The Outcast Writer of a Martial Arts Visual Novel-Chapter 220: New Employee - 6

Humans don’t live just to eat and sleep—we live to chase dreams.

Just solving Im Ha-yeon’s basic needs won’t be enough to bring her to me.

I have to make it seem like working at Daseogak is the only way for her to reach her dream.

She has to see me—not as someone to avoid—but as the rope of hope she has no choice but to grab, even if it means swallowing her personal feelings.

And now, that single rope of hope has been thrown.

Im Ha-yeon. Now you have no choice but to grab it, do you?

The moment I announced the benefits granted to Outstanding Work-Study Scholars at Daseogak, the crowd stirred noisily.

“Did he just say Ho-pil will help with revisions?!”

“Whoa. That’s better than winning an award!”

“You fool! If you win, the Literary Society sponsors you—how can you even compare the two?”

“People don’t write just to eat and sleep—they write to leave a mark on the world! Ho-pil is a name everyone in Yichang knows. Getting his feedback is the greatest benefit of all!”

“Now that you mention it... yeah, true.”

“Publication from Daseogak and Ho-pil’s revisions...”

“Why wasn’t my name on that list?”

“You idiot! Ask the fat belly that eats meat three times a day!”

“Damn! Why was my grandfather a government official and my father a landlord? Curse this unjust world!”

There was a lot of weird chatter after my announcement, but overall, the response was positive.

“That concludes the introduction to the work-study scholarship. If your name was called and you’re interested, please come to me after the event. I’ll hand you a form with your name on it—fill it out and turn it in by sunset tomorrow.”

I ended on a high note and stepped down from the platform.

-----------

Once the event wrapped up, I brought out the prepared documents. Immediately, the work-study candidates gathered around.

“Judge Kang! I’m one of the selected candidates!”

“Here’s your form.”

“Me too, please!”

As I frantically checked names and handed out forms, the one fish I really wanted to catch finally approached.

“Lady Im Ha-yeon, you’re here. Take this.”

A fish is always most cautious just before biting the bait.

There was no need to smile stupidly. I simply handed her the form like a relaxed fisherman casting a line—calm and mechanical.

“......”

You’re not taking it?

Im Ha-yeon hesitated like a fish wondering whether the bait might kill her. She reached out... then pulled her hand back again.

“If you’re going to keep hesitating, step aside. We’re busy. Next candidate!”

I acted mildly annoyed, brushing her form aside.

She flinched at my tone and stepped back.

“I have a question.”

As she moved away, a man stepped forward.

“Are you one of the candidates?”

I didn’t remember seeing his face on the list.

“No. I’m one of the Encouragement Award recipients.”

“Ah, I must’ve missed your face on stage—my apologies. What can I help you with?”

What timing. I’m trying to watch Murong Shintu snap up the bait and this guy walks up?

If he won, he should be kicking back on Literary Society funds—three meals a day, pocket money, a seat at every drinking party, and time to write. What more does he want?

I kept my annoyance hidden and asked politely. Then he dropped something unexpected.

“Can I also apply for the work-study scholarship?”

What? A winner wants to be a work-study scholar?

“Didn’t you win an award? The work-study positions are reserved for those who didn’t. The Literary Society provides separate support for winners.”

“If I give up that support, can I still get Ho-pil’s feedback?”

So that’s what this is about.

“Haha. There’s really no need for that. If you use the Literary Society’s support and write in comfort, better writing will come naturally.”

“No. I know my writing better than anyone. That piece was something I spent years crafting. I don’t believe more support will make it any better. I’d rather give that up and get feedback from Ho-pil. A hundred times over.”

You really want feedback, huh.

When you write alone for long enough, there comes a time when you lose your way. Sure, you can ask your family, friends, or acquaintances—but often, they can’t help or give advice that just doesn’t sit right.

I get it. I really do.

“But the spots are limited, and for fairness’ sake, it wouldn’t be right.”

No way. You’re not a struggling, aspiring writer—you won. You’ll be fine with the Literary Society’s support.

There are writers out there who desperately need this. I want people whose very survival depends on this job.

“Isn’t there any way...?”

I was about to say no, but then I glanced at Im Ha-yeon’s face.

Still hesitating. Her expression looked like someone wavering over whether to eat ramen—then glancing at someone else slurping it down so deliciously, her hand slowly creeping toward the pot.

If you won’t move, I’ll just have to use a trick.

“Well... there’s one way. If someone gives up their spot, we can reassign their form.”

And the best trick of all—snatching the ramen right before someone else eats it.

I casually nudged her form forward.

“This one here says ‘Im Ha-yeon.’ If she’s giving up her spot, I could erase the name and...”

“What are you doing?!”

Im Ha-yeon snatched the paper up with a shocked voice.

“I thought you weren’t going to take it.”

“Excuse me?! I was just thinking! Give it back!”

“Here you go. But the deadline’s sunset tomorrow. I won’t wait again—so don’t be late.”

“Hmph!”

Clutching the form like it was her lifeline, she ran off like someone who’d nearly lost a precious chance.

Why’d you hesitate when you were going to take it anyway?

“Then... is there no form left for me?”

“That was the last one.”

“Ah...”

-----------

The next day.

I arrived at Daseogak, doing my best not to let my hangover show after drinking all night with the Literary Society folks.

Should I flush out the alcohol with my internal energy? Or conserve what little energy I have to receive paperwork?

I was stuck deliberating like a gamer deciding when to use a rare consumable, when the candidates began pouring in.

“I’ve brought the form!”

“I have mine, too!”

“Here it is!”

Everyone brought their forms back.

Of course they did.

I’m the one who selected them, after all.

I reviewed the contest applications and checked their background info to get a sense of everyone’s situation.

Some guys go around screaming “flex!” every day, but write “We’re poor. Thanks, Mom.” on their applications. So I cross-checked their appearance, what they wore, how they looked when I accepted their work.

And at the end, I confirmed everything again with help from the Literary Society.

This may have started as a way to hook Im Ha-yeon—but the people I chose genuinely needed help.

“Am I too late?”

A man threw open Daseogak’s door and stepped inside.

“It’s not even lunchtime yet. You’re fine. Let me have the form.”

“Are you really offering the wage of a typesetter for this?”

He asked in disbelief.

“Of course. A typical bookstore assistant’s wage won’t even keep food on the table.”

The kids working in taverns are usually teenagers. They get room, board, and maybe a little pocket change—but you couldn’t call it a real wage.

Typesetters, on the other hand, are the ones who carry heavy loads for the escort bureaus. It’s hard labor, but it pays enough to support a family.

“Yes, you’re right. I just can’t believe you’d offer that much for a bookstore errand job.”

“Daseogak is the top bookstore in Yichang. We can afford it. Besides, if we help struggling writers now, they’ll repay us with great works someday—how could we not help?”

In reality, the wages are split half and half—part from the Literary Society, part from me.

But I proposed the program and offered the Ho-pil perks—so I deserve to show off a little.

“Of course. I may look like a beggar, but I’m no ungrateful beast.”

“I’ll be counting on you. But remember—when you’re on the clock, work first. Don’t get caught sneaking off to write.”

One writer getting caught scribbling ideas during work hours was more than enough. Kang Mo already covered that story.

“Of course!”

As noon passed, most of the candidates had turned in their forms and gone.

All except one woman.

Why aren’t you here yet, Im Ha-yeon?

-----------

‘So she’s not coming after all.’

I glanced out the door. The sun was starting to set.

I’d hoped to see Im Ha-yeon storming in, her pink pigtails flying behind her—but in the end, she didn’t show.

‘This is where I stop reaching out, Im Ha-yeon.’

I did everything I could. If she didn’t come now, clinging to hope would only hurt me.

I already found enough staff for Daseogak. Even if there’s the issue of martial arts and the former Murong Shintu lurking around, I can just pay extra to hire escorts.

Time to shut the door.

Just as I was about to let go—

“I’m not late... right?”

A pink-haired woman poked her head in through the doorway.

“You’re running late a little too often, aren’t you?”

I asked, letting a small complaint slip into my tone.

“The sun just started to set.”

She pouted, her lips sticking out in protest.

“Hand me your form.”

As I reached out my hand, she immediately stepped inside Daseogak and stood before me.

“...You’re really paying as much as a typesetter, right?”

She tried to sound casual, but her face and eyes were filled with anxiety.

“That’s right.”

I declared it firmly, as if to sweep her uncertainty far away.

“And if I become an Outstanding Scholar, I’ll get published?”

“That’s right.”

“And Ho-pil will help revise my work, too?”

“If you write well enough that he thinks it’s worth reading.”

“I’ll work hard.”

“Then...”

Give me the damn form already. But instead of handing it over, she grabbed my wrist with both hands.

What now?

I don’t care about your hands—I want your form.

“I’ll work hard,” she repeated.

“......”

Im Ha-yeon looked straight at me as she spoke.

Gone was the nervous gaze, the hesitation, the clueless expression. All I saw was the determination of a woman chasing an uncertain dream with everything she had.

“I’m going to work hard... and become a writer.”

Is this what a track star looks like when they swear they’ll get that gold medal no matter what?

Her eyes burned with sheer resolve.

“I’ll be rooting for you.”

As a fellow writer. As someone supporting a young woman full of dreams.

I looked at her sincerely and cheered her on.

She blinked in surprise at the way I looked at her.

What? Got something to say?

She quickly averted her gaze, mumbling silently, then lowered her head and held out the form.

“...Here.”

The moment I took the paper from her hand, she turned and bolted out of Daseogak.

For someone that fast, why is she always late?

Maybe it’s like that one friend who lived five minutes ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) from school but was still late every single day.

I held up the form she’d handed me.

[ Work-Study Scholarship Applicant: Im Ha-yeon ]

Finally got it. You have no idea what I went through to secure this one piece of paper.

In the end, I succeeded in capturing her.

Imagining her now, working hard at Daseogak, I whispered my quiet declaration of victory.

“Im Ha-yeon... you’re mine.”