Became an American Retro Novelist - Chapter 197



Only Noblemtl

197.

The next day, 9 am.

“······hmm.”

Edward MacMillan entered the classroom and sighed as he looked at the freshmen sitting in their seats.

“Ugh······.”

“Ugh······.”

“iced coffee······.”

“Ugh!”

I roughly counted the number and saw that they all came, but they didn’t look normal.

Even though the professor came, everyone was lying on their desks and their faces were pale. Edward Macmillan, who roughly figured out where this situation came from, opened the classroom window first. Then, the smell of alcohol that filled the classroom was washed away by the wind from outside.

“Phew.”

Macmillan returns to the podium and sighs again.

The freshmen desperately tried to come to their senses at the sight of the old professor. Watching them struggle to get up, the experienced old professor opened his mouth with a smirk as if this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened.

“I told you to feed this bastard, the president, in moderation.”

The freshman welcome party was, surprisingly, a Stanford tradition first proposed by Edward MacMillan.

He arranged a meeting between freshmen and upperclassmen with the belief that ‘any experience is helpful to those who study literature.’

But it had been a long time since I had seen students so drunk that they were noticeable. And it was the first time for all the freshmen to do this, so it was funny.

“Freshmen, listen comfortably.”

Instead of scolding the students, he asked them questions.

“What did you drink yesterday?”

“······.”

“······.”

“You can tell me without worrying about being a snitch. The freshman orientation is the school’s official graduation ceremony.”

A student who had been hesitating at Edward’s gentle voice raised his hand and answered.

“I drank something called jungle juice.”

“Jungle juice? Where did these guys learn that stuff······.”

Edward’s words seemed to scold him, but his expression was the opposite, smiling.

“Okay. Let’s try replacing today’s class with a memoir. This is the first time I’ve done this as a Stanford professor. If there’s anyone here who doesn’t have a hangover, would you please stand up and verbally describe your experience yesterday? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee later as compensation.”

At those words, one female student mustered up her courage and raised her hand.

“It was a really great time. I got a lot of tips from upperclassmen about school life and their thoughts on literature. And the jungle juice was really delicious.”

“Whose thoughts resonated with you the most?”

“I guess······ it was Shin Han, a second year student.”

“God Han?”

Edward glanced back at the freshmen.

Some who had the presence of mind nodded, and others who didn’t smiled.

Edward, who thought that Shin Han must have caused some trouble again yesterday, asked curiously.

“What was the story?”

“Uh, to be exact, it was when the welcome party was about to start.”

And the female student starts explaining in a realistic way.

The god who came forward holding the cup spoke this story with a leisurely and bright smile.

[Obviously, you won’t be able to live the college life you dreamed of right now. But so what? All of that will be part of the results you’ve achieved. Ten years from now, we may not all be living the lives we dream of now, but let’s just smile and accept it.]

Everyone, including the upperclassmen, was moved by those words.

“This is a new work by a new writer······ Ah, is this going to be a spoiler?”

“Who hasn’t read it?”

Several hands raised in response to Edward’s question.

“Don’t say anything, everyone seems to understand, so let’s move on.”

“Ah, yes······. Um, and when we talked, God told us a lot of stories. Enjoying TRPGs with friends, and having a showdown between cowboys at a comic book store. It felt good to feel that all those moments were valuable and became my own work.”

“······I see. Thank you for the wonderful presentation.”

Edward smiled and sat the girl back down.

Yes, that’s what a writer should be like.

The problem was that those were the words of a young man who was only 19 years old. What kind of life has he lived, what kind of life will he live in the future, and what kind of influence will he have on those around him?

Feeling the anticipation rising, Edward concluded.

“This ‘precious experience’ you are having now will eventually become a great asset.”

It was an experience no one at Stanford had ever had before.

A freshman was hungover on the first day of class, and the professor personally took care of him. It was definitely an interesting story. Also, depending on how it was handled, the results would have been even better.

“But unfortunately, this Edward MacMillan is the kind of person who thinks that every action has a price. He does the same to me. Since I have authorized the event called ‘Freshmen Welcome’ and this is what has come of it, I would like to share the responsibility here with you all.”

And what followed was simple.

“It’s a task.”

A little more than usual.

***

It seemed like Rebecca Wong didn’t show up for her first class in second grade.

“······.”

As we moved up a grade, we started taking different classes from each other.

The reason I knew about it, though, was because I had heard the rumor that a horse without legs could travel a thousand miles. And that meant that it was shocking that she had skipped class.

Rebecca Wong, who was known to be the one who asked the most questions and studied the most among us even in her first year of high school, did not attend class.

Of course, it was because of the jungle juice I drank the night before.

And when I heard that news, I thought.

‘Didn’t you drink about three glasses······?’

One glass when you first start out, and then two glasses as the party continues.

From what I was watching from the side, his face was already bright red and he was blushing from the moment he took a sip. When I asked him if he was okay, he said yes and continued drinking.

‘I found out about Rebecca Wong’s kryptonite.’

Kryptonite.

In layman’s terms, weakness.

Rebecca Wong is incredibly weak to alcohol.

With that information, my evaluation also changed slightly.

“also.”

“Is alcohol the source of your writing skills?”

“Isn’t that the reason you write well?”

······I didn’t think it was worth worrying about, so I just left it alone.

Around the time I started my second year of high school in earnest, my birthday passed and I turned 20.

After a long time since the return, the front seats have finally changed, and birthday presents have arrived one after another from Alexa, Jiwoo, Doofy, and countless others.

As expected, most of the gifts were writing-related, and some people sent me cool new shirts, comic books, novels, or board games.

While checking each gift in the room, John, who had just returned, asked in surprise.

“Wow, God. What is all this?”

“I got it as a birthday present.”

“······What? It was your birthday?! Why didn’t you tell me!”

“We ate together on my birthday.”

“Huh? Oh, shit! Why on earth did you say you wanted to go out and eat?”

I had a small birthday dinner with my Pulp Fiction Club friends.

John and Rebecca didn’t seem to know that it was my birthday, but on the way back, Kate gave me a pencil. It was truly the best present ever. I decided that next time I would give myself a bottle cap as a present.

“Now that I know the truth, I can’t just sit still! I’ll buy you a present!”

“Okay. Come and help me put the wrapping paper away.”

“Oh, is that so?”

John, who was too lazy to go out because it was night, came closer and helped fold the gift wrapping paper neatly.

“What is this?”

“My girlfriend sent it to me.”

Alexa sent two gifts.

A shirt that suits me, some homemade cookies, and a letter.

The cookies were supposed to be stuffed with preservatives. How can you eat them when you feel bad about wasting them?

“What, what is this?”

“Scalp.”

“also!”

The scalp sent a sailboat with a wooden plate attached to the bottom for easy decoration. It was to be displayed in the dormitory and taken home later.

“What is this······? What kind of red cabbage are you giving me as a gift?”

“This is kimchi my mother sent me.”

“Wow. This looks really tasty. Just have a bite later.”

John is hastily trying to sort things out.

My mother has always been very careful about what I eat, so she sent me a lot of side dishes she made herself. Most of them were pickles or kimchi that were easy to store. I wondered where I could eat these in this dormitory, but I decided to accept the favor gratefully.

As I was opening each gift, the last gift came out.

“Oh, what is this?”

“My brother sent it to me.”

I smiled and took out the item Jiwoo had sent me.

I had all my favorite comics and novels, plus one more special thing.

It was a picture of Jiwoo taking in front of a building.

Colburn School. An art school located not far from Koreatown.

This guy was so passionate about band activities that he ended up choosing this career path. I thought he was a great black magician in his past life.

I smiled, feeling touched.

“······Oh.”

As I was opening and organizing the gifts one by one, John smiled and opened his mouth.

“God, you’re really amazing.”

“Here, all of a sudden?”

“Yeah, what should I say? I can feel my love for you in each and every item you gave me as a gift.”

“What does that have to do with me being great?”

“Does that mean you gave them that much love?”

I have nothing to say.

I was a little dumbfounded, but then I nodded in understanding.

“They are truly wonderful people.”

I was just really grateful that I could do something for them and that they could do something for me.

***

Meanwhile, in the offices of Hardboiled Publishing in Los Angeles.

Even with the success of ‘Country of Losers’ and ‘Universe of Losers’, they still couldn’t move to a bigger office because they had to pay off their bank debt. And with only two employees, John Smith and Miss Brown, there was really no need to do so.

Why are there four people gathered in such an office?

Four people who already know each other well.

‘I want to run away right now.’

Miss Brown took out her coffee, feeling like she wanted a cigarette.

The three people sitting at the table in the center of the office each had a different appearance.

First, Simon Carver, the head of this hard-boiled publisher.

“Hey, shall we begin?”

He was desperately trying to keep an eye on the two guests.

To her right, a blonde woman sat with her legs crossed.

Julia Chandler.

She, who was effectively an honorary editor at Hardboiled Publishers, was looking warily at the middle-aged man in front of her.

And the man sitting across from him, Remy Martin, was leisurely giving a speech to Simon Carver with a cigarette in his mouth.

“Once you make money, move your office first. You’ll be ignored.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Simon, don’t listen to me. There’s no need to increase the size. Why are you doing that?”

“When it comes to business, it wouldn’t hurt to take my advice. Remember, size does matter. I’m saying that you should show off your big, puffed-up appearance so that you won’t be ignored when someone comes to your office.”

“Is there really a need for that?”

“Yes. You can gain an upper hand in the contract.”

“Former CEO, you have such an old-fashioned mindset.”

“Hahaha, I’ve lived with that old mindset until now. ······In other words, doesn’t that mean that what’s important is not the times but myself? Miss Julia Chandler.”

“They fired all their capable employees and rode the Reagan bandwagon to fame.”

“It’s a skill to endure until the time comes.”

“Uh, uh. Everyone, calm down for now!”

“Hey, Simon.”

“Yes, Miss Brown!”

“If you can’t stand it, hold your heart and fall down. I’ll take care of it.”

Miss Brown left after saying those words.

But since he didn’t whisper, the other two heard what he said as well.

Julia let out a long sigh as she realized that the blood had rushed to her head due to facing her old boss who had bad feelings for her.

“Let’s talk about work.”

“I decided to take care of it at Random House.”

“Hey, is that okay?”

“If you don’t know, who will?”

“······.”

“You-you’re a famous publisher. Julia. About twenty-four times more famous than Noir Publishing.”

“Being famous isn’t everything. You have to have the right conditions.”

“In that sense, I believe in this work. If it’s this work, I’m sure they’ll do well on that side, too.”

“Are you saying this after reading the book?”

“of course.”

“huh?”

“Huh? Really?”

“······Why do you look at people like that?”

Remy looked at Simon and Julia with cold eyes, as if they were shocked to hear that a gorilla was reading a book, and then he leaned back in his chair with a smirk.

I know. I know that I’m doing something that doesn’t suit me.

But what can we do?

What I ‘read’.

“······oh my god.”

“I can’t believe it, Julia. The boss is reading a book.”

“I’m not your boss anymore, idiot.”

“Oh, I’m the boss.”

“You guys, you must have had a hard time hiding that kind of rude attitude when you were under me.”

“I’ve had a lot of more rude thoughts······.”

“Like blaming Hugo Irving for the crime by hitting his head with a typewriter.”

Remy looks speechless for a moment in front of Simon and Julia, who are talking harshly.

Miss Brown, who had been sitting in her seat listening to the conversation between the three, muttered quietly.

“We get along well.”