The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel

Last night, I was simply a childhood friend who knew about the Heavenly Death Star’s past.

We shared childhood memories, but our relationship was just that of playmates. I spoke only of memories that would let us shake hands and part ways if Cheon Sohee accepted them.

Wasn’t that what most childhood friendships were like? Just playmates from our younger days. If we met again when we’re older, we would say, ‘Hello? Remember me from childhood? How have you been? See you next time,’ and then went our separate ways.

Even though we said ‘see you next time,’ we knew there probably wouldn’t be a next time. That was my plan, but it didn’t work out.

Now, Cheon Sohee would endlessly doubt me, and I couldn’t dispel all of her suspicions.

I was not a con artist who could perfectly deceive someone in every situation.

I was just a web novel writer with my own methods for deepening the relationship between the protagonist and the heroine in my stories.

The key was establishing common ground.

Once there was common ground, even Cheon Sohee would hesitate to doubt me under certain circumstances.

Her question was the perfect opportunity to create that speed bump.

“No. I wasn’t good at it back then.”

I responded to Cheon Sohee’s question about whether I had always been good at storytelling with a faint smile and a denial.

“Really.”

Cheon Sohee quickly looked down again as if she wanted to bury her head in her knees.

Was that it?

I wish she were more curious. I had prepared this strategy carefully. If it ends here, what should I do?

‘If that’s how you’re going to be, I’ll continue the story to pique your curiosity.’

“When we were young, I would sit you on my lap and tell you old tales.”

I recalled the times I read fairy tales to my younger cousins.

“Old tales?”

Cheon Sohee lifted her head to look at me.

“Yes, old tales. You really enjoyed them when I told them to you. Seeing your reaction made me happy, and I decided to keep going. Every time I went back to my hometown, I would fill my head with these stories to tell you. But when I told them to you, they didn’t seem as interesting.”

“Why?”

There was a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“To make a story interesting, you need to include sad, unpleasant, and boring parts. But I wanted to see you happy, so I skipped the parts I thought were fun. This made the original charm of the stories fade.”

“That’s like a feint. To kill a master, you have to distract with movement and then strike.”

She always brought up such comparisons.

“I’m not sure, but something like that. So when I told you stories, I always felt both sorry and happy. I was sorry because the stories weren’t as fun as I thought, but you always seemed to enjoy them. That’s why I kept remembering stories to tell you each time I went home, and gradually I got better at it.”

“Did I enjoy them a lot?”

“Yes. I told stories with all my might just to see your smile. Haha. Thinking about it now, you were my first audience as a storyteller.”

I spoke to Cheon Sohee with a nostalgic tone, as if recalling a fond memory. Sorry, Master Carpenter! I’ll change the first audience setting to Cheon Sohee.

“I was the first audience…”

Cheon Sohee seemed slightly hooked on the idea of being my first audience.

You were my first! How’s that for a story?

But it was not enough. This alone was just a memory from the past. It didn’t establish the deep empathy I originally planned.

It was risky, but I had to touch Cheon Sohee’s wound.

I need to derive empathy from that wound.

“I thought I would soon be able to tell you really interesting stories since I was getting better. But then, after that terrible incident, I knew I would never be able to…”

I casually prodded Cheon Sohee’s Achilles’ heel, a wound that could provoke her to draw her sword at any moment. I needed to show her that I too was pained by that past.

In front of Cheon Sohee, I put on a face that reminisced a sad and painful history.

“You’re talking about that incident…”

The eyes of the Heavenly Death Star narrowed in an instant.

Perhaps as an unconscious defensive reaction, her hand subtly shifted toward the short sword on her thigh.

She was poised to draw her sword at the slightest provocation. I quickly spoke up before she could interrupt.

“That’s why I practiced even harder, fueled by regret. So that I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of Sohee in heaven, should she ever descend to hear my stories. So that one day, when I die, I could share the tales of this world with the young Sohee who is waiting, in an interesting way.”

“……”

Cheon Sohee’s hand paused. She looked at me, her expression a mix of slight surprise and bewilderment.

How about that for a story? The reason that a rogue of Joseon became a skilled storyteller.

Longing for a deceased childhood friend.

Wasn’t it a compelling setup?

“Knowing that Sohee, who is actually alive, has heard my stories, as I said earlier, makes me feel a little embarrassed yet deeply moved.”

I deliberately turned away, covering my mouth and shaking as if overcome with emotion, like a brother who had just found his long-lost younger sister.

This was the obstacle I had crafted.

Not a trap for Cheon Sohee, but for myself.

A past that was painful and tormenting for Cheon Sohee.

Unbeknownst to her, there was a man who had suffered just as much from that past. And using that painful history as a foundation, he transformed his childhood immaturity into a strength.

And that man was the childhood friend and brother of Cheon Sohee.

Brilliant. Even upon reflection, it was an excellent setup.

Wouldn’t she hesitate to strike such a man, even with a hint of doubt?

“……”

Cheon Sohee remained silent behind me. It was my creation, not hers. How could she possibly object?

With this, I could sleep tonight, and for a while, without worrying about my bed being stained with blood.

The clothes were sorted. I sat back on the bed. If there was no reaction, I should just go to sleep early. I cautiously looked at Cheon Sohee.

Cheon Sohee stared intently at me. Did she have something to say? Her lips seemed to be moving slightly.

“Sohee, do you have something to say?”

If not, let’s sleep.

“…… The old tale you used to tell.”

Her words were unexpected.

“Huh?”

“Tell it now.”

She was asking for an old tale.

Was this like The Arabian Nights? If I didn’t pique her interest in the next part, would I die?

Since I had mentioned telling Cheon Sohee old tales in the past, she must have been asking to regain her memory.

Telling an old tale shouldn’t be a problem.

People rarely remembered when, where, and with whom they heard certain tales as they grew older.

Cheon Sohee, who had lost her past memories, wouldn’t recall anything just by hearing an old tale. It was actually better to tell a familiar yet unheard story at such times.

What story should I tell?

Many came to mind, but most featured a single protagonist. Was there a story that could create empathy?

A tale about siblings.

A classic folk tale.

One came to mind.

“I’ll tell you the story of The Sun and The Moon.”

I got up from the bed, holding a folding fan in my hand.

“The Sun and The Moon?”

“Have you heard of it?”

“No.”

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to remember any old tales. It was a story in the memory of the rogue Kang Yun-ho.

The classic folktale from Joseon, a myth about the sun and the moon, was even a story about siblings, perfect for this occasion.

Alright, before I started, I needed to make a stylish impression.

Snap! I impressively unfurled the folding fan in front of the Heavenly Death Star and bowed.

“Greetings. I am Kang Yun-ho, a storyteller from Joseon. Today, I have come especially for my long-lost younger sister. Would you allow me to be your storyteller?”

I made an exaggerated gesture, like a nobleman offering to become a knight for a lady. It might have seemed ridiculous if done carelessly, but with my well-built physique from labor, it carried a certain gravitas.

“Alright.”

Cheon Sohee granted her permission with her usual expressionless face.

In modern sensibilities, or in a fantasy or martial arts setting, such a gesture might have elicited an exclamation of admiration. At the very least, a touched expression would have been appropriate. Perhaps it was a bit too cheesy.

“Today, I couldn’t sell much tteok. On my way home, I’ll give some to the orphaned children next door. No! Oh, tiger! Is that you?”

The tale of The Sun and The Moon began with the story of a mother, a tteok seller, who was eventually eaten by a tiger. However, this might be too shocking for Cheon Sohee, who had lost her family.

Changing the setting was a common practice in folklore. I decided to change the tteok seller to a neighboring uncle in Cheon Sohee’s version of the story.

“Grrr! Give me a piece of tteok, and I won’t eat you.”

I contorted my body and covered my nose with the fan, pretending to be the tiger with a sharp gaze and a foolish voice.

“Really, if I give you a tteok, you’ll spare me?”

“Ever seen a tiger before? Give me a tteok, and I’ll spare you, of course.”

“Here you go!”

I mimed handing a piece of tteok to the imaginary tiger.

“Pant, pant. It looks like the real tiger is gone. Now, to the second ridge. Five more ridges to my home.”

I portrayed the tteok seller as breathless and anxious, hunching over and looking around with nervous eyes.

“Hold on.”

Suddenly, Cheon Sohee called out to me.

“Huh?”

I was engrossed in my acting; why the interruption?

“Did you act like that when you were young?”

“No. Back then, I simply had Sohee sit on my lap while I told the story.”

What kind of acting would a little kid do? The best setting involved having little Cheon Sohee sit on my lap while I told her stories.

“Then do it like that.”

Cheon Sohee stood up.

What?

I needed to do what she’s asking?

I should have Cheon Sohee sit on my lap and tell the story?

This woman was asking for trouble. Back then, it had been okay because we were kids, but not now.

What would happen if I let you, in your ninja outfit, sit on my lap now? Would I focus on the story or be distracted by the gravitational pull?

‘Uncomfortable.’

If my blood circulation became too active, it would be a disaster. I might as well say goodbye to a displeased Cheon Sohee.

“Sohee, you’re grown up now. Sitting on your brother’s lap might be inappropriate. Just sit over there.”

I had to prevent any mishap in advance. I moved next to Cheon Sohee and sat down, raising my knees and placing my hands on them, just in case she decided to try sitting on them.

Cheon Sohee looked at me, seemingly displeased that her suggestion was rejected, but she sat down again.

Good. I deliberately avoided glancing at her and focused on the bed, then started speaking.

“I’ll tell it in the way I used to when you were younger.”

With a voice as soothing as a late-night radio DJ’s but resonant enough to be memorable.

Under the starry night sky, I began a fairy tale recital for an audience of one.

“So, the siblings became the Sun and the Moon,”

I quietly concluded the night’s tale and looked to my side.

‘Asleep.’

Cheon Sohee’s eyes were closed. Her breathing was steady, indicating she had truly fallen asleep. My soothing voice must have acted like a sedative, akin to a level 3 demon-capturing spell.

Asleep, she looked truly beautiful. To think she would become such a madwoman in a few years.

My biggest concern right now was precisely her madness.

In the future, she would become a deranged psychopathic murderer. I had no way of knowing whether Cheon Sohee’s madness would gradually set in or suddenly erupt.

‘Persuasion has its limits.’

No matter how much I racked my brain and pleaded with her, if Cheon Sohee snapped one day and stabbed me, that would be the end of me.

A bomb that detonated when mishandled. A bomb that went off even if left alone.

That was Cheon Sohee.

‘I should give her a blanket.’

Cautiously, I approached the bed to fetch a blanket. Would she wake if I covered her? She hadn’t rejected my kindness the day before, so she’d probably accept it even if she stirred.

I carefully draped the blanket over Cheon Sohee.

She didn’t stir. She must have been exhausted.

‘I should get some sleep too.’

I was quite pleased with my bomb disposal squad-like maneuvers thus far. If Cheon Sohee had taken my actions to heart, she shouldn’t erupt for some time.

All I could do was hope her madness wouldn’t emerge until she decided to part ways with me.

I carefully lay down in bed and attempted to drift off to sleep.

It was a quiet night in Chilgok County, so still that not even insects buzzed.

The night sky was ablaze with countless stars casting their glow upon the earth.

Among those celestial bodies was the baleful Heavenly Death Star.

Though it glittered in the night sky, this star was unique in that it shone solely for one individual.

Cheon Sohee’s eyes fluttered open.

Her crimson eyes, reflecting the light of the sinister star, appeared to glow in the darkness of the room.

Kang Yun-ho, oblivious to Cheon Sohee’s awakened state, lay asleep.

In reality, Cheon Sohee hadn’t slept at all for two days. She had been pretending to sleep, closely watching Kang Yun-ho’s every move.

Cheon Sohee silently rose to her feet beside the slumbering Kang Yun-ho.

“You’re a swindler.”

It was her most reflective day in a decade.

Having resolved herself, Cheon Sohee unsheathed her short sword in front of Kang Yun-ho.

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