Novelist Running Through Time
Chapter 163

TL: KSD

Michael Collins, CEO of Collins Press, was not the kind of warm-hearted person who would greet his college alumni with a boisterous “Aren’t we all family?”

The U.S. publishing industry is undoubtedly the world’s largest market, and Collins Press is one of the top-tier conglomerates in that fiercely competitive field.

And Collins Press is Collins’ Press.

Like “Otto’s Potato Soup” or “Kim Jeom-rye’s Army Stew,” it means it’s the ‘Collins’ family publishing house.

That’s right. Michael Collins is the heir of a prestigious publishing family, inheriting a publishing empire with a 70-year history.

In other words, he’s a chaebol.

Although he didn’t possess a secret ink recipe handed down through generations for 70 years, he still had a sharp eye for people, honed as the manager of a major corporation for decades.

As an American, who could casually greet even a stranger in an elevator as if they were a friend of ten years, Michael Collins greeted Baek Seol with a broad smile the moment she entered the office…

…and immediately began his ruthless evaluation.

“Hello-ooo…”

East Asian. Minus 1 point.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Michael Collins.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Baek Seol, the CEO of Baekhak Publishing.”

A CEO, but too young. Minus 1 point.

Chaebol. Plus 1 point.

“You speak English very well?”

“Oh, not at all, haha…”

“Judging by your accent, did you study in the UK?”

Oxbridge accent. Plus 1 point.

But the laugh sounds weak. Minus 1 point.

“Hahaha, and the English translations, my goodness, the quality is so impressive…”

“Oh! I translated it myself!”

“Huh? I thought there was a separate translator who made the Booker International Prize longlist…”

“That was me!”

International Booker Prize nomination. Plus 3 points.

Overly boastful. Minus 1 point.

At this point, Michael Collins’ inner thoughts were veering toward cold ridicule.

The person sitting before him was nothing more than an amateur, unable to carry out even the basics of business conversation in such an important meeting.

Like a starry-eyed honor student meeting their teacher for the first time, she sat wide-eyed, delighted at being praised.

One thing was certain: a businessman should never act like such a nerd.

In this jungle, only the beasts capable of seizing their opponent by the throat could make money.

It was only because she gave off the impression of being from a wealthy, highly educated, upper-class background that he was willing to treat her as an equal. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have even entertained the thought of sharing a table with the CEO of some small, weak publishing house from far-off East Asia.

‘Well, well…’

Michael Collins had already been briefed on how negotiations with Baekhak Publishing were expected to progress.

Though it was just one of dozens of projects Collins Press was running, a sharp CEO should always examine even the smallest details with precision.

In his view, the business with Baekhak Publishing wasn’t a mutually beneficial partnership but rather a “job” akin to snatching a pearl necklace off the hands of beggars trying to leech off America’s wealth.

‘They’re so full of themselves just because they have one star author…’

Michael Collins resolved to extract every last ounce of profit from this unproductive conversation.

The plan? To win over the amateurish young CEO sitting across from him with just a few words.

After all, goodwill could always be exchanged for money later on.

But then,

“Ah, um, I studied English Literature at Oxford…”

A piece of information he couldn’t overlook slipped out.

It wasn’t a statement that appealed to his cold logic as a businessman but rather a word that stirred his sentiments.

For a brief moment, Michael Collins almost blurted out, “Oh, me too!” but his rationality as a cold, economic animal held him back.

Do Hogwarts graduates jump around excitedly just because they meet a fellow alum in a foreign land?

Not all Hogwarts alumni are the same. Some are Gryffindors, and others are Slytherins…

And besides, while Hogwarts only has four houses, Oxford has 39 colleges. Including the 6 PPHs (Private Permanent Halls), there are effectively 45 institutions.

While the Sorting Hat doesn’t sort the slightly shady kids into an underground dormitory using some mystical insight, each college within Oxford has its own distinct characteristics.

There’s a college that only accepts true, ultra-geniuses, and another where the entrance exams are a bit more relaxed.

Some colleges are more welcoming to international students, while others primarily cater to British aristocrats or families from prominent political lineages.

There are colleges where students go to church on weekends and others where students party instead.

Even within this framework, colleges are ranked by wealth and donation size.

Because of this, not all Oxford alumni are the same.

Treating all of Oxford as a single entity is the kind of “uneducated” remark you’d expect from someone who never attended Oxford.

Thus, when Michael Collins heard the word “Oxford”, it was inevitable that he would ask, “Which college did you attend?”

Swallowing his nervous anticipation, he asked Baek Seol.

“…Which college, if I may ask?”

Baek Seol then uttered a magical incantation.

“Lincoln College.”

“…!!!”

At that very moment,

Like a rose transforming into a dove inside a magician’s hat,

Michael Collins was no longer a cold-hearted capitalist. He became an Oxford alum.

And Lincoln College? That was worth an extra 100 points.

EP 10 – The Starry Sky

“So, do students stick together by college these days?”

“Yes, yes, it’s not completely gone like in your time, senior…”

Lim Yang-wook felt lonely.

Even though the office was filled with people, he couldn’t understand why he felt so isolated.

It reminded him of his early days at Baekhak Publishing, during a company dinner, when the mood at the table turned icy as soon as he mentioned his alma mater.

“Professor Yona is still there?!”

“I got scolded a lot while learning from him….”

“He was like that even when I was there. I remember I once asked a ridiculous question, and…”

As soon as the words “Lincoln College” were mentioned, Michael Collins and Baek Seol drifted off into a world of their own.

For dozens of minutes, they exchanged stories that only they could understand.

“Did you hear our dorm produced a prime minister?”

“Rishi Sunak?”

“Yes, yes! The first Indian-British prime minister… our alumni chatroom was in chaos at the time.”

“I actually studied with him.”

“Wow! Really?!”

“Ahem! Well, we weren’t exactly close, but we were on decent terms.”

“Please tell me more!”

“When he was younger, he was…”

From whether the moss on the dorm walls was still intact to whether the dorm conditions were still as miserable as before, from the atmosphere among today’s students to whether those impudent British students still looked down on international ones…

It was a formidable conversation, one that no one who hadn’t attended Lincoln College at Oxford could ever hope to join.

Given that Lim Yang-wook had already been scarred by being consigned to the “repentance zone” of a basement parking lot due to the “crime” of not graduating from Seoul National University, he instinctively shrank into himself.

Drained of energy, Lim Yang-wook withered like a half-dried squid, slouching dejectedly.

His exhausted eyes stared blankly at the floor, waiting for the conversation to end. When he glanced at his watch to check the time, his gaze met that of Rachel Surface, the editor, who was looking in the same direction.

“……”

“……”

No words were necessary. Their gazes said it all. The two editors, who had engaged in fierce negotiations for months, shared a silent moment of empathy and mutual pity.

As the friendly conversation between the two Oxford alumni dragged on endlessly, the two staff members realized with despair that all their months of negotiation had effectively gone to waste.

* * *

「The boy loved the sky.

If asked where this desperate first love began, the boy wouldn’t have been able to provide an answer. Love was simply like that.

The memory of curling up beneath the slanted ceiling of the shantytown, gazing up at the starry sky, remained only as a concentrated warmth.

Staring at the glittering jewels scattered across the black canvas, being swallowed by the galaxy’s celestial travelers, becoming the universe and the universe becoming him, such…

Beauty.

What is beautiful is beautiful because it is beautiful. The boy loved such profoundly self-evident beauty.

That’s why the boy’s designated spot was always the window ledge. Sitting by the windowsill, large enough for someone to lie down, his daily routine was gazing at the starry sky with sparkling eyes.

Whenever he sat still, staring at the sky full of stars, he felt the mysterious beckoning of the starlight.

“Hey, what are you staring at so hard?”

“That star. Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Sirius? It’s a shitty place. The governor changes every month. This is why you can’t give voting rights to those tinheads…”

Even though all of that was in a world that had already disappeared….」

“Phew…”

After writing for a long time, my eyes started to blur, and I leaned my head back for a moment.

I closed his eyes tightly and stretched his interlocked fingers high above his head.

The obligatory stretch made my whole body creak.

“Ugh… ughhh…”

Still, having a teenage body is nice. Joints bend flexibly, and there’s no hunched neck like a turtle. Though lately, dark circles had started to form bit by bit….

Speaking of which, I got up and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. After roughly washing my face with water, I met eyes with the boy who had gloomy eyes.

“…….”

Seeing my image with water dripping from my hair reminded me of that day when I opened my eyes on Christmas Eve ten years ago. (TL Note: The day MC died in Future)

Meeting my childhood self again was truly beautiful.

There were no dark circles stretching darkly, no reddish skin damaged by alcohol, no scabs on the lips from constant biting.

I didn’t know my barely remembered childhood self could be so pure. It was beautiful.

And so, growth must be the process of beauty slowly corroding. Even the way people perceive youthful versus aged faces reveals this truth.

Youth is beautiful, age is ugly. Purity is beautiful, impurity is ugly. And over time, the world slowly corrupts humans.

Why is that? Is it the world that’s corrupted, or is it humanity?

I don’t know.

But one thing is clear: there is no way to escape this corruption.

For several years, I’ve carefully observed how much I’ve become corrupted over time.

Still unable to believe that the boy in the mirror was the same person as me, I lightly pinched my cheek.

The boy in the mirror imitated me.

That boy had become noticeably more corrupted since the last time I saw him.

I ran my fingers through my damp, messy hair. It’s a mess.

“Ah…”

Bang Jeong-ah, a teacher at New Light Spring Orphanage, had a decent amount of experience working part-time at a hair salon.

Though she’d been chased out crying after being underpaid and fired without warning, the skills she had learned back then remained. She was quite good at cutting hair.

Thanks to her, the kids at the orphanage always had neat hair. Though the older kids, self-conscious about having their hair cut by the teacher, would run away here and there, trying to avoid it.

I was one of those self-conscious kids. Starting around middle school, I’d run away, horrified, whenever teacher Bang Jeong-ah offered to cut my hair.

Instead, I saved up the little allowance I didn’t have and went to a salon. If I couldn’t afford it, I just didn’t cut my hair. I thought it was more grown-up and cool that way.

Looking back now, it was a stupid thing to do.

As I’ve grown older, I find myself missing that warmth.

And I respect her. For a teacher at an orphanage to carve out time from her responsibilities to cut kids’ hair, that’s purely volunteering her talent.

But since I rarely visit the orphanage anymore, claiming to be busy writing, my hair has grown out like a bean sprout, turning into an unkempt mess.

And because I’m constantly staying up all night writing, my skin has become rough, and most notably, my dark circles have deepened.

The only reason I still look somewhat human and not like a beast is probably because I’m still young and because of Kim Byul’s obsession with my skin.

Whenever a pimple appeared, Kim Byul would panic and shove me into Baekhak Entertainment’s skincare room.

Kyaaak! A pimple!

We have to get rid of it right now!

Kyaaaaaak – !

What exactly are pimples to Kim Byul…

I don’t know.

But even though Kim Byul could deal with my pimples, she couldn’t stop me from overworking myself.

Writing excessively had taken a noticeable toll on my body. My wrist throbbed, my lower back ached with sharp pangs, and my bleary eyes were sunken, consumed by fatigue.

This is what adult corruption looks like.

Not the refined maturity of adulthood, but the kind of recklessness that comes from stubbornly ignoring a doctor’s advice. A body that should be sleeping early and waking early is instead being run ragged by a careless owner, wearing down far too quickly.

That day, the day I returned from Christmas Eve ten years ago, where had the emotions I felt looking into the mirror gone?

Where had the guilt gone? The guilt of having ruined such a pure, beautiful child with cigarettes, alcohol, and melancholy?

Even if I tried to recover that sense of righteousness now, it would be a miracle if that resolve lasted three days.

Truly, ‘purity’ must be something incredibly difficult to protect.

“Kheuheuheuk…”

A sinister laugh escaped from my lips.

It was ironic, after all.

The very story I’m writing right now is about ‘purity’.

‘Starry Sky’ is a story about a boy who retains his purity in a world full of corruption.

In other words, Gu Yu-na instructed me to write about ‘purity’.

I didn’t fully understand the reasoning behind her directive, but I trusted Gu Yu-na enough to follow it.

And as they say, blessings come to those who trust, eventually, I began to understand why Gu Yu-na had assigned me such a task.

“Haa…”

It wasn’t easy.

Even after I returned to my computer and let out a long sigh, I couldn’t come up with a single worthwhile sentence.

It felt as though a part of my brain had been completely blocked off, leaving me stuck, unable to progress my thoughts from a certain point onward.

In the end, I had to admit it.

Truly, truly, the subject of ‘purity’ was one that I found incredibly difficult to handle.

How could Gu Yu-na have known that? She really must be a genius….

Setting aside my admiration for Gu Yu-na’s genius for now, returning to the challenge I faced while writing the story,

The problem was that corrupted thoughts kept creeping into my mind.

The theme Gu Yu-na had given me was ‘purity’.

The purity of a boy enchanted by the mystery of stars in an age where all the secrets of the stars have been uncovered; the pure yearning of a boy who dreams of exploration centuries after the extinction of explorers.

And yet, what my fingers kept typing out wasn’t ‘purity’, it was ‘corruption’.

I found myself writing about cutting off the boy’s leg, about filling the interstellar pioneering fleet with human garbage, about the loss of human rights and romance in a distant future.

It felt like my brain was broken….

It was as though my mind had been saturated by the corruption of this world.

Then, like a lightning bolt, an emotion struck me-

“…Hoo.”

It was jealousy.

Jealousy toward what? Toward the ‘boy’.

The boy who carried the romance of the stars’ beauty in his heart.

The boy who had the courage to venture into the unknown, the wisdom to see starlight simply as starlight.

But I wondered, how long could you possibly hold onto that purity?

With pure malice in my heart, I began typing with sinister intent.

Two new sentences appeared on the screen:

「Day 340 of the pioneer fleet’s voyage.」

「All food has run out.」

*****

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