Editor’s Survival Guide - Chapter 122

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Editor’s Survival Rules Episode 122

ep18. Rescuer (6)
“So what do you think should be done with these soldiers?”
At Nabbit’s question, I feigned confusion.
What should be done with them?
If she was asking for a better development, nothing came to mind.
In the story, those soldiers sacrificed themselves solemnly and opened a path for the protagonist.
So there was no need to handle them differently.
They’d fulfilled their narrative function, and giving them more story would be excess baggage.
“No, I think this is fine as is.”
“……?”
“There doesn’t seem to be anything that needs changing. Not in terms of pacing, not mechanically. What I said earlier was just…….”
This wishy-washy feedback was embarrassing.
I chose my words carefully to smooth over my mistake.
And then my eyes met Nabbit’s as she observed me.
The author was watching me with transparent eyes.
“……It was just something tinged with my own unease. Please disregard it.”
Feeling like I’d been caught out, I abandoned my excuses and spoke honestly.
Nabbit smiled faintly at me for a moment.
* * *
We talked about her work for quite a while.
By the time our conversation ended, the street outside the window had already grown dark.
And before me sat two empty coffee cups, while Nabbit’s plate held only the remnants of a strawberry cake.
“Thank you so much. Really, I appreciate it.”
Nabbit spoke with a noticeably brighter face.
“Thanks to you, I feel confident now. I think changing the ending was the right call.”
In terms of the work’s perfection alone, maybe—but whether the publishing company will like this is another matter.
“I hope the conversation goes well with your editor too.”
“Ah, yes…… I hope so…….”
When I brought up the practical concerns, Nabbit tensed again.
She looked like she wanted to disappear, but since she’d already committed to it, she wouldn’t go silent now…….
Hang in there, Publishing Company comrades.
I was preparing to stand when it happened.
“Um, I’m sorry.”
“Yes?”
“About that ‘unease’ you mentioned earlier. Could I ask what you meant?”
“……?”
“Oh, I’m not trying to pry into your personal life—I’ve just been curious for a while. Even when I write to show readers a red apple, there are always some who focus on the plate or the fork instead. So I’ve been wondering why that happens, and what you said earlier seemed similar to that.”
“…….”
What do I do?
I’d become someone who ignores the author’s intent and picks at trivial details.
“Earlier, yes, I was just…….”
“Oh, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s actually the opposite.”
When I grew flustered, Nabbit waved her hand hurriedly.
“Sometimes readers offer interpretations that exceed my intentions, and I think it’s good when a work expands in that way.”
“That does happen quite often.”
“Right. If I just stay silent, readers will think I intended it to go that far.”
Nabbit wasn’t above taking a lucky windfall.
Seeing her laugh as if she were a schemer, I couldn’t help but smile too.
Yes, each reader’s individual perspective is an important element that completes the work.
Even seeing the same work, each reader discovers something different.
One reader follows the protagonist’s growth, another focuses on the theme that runs through the work’s beginning and end.
Yet another reader creates romance between characters from a single line of text.
Thus, while the work is singular, its meaning expands infinitely through readers.
Knowing this reader behavior is a great asset for any writer.
Perhaps that’s why Nabbit showed interest in the ‘unease’ I’d revealed.
“Did you perhaps watch a cruel war novel recently?”
“No, it’s not like that.”
I gave a hollow laugh at Nabbit’s casual guess.
Then, out of loyalty to my former role, I took the bait.
“Recently, I happened to meet people who do something similar.”
“Soldiers?”
“Something like that.”
“Are you close to them?”
“Not at all.”
At my quick denial, Nabbit looked at me strangely.
I shook my head again.
Because it wasn’t the kind of relationship that merited that distinction.
We share the same building, face hardship together, live and face death as one, but it’s ultimately just a cooperative relationship based on mutual understanding.
We’re really not friends in that sense.
To my firm denial, Nabbit asked again.
“You met them recently and aren’t close, so why do you feel this unease……?”
Yeah, that’s what I’d like to know…….
I almost answered thoughtlessly but caught myself.
Then I dug through my mind and pulled out a more rational answer.
“Their work isn’t ordinary. So I suppose it weighs on me.”
“What kind of work do they do?”
What kind of work?
“It’s hard to explain in detail, but it’s dangerous work—incomplete, unpredictable. They could be seriously injured or even die. The pay is good, but it’s all hazard compensation. No matter how hard they work, they get no recognition, only criticism. There’s almost no visible results, and both body and spirit are ground down. People are doing this kind of work.”
Speaking it aloud, I realized.
That I genuinely think the Management Bureau is strange.
And Nabbit grew serious along with me.
“Is it at least legal……?”
“It’s legal work.”
“Is it something that absolutely must be done?”
“It’s something someone has to do.”
“My guess—firefighters?”
“No. Firefighters need better treatment.”
“Ah…….”
Now that I thought about it, Management Bureau work was similar to firefighting.
Except major disasters occur almost every month.
And news of casualties from adjacent teams reaches you regularly.
Staffing is never adequate.
And at times you must silently witness citizens die in catastrophes. That’s what makes it extreme—firefighters in those impossible circumstances.
As I nodded to myself, Nabbit asked again.
“What specifically troubles you about their situation?”
“Everything troubles me, really. I keep thinking—is this really work for humans?”
“I see…….”
Kwon Mu-seop had said as much.
He’d told me to think about why the seniors keep going.
If I understood it, I’d endure together. If not, then that was my limit.
I’ve thought about it many times since hearing that, but I still don’t understand.
Why do you stubbornly keep that post, cycling through boiling anger and cooling resignation?
It’s not like you’re bound there against your will like I am.
He said if I couldn’t understand, that was my limit. But I must endure anyway, whether I understand or not.
So I was destined never to understand those who choose to bear it themselves.
Nabbit thought deeply for a moment, then spoke again.
“Do you think their situation is unjust?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Are they forced into this work?”
“I don’t think anyone would do this willingly.”
“Could they stop if they wanted to?”
“Yes, if they made up their minds.”
“Then why do they continue?”
“Mostly out of a sense of responsibility.”
Nabbit fired questions at me in rapid succession, then fell into thought again.
After a moment, she finished her reasoning and spoke to me.
“So there’s very dangerous work that people don’t have to do, but they take it on because of their sense of responsibility, and you feel their situation is unjust, so you empathized with the soldiers in the novel as well—is that right?”
“…….”
“You really aren’t close to these people?”
“Not at all.”
“Really?”
Nabbit repeated the question from before.
I was rendered speechless.
I’d told no lies in everything I’d said to Nabbit up to now.
The Management Bureau people and I weren’t close—not that kind of relationship.
That’s genuinely what I believed.
And I still believe it now.
But the entire conversation I’d just had with Nabbit pointed to a different reality, and in my confusion, I had to admit it.
“I suppose I’ve…… grown rather fond of them.”
“Haven’t you?”
Nabbit nodded at my confession.
And I exhaled deeply at this late realization of mine.
So that was it…….
That must have been why.
Why the Management Bureau’s goings-on had felt particularly sickening lately.
I’d been irritated without knowing it.
Irritated that Jae-gyeom was stuck at the Management Bureau.
Irritated that Si-eon casually bet his life.
Irritated that Sa-ra was heading out on another survey mission.
Irritated that Kwon Mu-seop was receiving his former colleague’s autopsy results.
In short, I’d come to hate them doing the work they’d always been doing.
It was nothing but the effect of growing fond of them.
Realizing this left me strangely hollow.
And in that moment, Nabbit spoke.
“But I think it’s only natural.”
“What is?”
“Those people you described. Truly heroic and impressive, just as you said.”
“No, it’s not quite…….”
I was startled at Nabbit’s words.
Heroes, of all things.
Sure, I painted them in a good light, but they’re a group for whom compromise on human life is natural.
They’re also highly sensitive people whose attitudes flip like a palm turned over depending on the situation.
But despite all that, they endure in that inferno.
I tried to deny Nabbit’s words but stopped myself.
Instead, after some internal conflict, I added this:
“There is something heroic about them, I suppose.”
* * *
Four months is not a short time.
What was strange becomes familiar, and both shortcomings and strengths are generally understood.
And it was a span of time during which affection inevitably grew.
After parting with Nabbit, I texted Jae-gyeom.
The Management Bureau doesn’t let me go out alone.
It’s unlikely, but if I got in a traffic accident, it would be a disaster.
So today too, I’d come out with Jae-gyeom, and he’d agreed to wait at a nearby cafe so I could meet the author comfortably.
I’d mentioned it might take a while, but I’d kept him waiting longer than expected.
I was waiting at the cafe after texting Jae-gyeom when it happened.
“You’re Seo Do-un, aren’t you?”
A woman I didn’t know was talking to me.
She was a young woman with distinctly dark eyes and a beauty mark beneath one of them.
Her long, narrow eyes and striking features drew attention, but caught off guard by my name being called, I merely asked in confusion.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Kim Ji-an.”
The woman, Kim Ji-an, introduced herself and held her smartphone screen toward me.
“…….”
What Kim Ji-an showed me was a photograph.
A picture of the woman standing before me with the Management Bureau’s Research Manager and Acting Director Oh Tae-o.
Is she from the Management Bureau?
No, if she were, she wouldn’t approach me like this.
I glanced over Kim Ji-an’s shoulder once.
Wondering if there were others in her party at the cafe.
But no one was looking this way.
While I was scanning the cafe, Kim Ji-an swiped to a new photo.
“Do you remember this girl?”
What Kim Ji-an showed me was a photograph of a young girl.
Now about middle school age…….
“Lee Sol……?”
I barely recognized the girl in the photo.
Four months was too long a gap to instantly identify someone I’d seen only twice.
And when I recognized Lee Sol in the photo, Kim Ji-an grabbed my hand and said:
“Please help me.”
Kim Ji-an’s hand touching mine was cold.
And it was trembling desperately.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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