Let’s start by reviewing Kim Hye-gyeong’s memories.
Kim Hye-Gyeong. 28 years old. The only son of a poor farming family.
He graduated from In-su University’s Creative Writing Department and pursued both a master’s and a doctorate, driven by his love for literature.
His tuition was covered through a scholarship as an administrative assistant in the university’s academic affairs office,
while his living expenses were managed through various part-time jobs.
During all of this, Kim Hye-Gyeong managed to write a short story every two months. Diligent indeed.
He read extensively, and the quality of his master’s thesis was exceptional.
However, he had failed the *New Writer’s Literary Contest* for eight years straight.
While he once made it to the finals during his undergraduate years, since entering graduate school, even passing the preliminary round became a struggle.
His results were dismal compared to the effort he put in.
His problems boiled down to two main issues.
### **First**: He had no sense of literary trends.
There are two kinds of "good writers":
1. Those who skillfully adopt and personalize traditional creative techniques.
2. Those who lead new styles and trends.
From the information Kim Hye-Gyeong had gathered, it was clear that the literary scene after the 2000s favored the latter—the trendsetters.
Books written by so-called "stylists" sold well, even if they lacked depth or authenticity.
Unfortunately, Kim Hye-Gyeong belonged to the first category, the traditionalists.
---
**Second**: Graduate school had severely crushed his confidence.
And here, the story of *Kim Han* must be mentioned.
Kim Han debuted as a writer during his first semester of graduate school and was now active as a rising star in the literary world.
On top of that, he was the personal assistant and favored disciple of Professor Lee Hyun-gang—one of South Korea’s most renowned novelists.
After his literary debut, he openly disregarded and mistreated Hye-gyeong.
It was routine for him to dump menial assistant tasks on her, and he harshly criticized her writing.
Hye-Gyeong had no choice but to endure it.
In the creative writing graduate program, authors with published works held high status.
Moreover, no one knew what consequences might follow if they crossed Professor Lee Hyun-gang’s favorite student.
With things as they were, other graduate students followed suit.
These were people who had long wallowed in insecurity, stuck as mere "aspirants."
Someone they could treat poorly without issue.
The public punching bag of the creative writing department, sanctioned by Kim Han and tolerated by Lee Hyun-gang.
To them, Kim Hye-Gyeong was the perfect outlet for their stress.
Hye-Gyeong lived on antidepressants and sleeping pills.
It was only natural.
When the mind is ill, it’s impossible to produce proper writing, no matter the style.
Unfinished work...
Being an outcast in the department...
A professor’s indifference...
Faced with these cumulative issues, Kim Hye-Gyeong impulsively chose suicide.
His unjust emotions feel as if they are my own.
This burning feeling must be the price I pay for borrowing his body.
Yeah. I made up my mind once again.
I was determined to change this life—for myself, and for Kim Hye-kyung.
First, I needed to become the kind of new writer the Korean literary world sought in 2020.
With a style that outpaces anyone else's novel.
Good.
After all, isn’t style the very trademark of me, *Yi Sang*?
***
I headed toward the Academic Affairs team at Insu University, where Kim Hye-kyung worked.
Ordinarily, I would’ve gone to the underground parking lot 30 minutes early to secure a spot.
When Professor Lee Hyun-gang drove in, I’d bow at a perfect 90-degree angle.
The moment he got out of the car and tossed me the keys, I’d catch them and park it on his behalf.
That was Kim Hye-kyung’s first task of the day.
But I won’t do anything like that.
Not today. Not ever.
As I walked down the hallway, someone ran toward me, calling out.
To be precise, they called out to Kim Hye-kyung.
“Hye-kyung hyung!”
The friendly-looking young man was Song Ji-hoon, a junior who had recently enrolled in the Creative Writing master’s program.
“Hyung, why didn’t you answer my call this morning?”
Because I was busy committing suicide.
Yeah, I can’t say that.
“I overslept. I was tired.”
Hmm… It seems even my tone is aligning with ‘Kim Hye-kyung’s.’
Flat, without highs or lows—calm and steady.
It matches well with Kim Hye-kyung’s plain but neat appearance.
But Song Ji-hoon’s nose was red.
He looked as if he had just come in from the cold, standing there in the chilly November air.
“Where have you been?”
“Oh, well... I couldn’t reach you, so I came to reserve the parking spot for the professor.”
“What?”
“A senior told me to go instead, so... it’s fine. It’s nice to wake up early in the morning anyway.”
Ji-hoon chuckled, grinning.
Here, “a senior” refers to Kim Han.
So Kim Hye-Gyeong wasn’t enough; now he was even using Song Ji-hoon for his benefit.
He flared up, feeling angry.
These days, Kim Han's arrogance has reached its peak.
This was because he had signed a contract for his first short story collection with "Garasada," the largest literary publishing house in the country.
It goes without saying that one of the executives at "Garasada" was Professor Lee Hyun-gang.
“Who does Kim Han think he is, making you do that? You're in the English department, after all.”
That's right. Ji-hoon is the administrative assistant for the English department.
There were no graduate students in the English department, so they sent him from the creative writing program.
“Who cares if someone else does it? You’re the one suffering out here all the time.”
What a nice guy.
You'd think he’d keep his distance from Hye-gyeong, considering the connections, but he’d been treating him like a younger brother for a long time.
Still, this wasn’t right.
“Thanks, Ji-hoon. But you don’t have to do that again. If Kim Han asks you to do it next time, just say it’s not your job. If he tries to threaten you, tell him Kim Hye-gyeong said not to.”
“Huh? Why are you suddenly like this, Hyung?”
Ji-hoon’s eyes widened in surprise.
After all, Kim Hye-gyeong used to tremble at a single word from the professor.
Just then,
*Thwack!!!*
Someone hit me on the back of the head.
“Gah! Are you okay, Hyung?”
Ji-hoon exclaimed, eyes wide with shock.
“Kim Hye-gyeong.”
…That familiar voice. It was Kim Han.
When I turned around, his smug, sneering face was a sight to behold.
It was the first time I’d seen Kim Han’s face in person, but a cold rage began to creep up inside me.
“Are you late? How irresponsible. I have enough to worry about with department matters without you adding to it.”
This guy had never cared about department affairs.
He had always dumped his own responsibilities onto Hye-gyeong.
Why was he trying to act all high and mighty today?
As expected, a few pretty girls were watching us.
Since last year, Kim Han has been teaching the undergraduate creative writing class.
He was rumored to only take pretty students under his wing, acting like a novelist.
“Office hours start at 9 a.m. It’s 8:55 now. And you’ll be in charge of Professor Lee Hyun-gang’s parking spot from now on. You’re his personal assistant, after all.”
“What? Are you crazy? Why are you saying this?”
Kim Han frowned, his face contorting in disbelief.
He probably wanted to curse me out, but he was mindful of the girls around us.
Besides, if rumors spread about Lee Hyun-gang’s *bullying*, it would cause him a headache as his favorite disciple.
“Haha... I think he’s still waking up. We’re doing the parking out of respect, you know.”
“So you, the *favored disciple* filled with respect, should do it. Don’t bother my junior.”
Kim Han shut his mouth.
After all, he wasn’t stupid enough to throw a tantrum and ruin his image here.
Instead, he cleverly deflected the conversation.
“Looks like there’s been a misunderstanding. Let’s talk later. Here, make a copy of this. It’s the material for my class this afternoon.”
He handed me a bundle of A4 papers.
“Is this your story?”
“Yeah. A new short story.”
For a rookie writer, using his own story as class material? What an arrogant guy.
I quickly skimmed through Kim Han’s writing.
The title was *Disorder*.
It was a tale told from the perspective of a young adult in a chaotic fortune-telling parlor.
Traditional slang and internet slang fused together to create a new humor code. In short, it was a novel aiming for lightheartedness.
Kim Han was definitely a stylist.
He was a step ahead of the trends, and his techniques flowed with ease.
Hye-gyeong had always envied Kim Han’s style.
But…
This story had glaring flaws.
Such a parrot-like novel that only mimics others—
“Are you really going to use this as class material? Don’t you feel sorry for the students?”
“…What?”
“What’s the purpose of blending languages to create wit? Is it just for the sake of laughter? Why mix in such a tired melodrama while trying to sound modern? Were you craving praise from critics? Does this wordplay have any real impact on the characters or aim for any symbolic subversion? What I’m saying is…”
I said with a smile,
“What’s the value of this story? This story is the very definition of ‘disorder.’”
“Hey, Kim Hye-gyeong.”
“Mixing the languages of media… Isn’t that the technique already used by writer Han Ji-on in the summer issue of *Garasadae*? Then this style isn’t new at all. In short,”
“Kim Hye-gyeong!!!!”
“There’s nothing redeemable about it.”
I handed his story back to him.
Silence enveloped the hallway.
“This… bastard… is insane…”
“Don’t believe me? Then have those students read it. See if I’m wrong.”
Kim Han, being smart, couldn’t possibly be unaware of the story’s limitations.
But trying to hide those limitations with trivial techniques only led to his embarrassment.
As expected, Kim Han couldn’t muster a single response.
He just took the story with his reddened hands.
“You make the copies. Since when does an adjunct lecturer assign work to a teaching assistant?”
I said one last time to him.
“And if you lay a finger on me again, I’ll kill you.”
Kim Han’s face was so red it looked like he was about to explode, but I didn’t care.
I tried to enter the academic affairs office to start my work.
“Hey.”
Kim Han grabbed my shoulder.
Then he suddenly shouted at the female students, who were frozen in shock.
“What are you looking at? Aren’t you going into the classroom?!”
“Uh…! Yes…”
“I-I’ll go now.”
The female students hurriedly left the scene.
Kim Han glared at me as if he wanted to kill me.
“Let go. You’re seriously making me late.”
“Where did you learn to babble such nonsense?”
“Do you really think it’s nonsense?”
Kim Han couldn’t bring himself to answer that.
Saying yes would be like admitting he was an idiot who didn’t even understand his own writing.
“Ha. Looks like someone who hasn’t even been published has read a few books.”
He whispered to me.
“Today, in the 10 o'clock class, we’re going to critique your story, right? …We’ll see then.”
A critique meant an in-depth discussion of creative works between the professor and students.
It was a traditional method unique to art schools.
But at this graduate school, critiques were different.
Only a few offered meaningful advice.
Most hid behind the phrase “personal opinion” to indulge in criticism and insults.
So what Kim Han meant…
Was that he was declaring war, promising to tear Kim Hye-gyeong’s story to shreds in today’s critique class.
“Sure. Go ahead. But you better pinpoint the core of my story. This will be fun.”
“…You crazy bastard.”
Kim Han gritted his teeth and left.
Ji-hoon, who had been holding his breath, grabbed my arm.
“Hyung… is that really you? You’re not someone else, right?”
Hmm… not really.
“Well, I knew you were studying hard. It’s just showing now. But… are you okay?”
I understood what Ji-hoon was worried about.
Having touched the precious protégé of Lee Hyun-gang, it wouldn’t be surprising if some repercussions came my way.
Regardless, we entered the academic affairs office at 9:05.
I took a seat at the central desk marked “Department of Creative Writing.”
Sitting inside my area was Park Yu-im, the office worker I had worked closely with for the past year.
She was younger than me and had graduated from the English department.
However, since the teaching assistant position was subordinate to the office worker’s rank, I had always treated her with respect.
“What’s the reason for your tardiness?”
“I’ve had a lot of changes lately.”
“Looks like you’ve been busy since the morning!”
“The teaching assistants left some work on the professor's table.”
As I spoke, I was in the middle of moving all that work onto an empty table.
“What are you doing, Professor?”
Yu-im asked.
“This isn’t my job. I only do the work you give me. This is for the teaching assistants.”
“Well… that’s true, but are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Today, so many people were asking me if I was okay.
Maybe it was because Kim Hye-Gyeong hadn’t been doing well.
“Yu-im, don’t take on the teaching assistants’ work either. They are not your seniors; they are people you need to manage.”
“Me? Well, my contract is ending soon anyway.”
“Still.”
I continued moving the work and left a message in the teaching assistants’ group chat.
[Please take the work I left on my desk. If it's not taken by the morning, I will shred it.]
I turned off my phone alarms and settled down in front of my desk.
“Yu-im, do you have anything for me to do right now?”
“No, nothing.”
“If you do, just give me a light tap.”
I put in my earbuds.
This way, I could ignore any teaching assistants who came to check on me.
On my computer screen was Kim Hye-gyeong’s short story.
It was a posthumous piece he had barely completed while taking antidepressants.
I feel bad saying this, but… it was a subpar piece of work.
Last Sunday,
Kim Hye-Gyeong had shakily shared this story in the class group chat.
Completing a story while suffering from severe depression was quite something.
Although we had never spoken, I admired his determination.
However, regardless of Kim Hye-gyeong's pain,
the students were probably preparing a slew of criticisms by now.
It was now 9:10. The critique class was at 10.
"Fifty minutes... let's give it a try."
With fifty minutes, I should be able to revise at least the introduction.