Novelist Running Through Time - Chapter 76

TL: KSD

The request from Lady Rosa Luxemburg was exceedingly personal and, at the same time, of a kind that fell outside the scope of legal jurisdiction. Even setting aside the tragic, or perhaps comedic, framework that the noblewoman’s automaton lover had been murdered, this case could not be legally defined as homicide.

Therefore, the London Metropolitan Police showed not the slightest interest in cooperating to resolve the case (a stark contrast to how they usually beseech my friend Holmes for help). It is presumed that the police’s antipathy had intensified due to the recent series of collective strikes by automaton factory workers.

If you ask whether Lady Rosa Luxemburg is a pitiful and hapless victim, my answer would be ‘no’. She publicly declared her intent to find the perpetrator, who legally would be guilty of property damage, and hold them accountable to a degree even beyond that of a murderer.

Having inherited a tremendous fortune from her father and husband, the noblewoman’s coffers were willingly used to turn ruffians, brigands, and idlers into hunting dogs, and Holmes and I could investigate this case with the assistance of ‘the minions of the mega-rich’, a group that usually hindered our investigations at every turn.

At the time, securing a witness who had seen the day when Lady Rosa Luxemburg’s lover, the automaton ‘Mr. Smith’, met his tragic fate was also…

Well, let’s just say it wasn’t the most honorable method.

Mr. Bessel from Portsmouth, the witness, was a retired soldier with clumps of his wispy hair missing. Living in a port tavern, doubling as a cleaner, errand boy, and bodyguard, Mr. Bessel still reminisced about the past with bleary eyes.

Below is part of the testimony that Holmes and I witnessed from the witness.

「Have you ever played by digging deep into the ground to catch earthworms as a child? Have you ever smelled the soil? Yes. We were hiding in those smelly mounds of earth. Even as the rain fell, shells burst, and we soaked our feet in foul-smelling, rotten water, and even as our comrades had their legs amputated… We never left the trenches. Not for years!」

The old lion, pounding on the worn desk and shouting passionately, seemed like someone who couldn’t control his emotions. The witness alternated between speaking like a sturdy soldier and then dragging his words like a dying old man, with his voice leaking like the wind.

「Looking back… It wasn’t all bad. If I was the only miserable one, maybe, but there, everyone had to endure the miserable trench warfare equally. There was a sense of unity. The patriotism that these modern folks neither know nor care about existed!」

「…Ah. Where was I? Right, the trenches. The officers kept soothing us, saying if we just hold out a bit longer, the damned Dobermans, the Germans, would surrender. The Royal Fleet had completely blockaded the German Empire, so if we stayed hidden in the trenches for a few more years, those guys would starve to death eating only turnips. Meanwhile, we grumbled and passed the time playing poker under the lamp light. Occasionally, a few of us would die when a shell came flying.」

「It was around that time… When ominous rumors started circulating. Communication was cut off in various parts of the front, and there were rumors among the soldiers about an immortal soldier. The officers went berserk, threatening to execute anyone spreading false rumors, but after they actually shot a few, everyone started to believe those rumors were true. And then, that rumor became a reality before us…」

The old lion’s cloudy eyes filled with terror as they stared directly at the monsters from his memories, invisible to us.

「Automatons…」

「The German army… The German army filled the horizon. Into our deeply dug trenches, those damned automatons, fucking, those goddamn pieces of metal, stormed in, scurrying around the trenches, and decapitated my comrades with entrenching tools.」

「Those machines don’t breathe! They don’t need to breathe! Whether enemy or ally, amidst it all, they even detonated mustard gas. Know what happened? Lions, Dobermans, anyone with a heart, all died off, and only the clanking pieces of metal emerged from the yellow clouds!」

「Damn it… They’re weapons. Walking demons created by the Germans. And yet, they churn out automatons from factories just to operate machinery? Everyone’s utterly mad. Someday, the automatons will rise in rebellion all at once and kill us all. They’ll detonate gas and fire guns, killing all the innocent people!」

「Detective sir, don’t be fooled. Those things, they’re not human.」

That was the extent of the testimony we could secure from the witness. It wasn’t that the witness refused to speak further, but rather, Lady Rosa Luxemburg, unable to tolerate his outdated and narrow-minded thinking any longer, had her minions drag the witness away somewhere.

I protested to Lady Rosa Luxemburg that this was unjust and demanded she stop immediately, but Holmes, half my size and as nimble as a cat, positioned himself between the lady and me to protect me from her wrath.

Later, we received additional evidence secured by Lady Rosa Luxemburg and set off for an automaton factory in Scotland. I urged Holmes to abandon the investigation, convinced that the evidence must have been obtained by intimidating the old man (at least, to my limited understanding).

However, Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective in London and my dear friend, gently restrained me with his swaying tail and, with determined eyes, said we must not stop approaching the truth.

And then he swiftly boarded the train to Scotland by himself, leaving me no time to argue, so I ended up following Holmes onto the train without a word.

But looking back now that everything is over, perhaps Holmes had sensed the intricate shadow hiding behind this case at that moment…

That belated realization is all I can offer.

Side EP–Automaton Murder Case

“The atmosphere… has been adjusted.”

Midway through “The Automaton Murder Case,” the mood of the novel shifts.

From a fluffy atmosphere akin to a fairy tale or children’s book, to a thriller that digs into the dark secrets like the soot of factories…

It was quite impressive.

Of course, in the eyes of Professor Gu Hak-jun, it fell short, and even more so in the eyes of novelist Gu Hak-jun, it was a poor novel.

But through the eyes of dad Gu Hak-jun, it appeared differently.

Gu Hak-jun couldn’t tear his eyes away from the novel.

His daughter’s first completed world of her own shone brightly with her unique colors.

However, Gu Hak-jun was only able to tear his eyes away from the novel because something more precious was before him.

Gu Yu-na.

The moment he saw his daughter, nervously fidgeting her fingers and looking at her dad cum teacher, a panorama of long memories flashed by.

Starting from the first encounter with his wrinkled little daughter in the hospital, to the anxious care during every instance of poop, vomit, and fever. The anxious nights waiting for her delayed speech to develop. The time she ripped out her hair when taken for a ride on a carousel at the amusement park. The rush to kindergarten hearing she fought 3 to 1, only to find she had beaten up three kids by herself. The fight followed by reconciliation with his wife when she suggested they visit a hospital because Yu-na might have a developmental disorder. The surprise birthday party when she cried and hugged him tightly. The time she pestered to take a photo with her sister at the amusement park, and so on…

Swept by the long memories, Gu Hak-jun couldn’t stop the tears from welling up.

“Uh-huh… Yu-na…!”

Feeling proud of how well she had grown, he tried to hug her, but Gu Yu-na, terrified, ran away from her dad.

“What, what’s this? Is dad going through menopause?”

“Not hugging me because you’re a middle schooler now…?”

Gu Yu-na awkwardly walked over and hugged her dad tightly.

Gu Hak-jun stroked Gu Yu-na’s head, repeatedly muttering how well she had grown.

Gu Yu-na might not be fully aware of it, but Gu Hak-jun is a person well-versed in literature.

Even when reading the same text, he can discern aspects that ordinary people can’t even imagine.

And literature is a comprehensive art that encompasses an individual’s ego and intellect.

Through Gu Yu-na’s novel, Gu Hak-jun intuitively understood exactly to what extent the person Gu Yu-na had grown.

And generally, parents cry when they see their children grow up quickly and admirably beyond their notice.

It’s a mix of pride and a touch of sadness.

However, these are emotions that (at least the current) Gu Yu-na cannot understand, so she just remained in her father’s embrace with a blank expression for a while.

“You did well…! You did so well…! Our Yu-na…!”

“…So, what do you think of my novel?”

“You’ve finally become a normal person…!”

“…?”

* * *

Despite ‘Dad Gu Hak-jun’ tempting her with treats,

Since ‘Novelist Gu Hak-jun’, known for his sharp criticism, was out of order,

Gu Yu-na coldly brushed her dad aside and set out to find a substitute.

For someone without connections to the art world and without money (for example, Moon In-seop), finding someone to properly evaluate their novel is like trying to catch stars from the sky. But if you’re a student at Baekhak Arts Middle School, you just need to go to school. If your dad is Gu Hak-jun, you look for your dad.

Thus, Gu Yu-na, having packed up “The Automaton Murder Case”, soon found herself in a private meeting with Park Chang-woon, the man who teaches as a hobby, in the teachers’ office.

Since novel writing was Park Chang-woon’s main job, he analyzed “The Automaton Murder Case” with a level of seriousness in his eyes that was different from when he was teaching.

A teacher, who was Park Chang-woon’s colleague and loyal minion, approached him.

“Excuse me, Department Head… You’re supposed to enter the 3rd-grade evaluation class today…”

“Have Teacher Kim take care of it for me.”

“Understood!”

Thus, Park Chang-woon, the leading figure of Baekhak Arts Middle School’s Creative Writing Department, completed reading “The Automaton Murder Case”.

Gu Yu-na swallowed nervously, and after a long silence, Park Chang-woon finally spoke.

“It’s like a kid’s novel, but, how should I put it…”

“…”

“It has a vibe.”

Fortunately, Park Chang-woon continued speaking right away, so he didn’t suffer internal injuries from Gu Yu-na’s relentless, merciless, zero-tolerance verbal assault demanding he use ‘socially acceptable expressions’.

“There’s a color. I can see the color…”

“…”

“Okay! Pass!”

Park Chang-woon, stroking his white beard, suddenly snapped his fingers with a flick and stood up briskly.

Gu Yu-na jumped, startled, and shuddered, and Park Chang-woon pointed at her with his finger.

“I believe it. You’re definitely Gu Hak-jun’s daughter.”

“…Yes?”

Park Chang-woon shrugged his shoulders and slumped back down in his seat.

“It’s the talent I see. Writing structurally well is a matter of learning, but having, what should I say, flair? Style? Grit? That comes out in your writing is the realm of talent.”

Gu Yu-na recalled an advice from a writer. You can be taught how to write, but what to write cannot be taught.

Park Chang-woon’s critique was in the same vein.

“There’s a bit of rebelliousness in the writing, right? Not so much twisted hipster vibes, but more like, I’m not satisfied with this crazy world adults have made? Something like that? But then, postmodernism and post-war literature derived from such thoughts. In a way, it matches with a world that mixes the Industrial Revolution and World War I, right?”

Gu Yu-na struggled to keep up with Park Chang-woon’s words, her response delayed, but Park Chang-woon didn’t wait for her answer in the first place. He excitedly went on with his own thoughts, being no less eccentric than Gu Yu-na.

“Well, if you knew and wrote it like this, that’s great, and if you didn’t know and wrote it like this, that’s also great, so let’s just move on. But why cats? Why depict people as furry animals? Is it to say humans and beasts are no different?”

“Because cats are cute.”

“Ah, don’t lie. The moment you likened people to animals in your mind, there was at least a bit of thought like this: The world people live in is no different from an animal farm. Something like that…”

Gu Yu-na, as usual, couldn’t confidently, or perhaps due to a lack of social skills, rebuke with a sharp retort of “Why are you arbitrarily judging and deciding on someone’s feelings?”

Because it was a fact.

Gu Yu-na herself was the leading purveyor of fact-based brutality among the second-year students of Baekhak Arts Middle School’s Creative Writing Department, so the weight of the truth hit her hard.

Perhaps there’s something that resonates among those who instinctively tread the path of the predator.

Predators recognize other predators, and wild beasts only kneel to those stronger than themselves.

Overwhelmed by Park Chang-woon’s unrestrained and domineering inner strength, Gu Yu-na swallowed her pride and sought advice from the elderly sage.

“I know my writing is lacking.”

“Hmm.”

“What should I do, teacher?”

“Hmm…!”

“I want to… write well.”

Gu Yu-na omitted the word ‘like a literary writer’, but Park Chang-woon naturally pierced through the context.

It wasn’t because Park Chang-woon was a great novelist, but rather, because he was an experienced elder.

The feeling of admiring a talented friend…

Park Chang-woon sighed as if troubled by a difficult issue but also smiled as if intrigued by an interesting task.

“You want to write well, eh?”

Gu Yu-na nodded, and Park Chang-woon confidently provided an answer.

“Then first, don’t change your current novel.”

“…Pardon?”

“Leave ‘The Automaton Murder Case’ as it is. Don’t try to add anything more to it.”

Gu Yu-na protested. Shouldn’t one refine their writing to produce good work?

Park Chang-woon shook his head.

“No. I’m not teaching you how to create a good piece of writing, but how to write well.”

Naturally, Gu Yu-na immediately asked the question that arose.

Why are the methods for creating good writing and writing well different?

Park Chang-woon answered.

“If you said you needed to pass a contest with this novel, I would’ve taught you how to revise it. To suit the tastes of the judges and the public, to win awards and sell well…”

“…”

“But you said you wanted to write well. Then, the first lesson I’ll teach you is how to accept your writing as it is.”

“Accept my writing… as it is?”

“It means not to aim for perfection.”

Seeing Gu Yu-na slightly confused, Park Chang-woon explained further.

“Don’t try to write perfectly like a literary writer.”

“…!!!”

Gu Yu-na’s face reddened as her inner thoughts were exposed, but Park Chang-woon, holding back his desire to tease his (much younger) friend’s daughter, earnestly advised.

“I don’t think the writing of literary writers is perfect, but to you, their writing might seem perfect, right? The correct answer, right? Naturally. A kid your age getting nominated for the Booker Prize, well…”

“That’s, well…”

“But there’s no correct answer in writing. Even literary writers’ works aren’t the answer. So, you’re setting an impossible goal for your writing, and if you keep revising this novel, you’ll end up constantly denying yourself.

Isn’t this your best effort? If you keep denying and faulting your best effort, a person, no, a novelist will break down in no time. Isn’t that falling into a trap of your own making? Don’t get caught up in inner turmoil. Got it?”

Gu Yu-na couldn’t candidly reply with ‘I don’t get it’ because she was embarrassed.

Reading Gu Yu-na’s true feelings through her expression, Park Chang-woon concluded the first lesson.

“Let’s start with three claps.”

Clap, clap, clap.

Gu Yu-na’s hands moved automatically. This is what happens when you’re subjected to rote memorization and indoctrination from a young age at school.

Park Chang-woon, having refreshed their attention, instructed Gu Yu-na.

“First! Let’s learn to accept my writing!”

“Yes…?”

“Repeat after me.”

“Pardon?”

“Quickly.”

“My… To accept my writing…”

“Let’s learn!”

“Learn, learn…!”

“Good.”

Park Chang-woon smiled contentedly and asked.

“Dear child. What was the purpose of writing this piece?”

“…”

Gu Yu-na couldn’t easily respond.

Park Chang-woon stroked his white beard and smiled subtly.

“You must have had a purpose in mind before you started writing. Whether it was for a mystery literature prize, a writing contest, a publishing house, or maybe to show it to someone…”

Yes. There is someone she wants to show it to.

No, she wrote the piece to show it to someone.

Gu Yu-na’s eyes shone with determination.

Recognizing that resolve, Park Chang-woon gave Gu Yu-na a push as if he was helping a child ride a bicycle for the first time.

“Then take that piece and show it to them! Don’t edit it any further! Whether it’s accepted or rejected, just accept the outcome! That’s the first gateway to becoming a good novelist.”

“Can I, really do that?”

Instead of answering ‘Yes. That will become your motivation to keep writing in the future,’ Park Chang-woon physically pushed Gu Yu-na out of the teachers’ office.

“Get going now! Don’t waste any more of the teacher’s time!”

“Just a bit more advice, please…!”

Park Chang-woon relentlessly pushed Gu Yu-na out of the teachers’ office.

And he offered one last piece of advice.

“Go out there with courage and give it a try, okay?”

“…Yes.”

“And don’t admire literary writers too much! You have your own style, so why just sit and look at others’ writing?”

Gu Yu-na, her face flushed, hurried out of the teachers’ office.

Even after the sliding door closed, Gu Yu-na briefly looked back at the teachers’ office door.

Teacher Park Chang-woon, I thought he was a bit odd (correct), but he turned out to be someone admirable in unexpected ways.

But she couldn’t simply comply with his last words.

‘You can be taught how to write, but not what to write.’

How could she not admire someone who had already grasped the teachings of Park Chang-woon, a peer of her age?

Thus, Gu Yu-na harbored a modest rebellion in her heart as she disappeared down the corridor.

Then the teachers’ office door slightly opened, and Park Chang-woon stealthily watched Gu Yu-na leave.

“Kid.”

He had sent her off with a good scare, but it was likely nothing to worry about.

Gu Yu-na had already far surpassed her peers.

Whether it’s a literary prize, a writing contest, a competition, whatever. She will likely see good results.

Gu Yu-na has already grown into a child who knows how to produce excellent literature.

Who could coldly reject the literature of that child?

* * *

“I don’t like it.”

That was Gu Yubin’s response after reading the novel Gu Yu-na had courageously showed her.

“No matter what kind of writing you do, my feelings won’t change.”

“Uh, S-sis.”

“It’s funny. Did you think I’d get jealous if you wrote well, and that would make me stop my cessation?”

*****

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