The next morning.
Kwon Sang-joon, Eugene's father, who habitually woke up at the crack of dawn, was met with a surprising sight.
"I'm heading out."
It was definitely… 6 a.m., wasn't it?
The fact that his son was awake at this hour was shocking enough—
"Heading out? Where are you going at this time?"
"Oh, just going for a jog."
"…A jog?"
Eugene, jogging?
Was he hearing this right?
Normally—well, even just last week—his son struggled to get up even when it was time for school.
On weekends, he'd stay up all night reading books and only wake up around noon the next day.
Sang-joon had always disapproved of that behavior.
"What's wrong? Is the air quality bad today? No, this isn't New York, there's no way Iowa City would—"
"Why all of a sudden?"
At his father's flustered question, Eugene shrugged.
"Why? Because a healthy body houses a healthy mind, right?"
"…"
He spouted something you'd hear in a public service announcement.
"They say we're in an era of living to a hundred these days."
"Hm?"
"Should we just live to a hundred without caring? If we're going to live long, we should live healthy. And that means exercise is a must."
"…"
The middle-aged-sounding logic made Sang-joon flinch for a moment.
"So, Dad, do you exercise at all?"
"Uh, no, not really…"
"Then perfect. Starting tomorrow, let's just go running together."
"What?"
At his son's suggestion to jog together every morning, Sang-joon's eyes widened.
*'Jogging, good lord.'*
He hadn't run in nearly a decade, let alone done any proper walking exercise…
"Anyway, I'll be back."
Sang-joon stared blankly at his son's back as he cheerfully left in his workout clothes.
*'Maybe… Kate was right after all.'*
Hadn't she been saying it all week?
*'He's not the Eugene we used to know, honey. He's grown up so much in just a few days.'*
*'That stubborn kid? No way.'*
*'I'm telling you, it's true. And you know how kids are during puberty.'*
Before their parents even realize it,
They grow up in a flash—no need to push them forward—they start walking ahead on their own.
"No need… to push him forward…"
Muttering his wife's words under his breath,
Sang-joon recalled how he hadn't been able to push his son forward—or even hold his hand—when he needed it most.
His ex-wife had passed away in a car accident when Eugene was ten.
It was such a sudden death, a massive loss that Sang-joon himself struggled to accept.
*'…I couldn't properly comfort Eugene.'*
While the two of them were struggling with their individual grief,
Sang-joon met Kate.
He found great solace in her, and as talks of remarriage naturally progressed—
*'What are you doing right now, remarrying?'*
*'…'*
*'Who gave you the right… to forget Mom so soon?'*
His son Eugene had become a child who spat out those venomous words with fire in his eyes.
Yes.
That's probably where the rift between father and son began.
"…"
Sang-joon, who had loved literature since his youth and was well-versed in culture and knowledge,
Somehow never figured out how to have an open, honest conversation with his own son.
*'Because… Eugene's mom used to handle that.'*
As Sang-joon sank into complicated thoughts,
A stack of printed manuscripts on the dining table caught his eye.
*'Why's this here?'*
It was a sample translated manuscript he'd brought home a few days ago.
Sang-joon ran a small literary agency that exported Korean works to the U.S.,
And this was the top-priority title his company was pushing.
Back when the market was booming, quite a few works had sold to the U.S. at decent prices, and his agency had done well as a result.
*'But lately, we've been striking out every time.'*
The works were well-regarded in Korea, but for some reason, the reactions from publishers here weren't great.
To chalk it up to differing needs and reader trends between the two countries—
"These are works we've already analyzed perfectly for trends…"
Lifting the manuscript with a sense of regret,
He noticed traces of corrections and edits scribbled in red pen all over it.
*'The translated English sentences… they've been revised one by one.'*
Some were tweaks at the word level, others had entire sentences rewritten.
Who could've done this? Kate?
But she—running a small bookstore in town—had never edited manuscripts for him before.
Then it hit him.
*'Wait a second.'*
In the middle of the manuscript, the word "grenade" caught his eye.
More precisely, the oddly tailed lowercase *g* grabbed his attention.
No matter how he looked at it…
*'This looks like Eugene's handwriting.'*
He remembered his son had a peculiar habit of writing *g* in a distinctive way.
Could his English have improved so much in such a short time that he was editing someone else's manuscript?
Sure, kids' skills can improve in a flash, but…
He'd seen a short story Eugene wrote in English just a few months ago.
*'Back then, his skills were nowhere near good enough.'*
…He shouldn't have been so harsh about it, though.
Sang-joon sighed with belated regret.
He knew better than anyone that Eugene had dreamed of being a novelist since he was young.
As someone in the publishing industry who'd once harbored the same dream, he understood his son's aspirations all too well—
*'What you wrote here isn't something you can show to others.'*
A talentless novelist.
Or an unlucky writer—he knew too well what kind of life they led.
*'Not just anyone can become a novelist, Eugene Kwon.'*
*'…'*
*'It's a world you shouldn't even dream of without exceptional talent.'*
When his son had mustered the courage to show him his work, Sang-joon had been deliberately harsh.
…That was about six months ago.
Since then, after entering tenth grade, Eugene seemed to have shut his heart even tighter.
*'So there's no way he'd put this much effort into my manuscript…'*
And yet,
Sang-joon couldn't tear his eyes away from the red-marked pages.
"Let's see."
The manuscript was noticeably more polished from the very first sentence.
As he read one sentence, then two, he found himself naturally immersed—
*'…'*
After reading through the revised sentences from start to finish in a daze,
"It's… practically a new manuscript, isn't it?"
Not only did it read far more smoothly than the original,
But the author's message came through more clearly, with a vivid energy.
*'This isn't the kind of editing a high schooler who's just good at English could pull off.'*
At the very least, it was the work of a professional editor—maybe even one of those top-tier New York editors known for their skill.
The moment he reached that conclusion, a thought struck him.
*'Could it be… the sample translations weren't good enough?'*
Having worked in this field for years, Sang-joon could read English manuscripts fluently,
But he didn't have the ability to tell if they felt natural to native speakers or if the translations were awkward and lacking.
"Right. If that's the case, then maybe…"
Perhaps the reason deals kept falling through was the quality of the translations.
His grip tightened on the manuscript without him realizing it—
"Phew, I'm back."
*Jingle.*
The door opened, and Eugene walked in, drenched in sweat.
For some reason,
Sang-joon instinctively shoved the stack of papers under the table and turned to his son casually.
"Did the workout go well?"
"Yeah, it's been a while since I ran, and it felt great."
"…Really?"
"Yep, sweating it out with exercise really lifts your mood. It's the best way to flush out toxins…"
Wasn't this the same son who'd avoided exercise as much as he had?
Seeing Eugene, soaked in sweat and preaching the virtues of health, felt so unfamiliar.
"Starting tomorrow, you're really coming with me, okay?"
"Uh, well…"
Jogging alone with his son.
How was he supposed to handle that awkwardness?
Already dreading it, his hand instinctively reached for the pack of cigarettes tucked in the corner of the table—
"Wait a second."
Eugene's hand shot out like lightning and grabbed his wrist.
"What… are you doing right now?"
"Uh, no, it's just—"
His son stared at him, speaking slowly, word by word.
"You're not saying… after all that talk… you still haven't thrown those out?"
Sang-joon's voice trembled despite himself as he replied.
"I-I was going to toss them."
"Right? You… weren't planning to smoke again, were you?"
That sharp gaze, like an eagle about to snatch its prey—
*'…It's just like Hyun-hee.'*
It was the spitting image of Eugene's mother, who'd passed away long ago.
*
He hadn't meant to,
But somehow, he'd ended up nagging his dad again first thing in the morning.
Afterward, when he arrived leisurely at his first-period English Literature class,
*'Huh? What's this?'*
He was startled by the printed handout on his desk.
[*The Confession of Friar Laurence*]
Now that he thought about it, they'd said they'd pick the best assignment to discuss in class.
The handout wasn't just on his desk—it was on every student's desk.
And printed on it was none other than the parody novel he'd written.
*'I sent it past the deadline, so I didn't even expect it to be considered.'*
Sure, it was just one of the student assignments that got chosen, but the unexpected turn made the corners of his mouth twitch upward.
"Wow, this must be the assignment they picked this time?"
"Oh, the first line already gives off a vibe."
The other students seemed to have noticed it too.
"This is seriously amazing. I just finished reading it, and I couldn't even breathe…"
"Whoa, who even thinks to twist it like this?"
"This is insane. Who wrote it?"
Exclamations erupted from all around.
Naturally, his name wasn't on the handout.
*'This is kind of embarrassing.'*
He kept his mouth shut, and right on time, Mr. Leonard walked in.
"Good morning, everyone."
This AP English Literature class, which delved deeply into creative writing theory, was one he'd stubbornly signed up for.
He remembered it being pretty tough for him before his regression.
"As announced last week, today we'll be selecting one of the *Romeo and Juliet* parody assignments to…"
After the teacher's brief explanation,
The students began freely sharing their opinions.
"This novel can be seen as both a letter and a confession from Friar Laurence to the Prince of Verona…"
"Just changing the narrator can have this kind of impact—I never would've thought of it."
"And the epistolary style? Isn't it just perfect?"
"Right, it leaves room for the reader's imagination to fill in the gaps."
The atmosphere was positively electric.
Watching the students debate so passionately, some even flushed with excitement—
*'So young, so full of life.'*
I crossed my arms over my chest, observing with a warm feeling.
Passion for stories is always a beautiful thing to witness.
"That secret and twist on the last page—I never saw it coming. It was such a shock."
"Yeah, I almost gasped out loud."
"It's the moment the genre shifts from romance to thriller in an instant."
"Honestly, I was stunned. I never thought a class assignment could have this level of polish…"
…
How long had the discussion gone on?
It felt like the temperature in the classroom had risen by a degree.
*'…'*
At some point—he wasn't sure when—
His eyes met Mr. Leonard's, who'd been watching him.
The moment he thought he saw a smile behind the teacher's beard—
"How about Eugene shares a thought?"
"Uh… sure."
Feeling the eyes on him, I continued at a leisurely pace.
"I think the overall analysis and critique of the piece have already been covered thoroughly."
Maybe because he'd never spoken this much in class before,
The students' eyes widened with surprise as they looked at him.
"So I don't have much to add on that front, but…"
One corner of his mouth quirked up.
"There's a typo in there. …On page 3, in the middle, where it says 'proof of love,' 'proof' is misspelled as 'proov.'"
"…"
After a brief silence,
"Wait, you're right?"
"How did we miss that?"
"Pfft…"
The intense atmosphere softened, and stifled laughter leaked out here and there.
A smile spread across Mr. Leonard's face too.
"A perfect review to cap things off."
At that, the laughter rippled through the room even more gently.
"And spotting a typo in your own writing is harder than you'd think—well done."
*'Your own.'*
That word made the classroom fall silent, as if doused with cold water.
"…"
The students' heads slowly turned toward him,
Their eyes asking, *'What did he just say?'*