Chapter 121: Chapter 121

The publishing industries of Korea and Japan are beyond comparison.

Even without mentioning the revival and peak of the Japanese publishing industry after World War II or the government policies on reading culture and whatnot, there’s a difference in scale from the start.

Population of South Korea: 50 million.

Population of Japan: 120 million.

What does it matter that Japan has more than double the population?

Japan has more than twice as many people as Korea. This is a fact that many Koreans overlook. Actually, it’s the fault of the swollen pride of Koreans, who, despite being sandwiched between China, Japan, North Korea, and Russia, don’t fear any of their neighboring countries. It’s an inevitable ethnic hereditary disease.

In any case, unlike Koreans who have an innate chihuahua-like temperament, Yohei Iwamoto, who loves peace (though historically, this is slightly debatable), couldn’t help but utter ‘mattaku’ whenever he witnessed the ignorant attitude that failed to recognize the superiority of the Japanese publishing industry.

“Ma-takku (Really)……”

Boom! It was as if lightning struck behind Iwamoto’s head. The shock came like lightning.

‘Have these two been in close contact since the Booker Prize?’

Most of the exchanges were initiated by Eisaku Siedehara’s first message, no, first email, but Moon In also diligently replied with the feeling of being a fan.

And in the midst of that, they became familiar with each other’s names. Siedehara had started calling Moon In by his first name.

Yohei Iwamoto, being an experienced editor, could immediately infer the nuances of their relationship.

‘That must have been it…’

Both were novelists, and Moon In was not just any novelist but an unparalleled genius in the industry. He was certainly worthy of Siedehara’s attention.

How much literary exchange must have occurred outside of Iwamoto’s view? Moon In was definitely someone who could inspire Siedehara.

And that was something Iwamoto could never offer… because he wasn’t a novelist.

The only thing Yohei Iwamoto could offer Eisaku Siedehara was money.

Like a man who could only offer money, desperate and vulgar in his attempt to hold on to the departing heart, Iwamoto opened his mouth.

“Department head Lim! S-shall we start discussing business now?”

“What? Oh, yes. Let’s do that.”

“I’ve prepared some materials in case you have questions about the publishing revenue ratio with Baekhak Pu—”

At that moment, author Siedehara cleared his throat.

“Ahem, if it’s not too much trouble, could we postpone the business talk a bit longer? I still have a few things to convey to In-seop-kun…”

“Ah, I’m sorry. But it’s really important…”

Iwamoto momentarily wore a blank expression. Then, with hollow eyes, he looked back and forth between Siedehara and Moon In before finally nodding.

That day, Yohei Iwamoto’s sincere emotions were (slightly) trampled.

“I didn’t know author Siedehara had invested in the movie.”

“Indeed. From what I’ve heard, the director is quite remarkable.”

“He’s going to introduce us, so we’ll probably meet him soon.”

“We might run into him by chance while following our schedule. You know we have a broadcast recording from early morning tomorrow, right? You need to go to bed early today. Got it?”

Lim Yang-wook made a gesture indicating he would keep an eye on things until the end and then left. The hotel room door locked automatically.

Only then did I erase the smile from my lips and jump onto the bed. The night sky had darkened, and Tokyo’s night view was sparkling, but I didn’t have the energy to admire it.

The bed was really soft. It embraced me deeply as if it would devour me, trying to lull me to sleep with its fluffy texture. But I felt a small discomfort there.

It was an unease residing not in my body but in my mind.

People’s spending habits don’t change easily.

No, no. How can one dare to generalize such a complex and multifaceted species as humans into one statement?

To be more precise, ‘my spending habits don’t change easily’.

In that sense, I would never come to such a hotel with my own money.

No matter how soft the bed, how bubbly the bathtub is, or how beautiful the night view of Tokyo beyond the window, it’s the same.

Ever since I learned the room rate for one night, a small discomfort had lodged in a corner of my heart.

Of course, I knew the accommodation fee was covered by the company.

And I knew that I had brought Baekhak far more profit than this petty lodging fee, so there was no problem in receiving such treatment from the company.

But the discomfort I felt stemmed from emotion, not reason.

Isn’t everything about how you set your mind to it?

Even when looking at the same luxury bag, people have completely different thoughts.

Some people see the value of the brand, observe the artisan’s touch, and predict that its scarcity will increase its resale value in a few years, thus the actual expenditure isn’t that significant.

But some people feel hatred when looking at a luxury bag.

Some people are evicted because they can’t pay rent and go hungry because they can’t afford food. They resent the existence of a single bag that they couldn’t buy even if they saved up their entire salary for several months.

The existence of that bag implies the existence of people who can easily afford to buy it, reminding them of the gap between themselves and the wealthy.

That’s why some people resent the bag.

And I was clearly among the latter.

I, too, resented the bag.

But what about now? I can now buy those bags that I once resented, and the people who make money off me readily open their wallets to put me in the finest hotels. And that money hasn’t just changed my standard of living; it’s also changed my social status.

I am now a genius writer, a celebrity, a role model, and an entertainer. People perceive me that way.

But is that the real me? Have I truly become someone entirely different from my old self?

So it’s laughable. The way people see me is almost entirely based on preconceived notions.

They just wanted a young genius writer who brought honor to South Korea. And so, I became that, whether it was true or not.

This is the reality of admiration and envy.

I understand why Kim Byul is not mentally stable. Even with my brief involvement in the entertainment industry, I feel like I’m losing myself between the image seen on camera and the real me. How much worse must it be for Kim Byul?

Those in the spotlight are given roles that people want them to play. The truth doesn’t matter. People overlay their ideal image onto someone through admiration, expecting and then becoming disappointed.

Around midnight that day, I had to face another demand people had for me.

“In-In-seop! Are you in there?”

When I opened the door to my room at the urgent call of Lim Yang-wook, he immediately thrust his phone screen in my face.

“D-Do you know what’s going on here…?”

Written there was the wish of the Japanese people.