what’s next.”

Any smart publishing executive would catch onto this changing market and start paying attention to online novels. Wondering when that day would come, I closed the browser and focused on my writing.