The English literature classroom was buzzing with excitement.
"Wait, did he just say… it's his own—"
Before someone could finish their sentence, other voices burst out.
"No way, Eugene? Eugene wrote this?"
"How could he…"
Some were confused, but most were filled with surprise, shock, and awe.
In the eyes of the ambitious students who had been vying for Professor Leonard's approval, a faint glimmer of jealousy flickered.
At that moment, Mr. Leonard spoke again.
"Now, let's give a round of applause to Eugene for showing such impressive skill."
"…!"
His words were like a confirmation shot, and though everyone wore dazed expressions, a delayed round of applause broke out before fading away.
It felt somewhat different from the heated reactions just moments ago.
The atmosphere was one of uncertainty, as no one knew how to process this unexpected truth.
And understandably so—no one had ever imagined that this piece could have been written by Eugene.
Unbeknownst to Eugene, the class included a few students already making names for themselves in creative writing.
Charlotte, who swept every writing contest she entered.
Jayden, who had already signed an exclusive contract with a literary agent.
Rowan, an active member of the creative writing club.
The students had assumed it would be one of these three.
"…And with that, we'll end today's class."
Amid the still-chaotic atmosphere, as soon as the lesson concluded, students swarmed around Eugene's desk like bees.
"Hold on, Eugene, have you always been writing novels?"
"No matter how I look at it, this doesn't seem like something you could finish in just a week—"
"How did you even come up with this?"
Eugene looked a little flustered, but soon he chuckled, slung his bag over his shoulder, and said,
"See you all next class."
"W-Wait! Eugene!"
"I still have so many questions…"
Just as the other students tried to stop him from leaving so confidently, a voice cut in.
"Eugene, can we talk for a moment?"
…It was Mr. Leonard, stealing the moment.
---
A little later, in the creative writing club room.
After hearing Leonard's explanation, Eugene blinked once.
"You want to publish this piece… in the school magazine?"
Hillcrest High School, located in the heart of Iowa City, a hub of literary culture.
This school was known for its strength in arts and culture, particularly in creative writing and journalism.
As a result, Hillcrest's school magazine, *School Scene*, garnered attention even from students at other schools.
"We're looking for a story to feature in a special edition celebrating the school's 30th anniversary. I think it'd be a shame for a piece like this to just end as a class assignment."
He added that he was the faculty advisor for the magazine and would recommend *The Confession of Friar Lawrence* using his authority.
"Once it's published, more people might get to read your work."
After finishing his pitch, Leonard quietly studied Eugene's face.
"I'd be happy to."
Eugene simply smiled.
…A surprisingly understated reaction.
As Leonard recalled other students who had teared up or squealed at such proposals, Eugene spoke again.
"But, is there a payment?"
"Huh?"
"Just kidding."
"…"
Leonard, momentarily thrown off, quickly regained his composure.
"That aside, let's be honest now."
"Honest?"
Leonard Hines.
His eyes, sharpened by years of literary critique, glinted keenly.
"When and how did you write this story?"
"…Sorry?"
In truth, this was the real question at hand.
'He might be able to fool the other students' eyes.'
But not Leonard's.
This piece was absolutely not something that could be churned out in a week for a mere assignment.
'No matter how you look at it, it's shockingly well-written.'
The literature teacher's gaze drifted to the printed pages on the desk.
In *The Confession of Friar Lawrence*, Friar Lawrence—who in the original aided Romeo and Juliet's elopement—transforms into a first-person observer-narrator.
He confesses that, contrary to the widely known tale of their double suicide as a tragic love story, it was actually the result of a political conspiracy between the two families.
As the pages turn, the friar's growing anxiety and guilt become increasingly vivid.
'And then the twist at the final chapter.'
It hits the reader like a thunderbolt, leaving a powerful impression.
…The aftershock still lingered in Leonard's mind.
'But the real charm of this piece lies elsewhere.'
A single line from *The Confession of Friar Lawrence* caught his eye:
*[…Blind passion turns into a poison-tipped dagger, and a glorious crown becomes a crown of thorns…]*
Yes.
From the first sentence to the last, not a single word was wasted.
The poetic rhythm and rhyme made it chillingly captivating.
'People often think short stories are easier to write because they're shorter.'
But crafting a complete narrative and message within a limited word count while maintaining quality is no small feat.
That's why microfiction, often called the "300-word aesthetic," is so revered.
In any case, Leonard had reached a conclusion.
…Eugene's *The Confession of Friar Lawrence* was the product of endless contemplation, reflection, practice, and—
'Relentless revision.'
Didn't Hemingway say all first drafts are trash?
Eugene was likely the type to write in solitude, pushing himself to the brink.
'That's how he could produce something of this caliber yet only reveal his talent now.'
It's a surprisingly common trait among artists, especially writers.
Writing, rewriting, erasing, and starting over.
Struggling against walls, tearing their inner selves apart, only to produce a shining result.
…Leonard had been the same in his youth.
'For people like that, there are only two outcomes.'
They either overcome every obstacle to become a diamond-like genius.
Or they collapse under the unbearable weight of their inner torment, becoming a "failed artist."
That's why he'd suggested Eugene join the club.
He hoped Eugene's world would expand, that he'd grow into a solid diamond alongside peers.
"Writing is inherently a solitary task," Leonard said, his earnest gaze fixed on Eugene.
"But even so, it's far better to have companions."
"…"
After blinking twice, Eugene responded a beat later.
"Uh, it wasn't… really like that for me."
I knew he'd say that.
A warm, understanding smile spread across Mr. Leonard's face.
"You don't have to pretend, Eugene."
That teenage bravado, acting tough.
Having gone through that phase himself, Leonard could fully empathize.
"I know exactly how that feels."
"…"
Perhaps his sincerity got through.
After a moment of thought, Eugene nodded.
"You're right, sir."
A faint smile curved his lips.
"It'd probably be more fun to write with others than alone."
"Of course it would."
As Leonard excitedly pulled out a club application form—
"I'll think positively about your suggestion."
"Huh? Positively?"
"Oh, do I need to decide right now?"
"No, not exactly…"
Was he considering another option? When Leonard asked, Eugene grinned.
"I was thinking about joining a sports club too."
"A sports club?"
"Yeah, I need to build some muscle."
…Did he just say *muscle*?
"Muscle's like a kind of savings, you know."
"Savings?"
"After your mid-30s, aging kicks in hard. Even if you lose weight, fat stays, but muscle goes first."
He went on about how muscle built in youth sustains you for life.
As Leonard's mind reeled from this health-expert-like explanation—
"Oh, and sir."
Eugene's refined face turned to meet Leonard's.
"You should take some vitamin C."
"Huh? Vitamin C?"
Eugene pointed under his own eyes.
"Dark circles. They can show up if you're low on vitamin C."
"…"
Eat antioxidants, get enough sleep, and rest well.
As Eugene continued, Leonard could only nod dumbly with an "Uh…"
"See you next class, then."
With a bright farewell, Eugene left the dazed teacher behind.
*Click.* The club room door shut.
"Huh."
He's definitely seventeen… right?
Leonard rubbed his beard and clicked his tongue.
---
That afternoon, after class.
I stopped by Ned's Comics Store to say hi to Ned's dad.
Inside the modest shop, shelves brimmed with comics, genre novels, character merchandise, TCGs, and board games.
"Uncle Joseph, it's been a while."
Ned's father, Joseph, beamed at me.
Incidentally, he's also my stepmother Kate's older brother.
"Eugene, good to see you after so long."
"Yeah, how've you been? Where's Ned?"
"He'll be here soon. Sit and wait."
Settling into a plush sofa, I glanced around the store, feeling a wave of nostalgia.
'He's been running this place since before Ned was born, right?'
Ned's superhero obsession probably stemmed from his dad's comic store.
"So, how's Kate doing?"
While there were no customers, we caught up on family matters.
"Oh, one sec."
As he went to help a customer who'd just walked in, I wandered the store, waiting for Ned.
'Today was pretty fun.'
The English lit class, Mr. Leonard's reaction—all of it.
Seeing readers enjoy my writing is a joy in itself.
'Though it seems like he misunderstood something.'
He probably thinks I locked myself in a room, writing in solitude…
"To be fair, it's not entirely wrong."
The days I spent bedridden, writing only in my head.
Back then, it truly was lonely.
'Being able to write freely with a healthy body now.'
I can't even describe how much happiness that brings.
'Anyway.'
Staring at the walls lined with books, my heart started racing.
Right now, I just wanted to be a happy reader.
With a wide grin, I rummaged through the shelves.
Marvel and DC, the twin peaks of comics.
SF, fantasy, horror—all the popular genre works.
Even indie zines and TRPG scenario books filled the space.
'Heh, a happy reader makes a happy writer.'
As I pulled out an eye-catching book—
"…"
I spotted a poster on the wall.
[*Science & Fantasy* Apocalypse Novella Contest]
…*Science & Fantasy*.
The name stirred a nostalgic pang.
'In the future, when countless SF magazines fold.'
It's one of the few that retains its prestige and influence among genre fans.
Then and now, *Science & Fantasy* churns out stellar new writers through conventions and contests.
I quickly scanned the guidelines.
[Theme – Stories set in an apocalypse
Length – 20,000–40,000 words (novella)
Prize – 1st Place: $5,000
Deadline – …]
'The deadline's generous, and the prize is hefty.'
Plus, the contest's winners are considered just below the Big Three SF awards in prestige.
The Big Three: Hugo, Nebula, and Locus.
Win one—or even get nominated—and you're a star in the SF scene.
'Hm?'
Below the prize details, a small note under "Winner's Perks" caught my eye.
'…Landon Bishop?'
[Winner's Perk: A meeting with 'SF Master' Special Judge Landon Bishop]
Landon Bishop.
The reason I fell into SF, the author I devoured in high school.
By the time I was an editor, he'd already passed—a giant of a writer.