Chapter 1

Introduction to Reckless Students - Chapter 1 (1/300)

#001

"Sure, sure, Mr. Author. I'll leave it to you."

The hour-long call finally came to an end. I confirmed that the screen of my smartphone had gone dark with a beep and let out a sigh, feeling the dryness in my parched mouth.

"Was it that author again?"

As I returned to my desk in the corner of the roughly 30-pyeong office, a colleague across from me spoke with a look of sympathy.

"Yeah, it's driving me crazy. Why does someone with such a weak mental state even read comments?"

I am an editor for genre fiction.

Although I've only been working for a few months, like any publishing or management-related field, we suffer from chronic understaffing. As a result, even though the return period hasn't passed, I've been swamped with work.

The basic duties of an editor include discovering new writers and managing existing contracted authors. Proofreading and providing feedback on manuscripts are a given, and going out to pitch to platforms is relatively easy.

The call I just had was also part of my duties.

Originally, this mid-level author was not someone I was supposed to handle yet, but due to a sudden senior's resignation, I was thrust into the role.

Another senior patted my shoulder, saying the author was a good person and not to worry, but his fatally weak mental state was a real headache.

"I told him not to read the comments."

Listening to him whine for an hour about how this person insulted him and that person insulted him made me feel dizzy.

"Ugh."

I munched on a ginseng stick that came as a holiday gift and checked my emails. Three authors were supposed to send their manuscripts today, but as of two in the afternoon, my inbox was still empty.

I refreshed the page every five minutes, hoping for something, but it was all in vain. I pressed my temples, which were throbbing, and barely held back a string of curses.

'...Should I quit?'

The urge to throw everything away and resign crept up on me. But thinking about my bank balance made it a sad impossibility.

After sending follow-up messages to the authors who hadn't submitted their manuscripts, I sank into a daze, lost in thought.

At the beginning of the year, I never imagined I would become an editor. After all, I was a writer myself.

Actually, if we go back even further, I never thought I would become a writer.

My original major was in computer science. I finished my first year and, like everyone else, joined the military. I expected to return to school and continue my studies after discharge.

If I hadn't seen a senior reading a fantasy novel during my military service, things might have been different.

In the midst of a monotonous routine, it was like an oasis. Despite being just a string of words, it opened up an infinite world.

By the time my discharge was approaching, I had decided to become a writer.

I ambitiously prepared my first work, even applying for a study leave in my final year, and started serializing it immediately after discharge.

I couldn't help but have high hopes for my first work, which I had written while sacrificing sleep. I expected it to quickly climb the bestseller charts and make me a fortune.

But the bigger the expectations, the bigger the disappointment.

It would have been better if it had been buried without attracting any attention. However, my work somehow received peculiar attention, and a significant number of people read it. And each one of them left a scathing review.

Not a single person.

Not a single person left a comment saying it was interesting.

Of course, I was prepared for some criticism. In any era, there are foolish people who can't distinguish between good and bad.

But as the criticism piled up, my hands began to tremble.

My work, filled with my blood and passion, was torn to shreds. On community forums, I was mocked by people I didn't even know, and my work became a mere joke.

Still, I didn't give up and started writing my second work with determination, driven by a sense of pride.

A mistake should only happen once. I'll write a masterpiece that you can't mock.

With a solemn resolve, I meticulously analyzed the harsh comments and worked to improve my weaknesses.

A stagnant story.

A lack of progression.

One-dimensional characters.

Insufficient writing skills.

Though my heart was torn apart by the sharp criticisms, I accepted them as the truth and took them to heart.

And then, the much-anticipated second work.

The 'great hope' turned out to be a 'great failure.'

Despite countless rewrites and revisions, it ended in a miserable failure.

So thoroughly that there was no room for redemption.

Faced with an empty word processor, I finally accepted that I had no talent for writing.

After posting a notice to stop the serialization of my second work, I fell into a state of apathy, locking myself in my room.

Had I ever been this devoted to something in my life? If it had led to a good outcome, my life might have taken a better turn, but reality was a cesspool.

The only silver lining was that I had a good eye for writing, even if I lacked the talent to write myself.

A publishing company that had sharply criticized my first work and offered a contract suggested I work as an editor.

Before writing my second work, I had analyzed other works to make up for my mistakes, and the report had impressed my supervisor.

At the time, he casually mentioned that I had a talent for editing as well as writing. Though it was just a passing comment, it took on a different meaning for me, who had fallen into a pit.

Regardless, I had to eat, so after much deliberation, I accepted the offer. After a few months of training, I became a full-fledged editor.

It's disappointing that I couldn't become a writer, but I'm satisfied with my current life. Even if I talk about quitting, it's still a job closely related to writing.

And who knows? If I stay in this industry, I might get another chance to make a comeback as a writer.

Hum.

"Damn, no rest at all."

As I dozed off, my smartphone, which I had left on my desk, started vibrating.

"Is this an editor or a babysitter?"

As I scrolled through the message list, I couldn't help but laugh bitterly.

One author needs to be coaxed because he's in a slump, and another wants to argue about why his work isn't doing well.

I want to tell them it's because of their lack of skill, but I can't, so I just burn with frustration.

"Huh? It's Mr. Today."

Fortunately, this time it wasn't a message filled with complaints.

The mid-level author who had kept me on the phone for an hour earlier was a bit less talented, but he was one of my assigned authors who was about to finish his third work.

This author was also assigned to me due to a senior editor's resignation, and he was the only one I addressed with the honorific 'nim.'

That's because Mr. Today always submitted his work on the designated date without any delays or difficulties, unlike other authors. His performance was also good, so he should have been transferred to a more experienced editor, but he had expressed a desire to stay with me, saying I was kind.

Skill and character.

If there's an angel, it must be this person.

"Is the author's work finishing next week?"

A colleague in the front row handed me a cup of coffee he had just made and asked.

"Yeah, he said he'd give me the final manuscript today, so that's probably why he's contacting me."

Mr. Today's current work, which is about to finish, is titled 'SSS-Class Absolute Ruler of Another World,' or 'Suijeol' for short.

Looking back, it seems like a rather bizarre title, but it was popular when the serialization started.

However, despite the third-rate name, it gained immense popularity due to the author's unique writing style and skill.

It didn't become a huge hit, but it was a solid success, and I, who had unexpectedly become his editor, received a significant bonus.

Thank you, Mr. Author.

I believe you must be handsome, tall, and well-endowed, ahem.

The text on my smartphone screen was as expected. I quickly replied and unlocked the screensaver on my computer to read the final manuscript the author had sent.

"Hmm."

It was a flawless and clean ending. It was so clean that it even left a slight aftertaste, making it quite enjoyable.

I sent a reply in the typical editor's tone, but I wondered if it was too insincere. This is my honest opinion.

Mr. Today said he doesn't like unnecessary flowery language or flattery.

"Ah, but still..."

There were some minor regrets, but they were purely personal, so I didn't want to write them down. However, as a reader, I found myself typing away.

The rest of the day passed without any major issues. I worked overtime as usual, even after the official end of the workday, and only left for home when it was completely dark.

After soaking in a steaming hot bath, I fell onto my bed, exhausted. But out of habit, whether it was a professional compulsion or an addiction, I reached for my smartphone and logged into the novel platform.

That's what editors do. We always have to keep our eyes open for outstanding new writers, and the last thing we do before finishing work is to check new works.

"Hmm, this one looks good."

I add promising works to my favorites and review them again the next day at work. If they're good, I send a light feedback and a contact note. If there's a work that's slightly disappointing, I log into the publisher's account, leave a trace in the library, and wait for the future.

It makes your heart race, right? Actually, I do it on purpose to make it race. I get excited too. It makes them write better.

"Ah, tomorrow will be busy too."

Though I complained, it wasn't bad. I was doing what I wanted to do.

Reading new works and meeting new writers. I thought that was enough for a fulfilling life.

I turned off my smartphone and looked up at the dark ceiling. As my body, relaxed by the hot water, released its fatigue, my consciousness drifted into the depths...

"Your Highness, it's time for your coughing."

"......?"

Did I... go somewhere?