The school courtyard, adorned with vibrant banners, was bustling with people.
[Hilcrest High School Open House Day] [Welcome, Parents!]
Perhaps because it had been a while since the last school event, a considerable number of parents had shown up.
I, too, had been busy since morning.
"Yujin, the special edition of *School Scene* is out! Check out page 13!"
The first to call me over was a senior from the school newspaper club, who handed me a copy of the publication.
"Wow, this is impressive."
I couldn't help but marvel at the quality—hard to believe it was a magazine made by students.
"Hehe, it's fresh off the press, still warm. Oh, and we're holding an exhibition at the club room later, so drop by!"
After the senior left, I immediately flipped to page 13.
[Special Edition Feature | Short Story
*The Confession of Brother Lawrence*
To the Esteemed Archduke Escalus…]
Below that, the story I had written was neatly printed in proper typesetting format.
At the very bottom, my name was there:
[-Yujin Kwon (10th Grade, Hilcrest High School)]
"…"
A wave of overwhelming emotion washed over me—the kind you feel when something you wrote gets published in a book.
'I thought I'd never experience this again.'
And to think it was in the school newspaper with my name on it…
As I stood there, lost in my own quiet reverie—
"Oh, Yujin!"
"Hey! How've you been?"
"Heading to your next class?"
Kids passing by started calling out to me one by one.
There were classmates from English literature, members of the creative writing club, and the newspaper staff, of course, but also—
"I saw *School Scene*! It's out, Yujin!"
"When did you even start writing? I never imagined you'd write a story…"
"It was so good! I read it standing in the club room hallway, all the way to the end, haha!"
Was it true that the school magazine had more influence than I'd thought?
Even kids I'd never spoken to before approached me casually or patted my shoulder like we were old friends.
Thinking back to a long time ago—when I barely had anyone to exchange greetings with besides Ned, Adel, and occasionally Aiden—
'It's strange, but it feels kind of nice.'
All this change from a single assignment… or rather, from that assignment being published in *School Scene* and displayed?
Either way, I was already overwhelmed, but—
"Yo, bro! It's finally D-Day! So, how do you feel?"
Maybe because it was *the* day, Aiden—whose energy seemed to be on another level today—shoved a camera in my face, making me break out in a sweat from the morning onward.
After somehow managing to give him my thoughts—
"Thanks, Yujin! Oh, by the way, have you noticed you're getting mentioned more and more in my comments lately?"
"Me? Why would—"
"Wait, hold up, don't tell me you're not subscribed to my channel, bro? You've got notifications on, right?"
I mean, I *was* subscribed, but…
Only after I explained that I don't usually watch YouTube much did Aiden finally let me off the hook.
A little while later, I got a text from my stepmother:
[Heading to the club room hallway with your dad. See you there soon.]
I made my way toward the club room.
'There they are.'
I spotted Kate chatting with Mr. Leonard, and next to her, my dad standing there with a blank look on his face.
"Dad! Kate!"
I called out to them loudly, approaching with excitement—
"Uh, Yujin, what's all this…"
—wasn't my dad looking at me with a really strange expression?
---
After Kate left for her bookstore, saying she'd been away from it too long, Sangjun and Yujin were driving to a restaurant, just the two of them.
'Eating out with Yujin, just us two.'
The thought alone felt awkward… no, the situation was already awkward enough as it was.
Hadn't Mr. Leonard Hines, the literature teacher, said something earlier?
"Oh, I guess Yujin didn't tell you his story was getting published in the school paper. Looks like he wanted to surprise you, haha."
And that wasn't the only surprising thing about Yujin.
The kid who used to barely say a word at school had recently become the most enthusiastic participant.
He listened intently in every class, his eyes sparkling, raising his hand to ask questions—and on top of that, he'd joined two clubs he'd never been part of before.
"One of them is our creative writing club, haha. The kids in the club were really looking forward to working with Yujin."
Sangjun was both delighted and still in disbelief at his son's 180-degree transformation.
What had triggered this? Or rather…
"So, uh, that story from earlier."
*The Confession of Brother Lawrence*.
Was that really written by *his* Yujin?
"You… you wrote that?"
At the awkward question, his son let out a faint, deflated laugh.
"Yeah, I wrote it."
"…"
There was so much Sangjun wanted to ask.
When had his skills improved so much? How had he come up with the idea to write in that style? Or more than that—
'How much effort had he put in to be able to write something like that?'
But Sangjun buried all those questions in his chest.
…Because there was something he needed to say first.
"Yujin, I…"
His gaze still fixed on the windshield ahead, Sangjun forced his reluctant lips to move.
"I'm… sorry."
"…"
"I mean, for the harsh things I said to you."
That he had no talent.
That with such mediocre skills, he shouldn't even dream of it.
All the cruel words he'd said to his son flashed through Sangjun's mind.
'Truthfully, I should've apologized long before now.'
Even if Yujin didn't have talent, he should've apologized back then.
What kind of parent says things that tear their child apart?
Biting his lip, Sangjun glanced at the profile of his son, who had grown so much.
"…"
Yujin was silent for a moment.
He looked briefly at his father's trembling hands gripping the steering wheel, then answered in a bright voice.
"It's okay, Dad."
"…"
"Thanks for apologizing."
It wouldn't erase all the hurt, but for now, this felt like enough.
In that moment, both Yujin and Sangjun felt a weight lift—a lingering emotion in their hearts finally fading away.
---
Meanwhile, at that very moment—
The editorial office of *Science & Fantasy* in Oakland, California, was in utter chaos.
"I feel like I'm actually going to die…"
"There's still *this* many manuscripts left?"
"Coffee! Get me coffee, quick! Extra shots, full strength!"
This office—usually home to the most intellectual and passionate editors in the genre fiction world—had, over the past few days, turned into a warzone reminiscent of an apocalypse.
"Senior, how many days has it been since you last showered? Don't tell me you haven't gone home since day one—"
"Look who's talking, Mark. Have *you* looked in a mirror?"
Due to an unprecedented flood of submissions compared to previous years, they were at risk of missing the judging deadline they'd announced.
So, the editorial team was pulling all-nighters, throwing themselves into the contest judging process.
"But this insane influx of submissions—it's because of Bishop, right?"
"Well, the prize money's gone up a lot too, but yeah, it's probably him."
Random Bishop, a titan representing today's sci-fi and fantasy scene, was insanely popular—so much so that at SF conventions, you'd often see fans wandering around in T-shirts with his face printed on them.
"I mean, if I could meet Bishop, I'd probably submit something too."
"Right? We're suffering, but thanks to him agreeing to this, it's become a huge deal. …And who knows? Maybe this contest will unearth an incredible dark horse—or a rising star."
"That'd be amazing…"
Yes, if that happened, all their hard work wouldn't be in vain.
Mark, a third-year editor, sighed as he skimmed through the mountain of manuscripts at lightning speed.
'Did we make a mistake picking post-apocalypse as the theme?'
They'd chosen it thinking it'd be the most accessible genre for the public, but now…
It was getting hard to tell whether a manuscript was new or one he'd already seen.
Most were about nuclear war, World War III, alien invasions, or asteroid collisions…
'An ice age is at least a little fresh.'
People killing each other, fighting over resources, revealing humanity's ugly side…
Following clichés wasn't inherently bad, but—
'Isn't there *one* story that defies expectations?'
Yawning, Mark flipped through manuscripts quickly.
Some he set aside after reading just the first three pages.
"…Too many don't even meet the basics."
Some were indistinguishable from random internet rants, not to mention the spelling errors and sentences that didn't even make sense.
"Ugh…"
His body twisted in frustration at the barrage of subpar submissions—until a title finally caught his interest.
'*Peter Pan in a Ruined World*?'
A post-apocalyptic reimagining of Peter Pan?
Curiosity piqued, he quickly turned the cover page.
[A.D. 2080.
Six months after a mysterious plague that only kills adults swept the world.]
The gripping first line seized his attention:
[Peter became the last adult left on Earth.]
A tragic protagonist forced to live as a child among adults.
That rare opening sparked curiosity, which soon turned into complete immersion.
"…"
When had it started?
He'd completely forgotten he was judging this manuscript—reading it now as just an ordinary reader.
'It's good.'
It's good. Insanely good.
His heart pounded with the thrill of encountering a truly captivating story.
[…The instinctive fear that he might no longer be one of *us*.
That intense terror burrowed into him like a chilling shiver…]
*Peter Pan in a Ruined World*.
The genre thrills, pacing, and gripping tension were all excellent, but its greatest strength lay elsewhere.
'It's how vividly it portrays the fundamental desire driving Peter Pan.'
Even before the world ended, Peter was always an outsider—never 'normal.'
At 35, his childlike appearance kept him from being treated as an adult, forever excluded from 'them.'
'That's why his obsession with becoming a perfect part of the group—his deeply human psychology…'
It was so relatable.
Watching him don the mask of the confident, carefree leader Peter Pan to navigate a broken world—
'It's so… moving.'
It shook Mark to his core, stirring something deep inside.
He had to swallow hard to keep his emotions in check.
"…"
Unaware of his dry eyes, he devoured the next lines greedily.
How long had he been reading?
[…As the morning sun rose, Peter left the camp.
To remain their eternal leader, the symbol of Neverland—'Peter Pan.'
Peter Pandit, no, the eternal boy, stepped into the unknown.]
"...Ah."
The final line struck him deep in his chest.
Still reeling from the lingering emotion—
"Mark, what're you doing?"
He snapped out of it at his senior's voice, looking up.
'…I was so absorbed I didn't even hear anything.'
His heart thumped with the joy of discovering a treasure of a story.