Novelist Running Through Time-Chapter 170

TL: KSD

「9U-na spoke. Surrounded by angry sailors, she stepped forward like a criminal standing before the jury, shielding the boy who was protecting her and instead hiding him behind her.

The uproar of the furious crowd, who seemed ready to drag the tyrant to the guillotine at any moment, was silenced in an instant by a single word from the small android girl.

“…I know I’m not human.”

“……”

‘Androids are human.’ The entire galaxy had been stained with blood to write these words. Thus, 9U-na’s words possessed the power to silence the sailors on the verge of mutiny.

Destruction always carries authority. It has always been that way. The only difference this time was that what 9U-na destroyed was not the skulls of the mob, but universal common sense.

“Nine!”

The boy, as always, defended the android with his pure, innocent gaze. In his eyes was a clear conviction that he thought of her as human.

But the android denied it.

“How could something made in a factory, not born from a woman’s womb, be human? Our rights were the result of political compromises achieved through strikes and rebellions. And politics can’t change the essence of what we are. That’s right. I’m not human.”

Ironically, the very people who had risen up against the oppression of the mechanical tyrants thought, for the first time, that this android who declared herself not human seemed more human than ever.

“So, understand. I tried my best, but how could I have satisfied you? I don’t eat, so I don’t know hunger. I don’t feel pain, so I don’t know what it’s like to be beaten. I have no pride, so I don’t know the humiliation of being dominated. And, at the very least, I don’t defecate, so I don’t know the misery of sleeping next to a pile of excrement. I can comprehend it intellectually, but I can’t empathize with it. That’s why I couldn’t empathize with your stories, and for the sake of efficiency, I ignored them. I’m sorry.”

For a dictator on the verge of being overthrown, her attitude was surprisingly dignified. But the crowd, who had been on the brink of staging a mutiny, began to calm down as they observed her.

Because for the first time, this android felt like a person.

In that silent, implicit moment of final argument, 9U-na, with machine-like coldness, presented a clear conclusion.

“But our course isn’t wrong. I guarantee the abilities of our ‘navigator’. It’s not your soft, emotion-driven, and fear-addled brains that made the judgment, but my intelligence, which always performs consistently. Of course, if smashing my circuits with a hammer will relieve your anger, I won’t stop you. But harming this boy is something I won’t allow. The problem isn’t the course. It’s this unpredictable, terrifying… universe.”

And so, the girl spoke.

The belief passed on to her by the boy.

“So please, believe in me just one more time, everyone.”

“……”

“We can find the star.”」

EP 10 – Starry Sky

A self-introduction is like Pokémons.

At first glance, it seems simple, but the deeper you delve, the more bottomless it becomes. Enthusiasts who have mastered eugenics and metamorphosis can attest to this.

Anyway, the act of ‘introducing oneself’ inherently includes various questions – what’s your name, what are your hobbies, where do you belong, and so on…

The end of that long enumeration ultimately leads to the question – where does human identity originate from?

It’s a question that gives you a headache just hearing it, but ‘self-introduction’ appears in life more often than expected.

It comes when you least expect it, and always leaves you scratching your head.

Gu Yuna was no exception.

“Can you introduce yourself?”

“…Hmm.”

If it had been the usual Gu Yuna, she would have responded with the terse reply, “Gu Yuna”, leaving the person in front of her flustered.

If they had asked for more details, she would have replied with, “It’s Yuna, not Yuna (Yuna, not Yoon-a)”, further baffling them.

Perhaps, in its own way, that was a method of introducing what kind of person Gu Yuna was. But today, Gu Yuna didn’t exhibit her usual aggressive, selfish, narcissistic, cold, indifferent, or cyborg-like attitude.

Gu Yuna’s gaze, for once, looked toward the “reason” and hesitated.

Glance-

What made the normally supreme and absolute Gu Yu-na nervous was none other than the camera angle watching her from 1 meter and 30 centimeters away.

But the reason Gu Yuna was being so cautious wasn’t the red light blinking on the camera, signaling it was recording. No, it was because of Moon In’s endless nagging to please, please, PLEASE watch her behavior in front of the camera.

“Hello, I’m Gu Yuna. I’m a third-year student in the Creative Writing Department at Baekhak Arts Middle School.”

Gu Yuna graciously spoke as if she were an ordinary person. If Moon In or Gu Hak-jun had witnessed it, they would have wept tears of gratitude, choking on their emotions.

However, the broadcaster’s interviewer, unfamiliar with “Gu Yuna”, failed to recognize this monumental act of grace and simply moved on to the next question.

It was like a clueless novice, unaware of the realm they’d entered, trying to walk a tightrope in front of a martial arts master, entirely oblivious that their very life was on the line.

Fortunately, today’s celestial omens showed that the ominous star Cheonsalseong (The Heavenly Killing Star) had dimmed, leaving Gu Yuna’s murderous intent unshaken.

Thus, Gu Yuna miraculously completed the interview like a normal person.

“Ah- thank you so much for taking the time today, student Gu Yuna! I hope we can meet again at the broadcasting station someday.”

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

The interview took place under the large green zelkova tree in Baekhak Arts Middle School’s field, so plenty of students were loitering around, curious to see what was happening during their lunch break.

Most of the children had come out to gawk at the broadcasting station’s vehicle and the pretty female reporter, but scattered among them were students from the Creative Writing Department.

These students looked pale as they stared at Gu Yuna, as if they were looking at a monster imitating a human being.

“Get away now! That’s not a human, but something pretending to be…!”

The Creative Writing students were sending warnings with their expressions and glances, much like characters in a horror movie who die first.

However, the regular Baekhak students, enchanted by Gu Yuna’s cute appearance, couldn’t help but approach her.

As soon as the broadcast vehicle and reporters left, the gathered onlookers instantly transformed into a fan base.

The bravest of them was the first to speak to Gu Yuna.

“Um… hi? You did really well in the interview.”

Gu Yuna didn’t retort with her usual “Who are you?” to put the person in their place.

Perhaps it was because she hadn’t completely ignored Moon In’s advice to be careful about her behavior for the time being.

As a result, she hesitated, unsure of what to say. That silence naturally became a nonverbal response along the lines of, ‘Hey you, reveal your identity.’

“Ah! I’m Kim Ye-bin, a third-year in the Piano Department. Um… I really enjoyed your book…”

Kim Ye-bin suddenly thrust a book into Gu Yuna’s hands.

Starry Sky.

The author’s names, Moon In and Gu Yuna, were printed on the cover.

“Could you… maybe sign it for me…?”

“……”

Gu Yuna remained silent for a very long time.

Her database didn’t contain an appropriate response for such a situation.

* * *

Gu Yuna, third-year student at Baekhak Arts Middle School.

Like most teenagers her age, Gu Yuna introduced herself with the title of “third-year student at Baekhak Arts Middle School.”

However, unlike other teenagers, it wasn’t because her school peer group formed the center of her relationships or world.

It was simply because she didn’t have anything else suitable to say.

“……”

But Gu Yuna wasn’t someone who gave “appropriate but hollow” answers when introducing herself. She never brushed off words casually, nor did she possess the social skills to do so.

Self-introductions are questions of identity. They delve into a vague and ambiguous territory that is difficult to express in words. And Gu Yuna was someone deeply immersed in literature, the art of refining that ambiguity into precise language.

Therefore, Gu Yuna’s identity was clear.

Novelist, Gu Yuna.

It was a phrase she wanted to declare proudly one day.

In other words, she couldn’t say it yet.

In Gu Yuna’s mind, the title of “novelist” was not something she had earned yet.

To her, a “novelist” was Gu Hak-jun, Gu Yubin, and Moon In.

Thus, for someone like herself, who hadn’t yet mastered even the language of ordinary people, to call herself a “novelist” was unthinkable.

If Gu Yuna were to call herself a novelist already, it would only tarnish the goal she had set for herself. To Gu Yuna, being a novelist was like a pure gold trophy waiting at the end of a long staircase.

Therefore, to Gu Yuna, ‘novelist’ was not a profession.

It was closer to a concept imbued with profound meaning.

The day Gu Yuna would become a ‘novelist’ would be the day she carried on her great father’s legacy, the day she caught up with her sister, who monopolized her mother’s love, the day she mastered the teachings of her admired friend…

And also…

– T-this… this isn’t right… this isn’t normal…

– Honey, calm down.

– How could she do such a thing to her own sister over a silly joke…?

– Honey. She can hear you.

– H-heuk… it’s abnormal. She’s abnormal. She shouldn’t be in school; she should be in a mental hospital…

– Hey! Min Chae-won!

It would be the day she perfectly refutes her mother’s claim that she was a mental patient who needed to be sent to the hospital.

Gu Yuna’s sharp intellect vividly remembered her childhood.

And by ‘vividly’, it meant she could close her eyes at any moment and replay that day’s events, as well as the things she had done, like watching a video.

Thus, Gu Yuna still couldn’t refute what her mother had said that day. The scale in Gu Yuna’s heart was merciless, wise, and fair.

And that scale was tipped not in her favor, but toward her mother. The judge within her stated, “Gu Yuna’s very existence is clearly abnormal.”

Thus, Gu Yuna’s life was a journey from abnormal to normal.

Gu Yuna’s literature was her effort to learn the language, the mindset, and the emotions of a normal person.

And so, the day she became a ‘novelist’ had to be a grand one.

It would be a day of resounding applause, angels blowing trumpets, surrounded by family and friends, celebrating the fact that she had finally become normal, not a monster, but a person.

That was how she was supposed to become a novelist.

But that day arrived too suddenly, and with far too little grandeur.

“Congratulations.”

“……”

“You’re officially a novelist now, aren’t you?”

Gu Yubin beamed at her with a bright smile, holding up her smartphone.

Beyond the screen, the internet’s most frequently appearing phrase was this:

‘Genius novelist Gu Yuna.’

The world had already begun calling Gu Yuna a ‘novelist’.

“……Ha.”

But Gu Yuna wasn’t a genius, nor was she a novelist.

Yet the world declared otherwise. And so, Gu Yuna found herself in the abnormal position of being the only one opposing the rest of the world.

And Gu Yuna despised the feeling of being in that position.

So, like a swift cat, she swatted at Gu Yubin’s phone with her paw, knocking it out of her hand, then stomped away from the dining table and retreated to her room.

“Hey! Gu Yuna! You cracked the screen!”

Ignoring Gu Yubin’s anguished cry, Gu Yuna locked her door, crawled under her blanket, and curled up.

She endured the sense of isolation, as if she had fallen into a bizarre world.

After the publication of the novel ‘Starry Sky’, Gu Yuna’s world had turned upside down, a complete 180.

The book, having gone through a whirlwind of processes beyond her reach, suddenly began selling across the globe, South Korea, Japan, the United States, and even Europe.

As a result, Gu Yuna’s social reputation also spiraled out of her control, evolving as others saw fit, spreading, and eventually solidifying into a widely accepted truth.

That “truth” was this: “Gu Yuna is a genius novelist, the second coming of Moon In.”

“……”

She couldn’t agree with it.

Gu Yuna hadn’t written that novel to make money, nor had she written it to become famous.

‘Starry Sky’ had a clear purpose. Until that purpose was fulfilled, the novel was a failure.

* * *

“I’ll go.”

“Really?!”

Gu Yuna readily agreed to join the trip to the United States for precisely that reason.

Gu Yuna’s gaze, however, wasn’t fixed on Moon In’s eyes as he explained the precautions for their time in America.

Her eyes were focused far beyond him.

*****

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