How to Become a Star Writer - Chapter 20

WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

◈ How to Become a Star Writer ◈

Episode 4: Don't Be Consumed by the Setting (2)

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A little later, when I opened my eyes again, I was inside the novel.

The hot sensation of alcohol gradually subsided.

...The worst part of entering this place every time was the drinking. I was going to suffer terribly from a hangover later.

[The Stars have paid 100 Dust for your diligence.]

A good start. Consistent serialization was a writer's most basic virtue.

The first thing I saw was the bleak interior of a detention center.

I slowly looked around, touching the walls and searching for weak spots in the bars.

“Escaping will be difficult. Give it up.”

Startled, I turned to see a middle-aged man dressed like a beggar watching me.

He seemed to be one of the petty criminals imprisoned with me.

Uh... wait a second.

This guy looked like someone I knew.

“Seong-guk?”

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“...Sorry. I mistook you for someone else.”

Damn it, that line would get edited properly on its own, right?

I'm counting on you, Stars.

For the record, Seong-guk was the name of a college classmate.

This man's resemblance to Seong-guk was... well, some strange coincidence from my subconscious, probably.

“Haha, I see. I don't exactly have a common face.”

“...No, you don't.”

“Ah, we should introduce ourselves first. My name is Birel.”

“I'm Lance.”

Looking more closely, the man was older than Seong-guk. Did my subconscious dislike that guy?

“I saw you spinning convincing words at the guard captain earlier. You're probably the first person to sweet-talk Solzhenitsyn that thoroughly.”

“Well, I still failed to persuade him.”

“Phew. What a shame at such a young age. Of all places, you had to end up in Armennia's detention center.”

Clicking his tongue, Birel looked at me. Hey, you're locked up here with me.

“This place is notorious for handing down heavy sentences. They regularly give even petty criminals ten years without a trial.”

If I were locked up in a place like this for ten years, I'd waste away in both reality and the novel. Horrifying.

“Judging by your appearance, you're a bandit. You're guaranteed at least twenty years. Poor thing, spending your youth in prison...”

I suddenly had a bad feeling. When someone said something like that, it was probably about time for this.

[A small number of Stars are disappointed by the story's development...]

“No, I'm leaving now. My father will come rescue me soon.”

[...but then hesitate.]

I knew it.

The Stars were awfully stingy too.

“Hm, so you have someone backing you? Still, ordinary means won't be enough. You don't look like the child of a high-ranking noble... Could your father be a wealthy merchant?”

“He's dirt poor.”

“Haha, of course. A rich person wouldn't become a bandit. Then how exactly do you plan to escape?”

“Well, my father is rather strong.”

Birel burst out laughing.

“Haha! You're planning to escape a detention center through force? Are you serious? You must not know how feared Armennia's Vigilante Corps is. Is your father perhaps a Swordmaster?”

“Um... He's just a neighborhood guard.”

“Then how in the world...?”

“Here he comes.”

Then the detention center's iron door opened.

A familiar face appeared.

Wow, I never thought I'd be this glad to see that great literary master's face.

“...Lance Pilgrim. You're released.”

The monster whose combat power could not be measured. Guard Captain Solzhenitsyn was standing there.

* * *

...I had definitely been released from the detention center, but I didn't know why my steps felt even heavier.

For anyone who didn't get it, yes, you're right.

That guard captain trudging along in front of me was my father.

What? How could that make sense?

Why wouldn't it?

I'd changed the setting that way.

Of course, I hadn't expected it to work either.

I couldn't become the son of a chaebol, a Swordmaster, or a wealthy merchant, but I could become the son of a guard captain.

Solzhenitsyn wanted his runaway son to return.

I needed a father to rescue me.

The circumstances lined up so perfectly that it was a setting I could change.

...Come to think of it, why weren't the Stars' messages appearing this time?

[A considerable number of Stars greatly admire your story!]

[A considerable number of Stars have paid you 5,000 Dust.]

[One of the great stars takes an interest in you.]

[The Star of Plausibility has gifted you 4,000 Dust.]

...Wow.

For a moment, I thought there was lag. Maybe the messages had appeared late because there were simply too many coming in.

And this was the first time the modifier “a considerable number of” had appeared before the Stars.

It was also the first time I'd seen the name “Star of Plausibility”... Damn it, everything was new.

Still, thanks to that, I'd gathered nearly 9,000 Dust in one go.

It was premature, but I thought I could understand the feelings of a popular writer a little.

Thank you, readers... no, Stars.

[An extremely small number of Stars dislike you for no apparent reason.]

[300 Dust has been deducted.]

...As expected, they weren't all good people. If they were just going to take it back, why give it to me in the first place? Since they were taking it anyway, they could at least tell me why.

That was when Guard Captain Solzhenitsyn's enormous back stopped.

“Lance.”

“Yes.”

My voice tensed without me realizing it. Then again, anyone would tense up looking at that terrifying back.

“I'm releasing you not because you're my son. You understand that, don't you?”

Hearing the word son made me feel strange.

I stopped for a moment and quietly looked at Solzhenitsyn.

[Guard Captain Solzhenitsyn Pilgrim]

Total Combat Power: 14,000 to ????? (Your imagination is not yet capable of measuring it accurately.)

Maybe because the setting had changed, he now had a surname that hadn't been displayed before. Since he was my father, it made sense that he would share my surname.

“I understand.”

“You're being released only because you're innocent. That is all.”

Solzhenitsyn spoke without looking at my face.

My face was getting itchier and itchier.

Even if he was a character in a novel, it was strange to become family with someone.

I'd never had a father.

The only family I knew was my mother at the family home and my younger sibling, Tae-hoon.

A father had never once appeared in my life. That was why I...

“I merely have one question for you.”

I didn't know how I should treat this person.

“What...?”

Solzhenitsyn turned his head toward me. At that moment, tangled memories flooded my mind.

Countless images of Solzhenitsyn spoke inside me.

‘Lance, you have to grow strong.’

‘Lance, you have to learn the sword.’

‘Lance, you have to live righteously.’

They were the memories of Lance Pilgrim. Lance's history, having lost his mother as a child and lived with his father.

...A history I had created.

‘I hate this, stop it!’

‘Father, all you do is force things on me.’

‘Please just leave me alone.’

The trite lines Lance had spoken in those memories tormented me.

A deep ache throbbed inside my heart. I could see Solzhenitsyn's wounded expression.

Solzhenitsyn, born in the harsh desert.

Solzhenitsyn, who had lost his wife when he was young and raised a child alone.

Solzhenitsyn, who had never learned from anyone how to raise a child, and therefore never knew how to be kind to one.

And the immature son who hated such a father, I, Lance Pilgrim.

‘Goodbye, Father.’

Ridiculously, the words I had created were tormenting me.

[Warning! Your Imagination is running wild.]

Damn it, he was just a character in a novel. A fantasy of a “father” that I had made, no, that my subconscious had made.

“Were the words you said then sincere?”

Only the corners of his eyes trembled faintly on that face of steel.

In that moment, I understood what he was asking.

“It wasn't your fault. You're a blunt person, but you're not someone who doesn't know love. Your son didn't run away because of you.”

Suddenly, I understood everything.

I see.

Perhaps that was why.

That was why the Stars had liked me becoming this man's son so much.

This man, Solzhenitsyn, had been saved then.

By my cheap “Sophistry Skill,” spoken merely to resolve the incident before me.

No, even if he hadn't been saved then, once the setting changed, my sophistry became a kind of salvation for him. Poor man.

I closed my eyes.

What would the real Lance have said at a time like this?

I didn't know.

How was one supposed to speak to a “father”?

I still didn't know.

So the only thing I could say was...

[The Common Skill “Sophistry” activates!]

A lie.

“I meant it.”

“...Do you forgive me?”

Even if it was a lie, it was fine.

This place was a novel anyway.

If that could save one person, wasn't that enough?

“Is that... so...?”

Ah, this was really embarrassing.

Watching Solzhenitsyn lower his head to hide his expression and make his already burly muscles swell even more, I felt truly strange. But perhaps that was how this man loved his son.

I forced an awkward smile.

Yes, maybe having a father for a little while wouldn't be so bad.

[A small number of Stars are moved by your story.]

[You have gained 400 Dust.]

...And getting Dust was even better.

“Thank you, my son.”

A thick hand wrapped around my shoulder. It was large enough to cover my entire shoulder and more.

So this was a father's hand.

That terrifying literary master wore the warmest expression in the world as he looked at me.

“Then starting today, it is time to train again.”

“...What?”

“Now that we have reconciled, should we not return to our daily lives?”

We had reconciled. But what did that have to do with training?

“I will make you the strongest guard in Armennia, no, the strongest guard on the continent.”

What kind of nonsense was that... I thought, when more memories came rushing back.

‘I don't want to become a guard!’

...Oh, right. The original setting was that Lance had run away because he didn't want to become a guard. I had written that setting in, but I'd forgotten. Damn it, did I have a choice?

“Of course. I'll train hard, Father.”

The future plot had been unclear anyway, so this might actually work out well.

Of course, the title of this novel wasn't The Strongest Guard in History, so I had no intention of actually becoming a guard.

Still, there was no harm in learning swordsmanship. Solzhenitsyn was strong, so he would make an excellent teacher.

As I learned some skills and grew stronger, the Stars would send messages like, “They admire your determination!” and shower me with Dust.

Then, if I took down a few suitably weak villains and served up some catharsis, the Stars would melt away in all that fizz.

Haha, maybe I really was becoming an experienced web novel writer.

At this rate, wouldn't I hit 25,000 views in no time?

“Then let's go, Father.”

“Let us.”

Anyway, I followed my newly acquired father home. And then...

“...Is this really our house?”