Editor’s Survival Guide - Chapter 9

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

Editor’s Survival Rules Episode 9

Episode 9. ep2. Thought I Had Escaped (4)

The interior of a modern building came into view.

The space was wide, and the high ceiling was made of glass, reflecting the blue sky.

This was the scene I had seen in “The Siren-Ringing Train Station.”

Why?

Then, people passing by my side as I stood frozen in a daze.

I looked at them and swallowed dryly again.

Is this reality?

I looked at the people walking around normally and then checked the information board.

The text read normally.

…Thank goodness. I must have been mistaken for a moment.

I patted my startled chest and came out to the waiting hall.

But what’s this?

The continuing scene was too familiar to be just a mistake.

This was my first time at Yongsan Station, yet all the structures looked familiar.

I searched for the ticket booth with growing suspicion.

It was identical.

That ticket booth was placed in the same position and same form as the ticket booth in “The Siren-Ringing Train Station.”

No, no.

Still, it’s too early to conclude.

Stations originally look similar anyway.

I turned my steps to find the path leading to the second floor of the waiting hall.

When I found the escalator a moment later, I sighed again.

In front of the escalator, a giant celadon jar placed as decoration.

That too was something I had seen in “The Siren-Ringing Train Station.”

From then on, I frantically ran around checking inside the station.

The item storage lockers, the lost and found center, the military personnel lounge too.

“Crazy…”

They were identical.

Everything, without a single exception.

This place and “The Siren-Ringing Train Station” were perfectly the same location.

The moment I confirmed that, nightmarish memories exploded in my head.

The woman whose head flew off in front of the ticket booth.

The man crushed to death behind the column.

And the black forms that attacked so horribly.

“Ugh…!”

At the memories triggered by the space, I covered my mouth.

Then I ran blindly toward the exit.

I felt like I needed to get out of here first.

But when I actually stood in front of the exit, my legs froze.

I had remembered it.

What had been beyond the collapsed ceiling.

What made one give up on life just by looking at it.

Cold sweat from my forehead trickled down to my nape.

This isn’t that bizarre railroad station.

This is reality operating normally.

I knew it in my head, but my body wouldn’t follow.

My body refused to go outside as if it had been dragged back to that place again.

Because that thing might be outside this door.

Because that thing might be there.

Because that thing is there.

That thing is there.

That thing.

That thing.

That thing.

That thing…

Tap-

Then, someone lightly tapped my shoulder.

“Editor…?”

Then a small voice woke me up.

My vision that had been flickering black brightened again.

“Are you okay?”

I took a breath and turned my head.

Looking to the side, a woman as small as her voice was looking up at me.

A young face that looked like a college student.

Roughly tousled, messy short hair.

Loose clothing that prioritized convenience over individuality.

And even a vacant expression that would make her easy to approach on the street.

It was someone I knew well.

“…Hello, Author.”

I greeted her with a forced smile.

Then that person, Author Nabbit whom I was supposed to meet today, also nodded with a faint smile.

* * *

I returned to our seats with an americano and bubble tea.

Then I sat down and handed the bubble tea to Author Nabbit who had been waiting, asking,

“This is the first time meeting you in this area. Did you perhaps move?”

“No, I came to do field research…”

Author Nabbit said with the straw in her mouth.

So I smiled gently.

It was to swallow the words, “You write SF novels, so why are you doing field research in a place like this?”

“How’s the manuscript work going?”

“If the work was going well… I’d be working on it, wouldn’t I…?”

The author mumbled and confessed honestly, and I had no choice but to smile again.

Then Author Nabbit said in a shrinking voice,

“You can criticize me…”

“Criticize? What do you mean by that, Author?”

“I think I’d feel more at ease if I received some criticism…”

I responded with a business smile, but the author was almost sobbing as she sipped her bubble tea.

Ah, our star author is fragile today too.

Her appearance may not be impressive, but Author Nabbit is quite an amazing person.

A 10-year veteran mid-career author who built a solid literary world at a young age.

She specializes in horror-esque SF novels and is well-received for her meticulous imagination and unique insights into humanity.

She has never failed commercially, so not only are her works translated overseas, but several are in film production.

In short, she’s our publishing company’s main source of income.

With this much success, she could walk around with pride, but Author Nabbit never does that.

Not because she’s modest, but because she has a glass mentality with virtually no self-esteem.

“I’m sorry every time… Sorry for not doing properly… Sorry for missing deadlines… I’m irredeemable trash…”

“Ahaha… Even so, calling yourself trash is going too far.”

As expected.

Author Nabbit, whom I met after a long time, was rolling around in the depths of despair.

Of course, I had expected this.

On the day she was supposed to send her manuscript, she sent a long text message saying she was terribly sorry instead of the manuscript and then disappeared.

I had to coax and cajole her just to arrange this meeting.

A glass mentality with avoidance tendencies.

I thought she really had all sorts of issues, but I didn’t dislike Author Nabbit.

Rather, it was the opposite.

Actually, I’m a longtime fan of this author.

Of course, I have no intention of revealing this while I’m her editor.

“It’s okay, Author. Writing isn’t easy work to begin with. You’ve missed the deadline by quite a bit, but schedules can be adjusted and I’ll figure something out somehow, so please don’t feel too burdened.”

“Sob…”

“It’s really okay. You’ve been doing well all this time, Author. You’ll do well this time too. Just don’t avoid my calls and answer them properly. I understand if you’re a day or two late with replies.”

“I’m, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I know the pressure is great because your previous works did so well. So don’t be too impatient and just write good stories at your usual pace. That’s what readers want more.”

“Yes…”

Author Nabbit nodded, looking even more worn out from my carrot and stick approach.

Ah, this is terrible work too.

Having to handle an author I respected like this.

This person even looks young but is actually older than me.

But extracting manuscripts from this timid person was the supreme order I had received.

I pressed the author a bit more and managed to get the next deadline and several promises.

Then I subtly changed the subject before the author crumbled again.

“By the way, what kind of field research were you doing here?”

“Oh, that… do you happen to know there was bombing in this area?”

“Bombing?”

“It was during the Korean War, and the area around Yongsan Station was devastated by bombing.”

I didn’t know that.

When I showed a reaction of hearing this for the first time, Author Nabbit, who had been dejected, suddenly lit up.

“So this whole area was either a sea of fire or ruins. But now there’s such a big station, department stores and buildings, and it’s a busy district with lots of cars. Isn’t it amazing how the same space looks so different depending on the era?”

“Ah, yes… That’s interesting.”

I responded out of politeness, but I didn’t understand what was so amazing about it.

Don’t they say even mountains and rivers change in ten years?

“So in this very place where we’re sitting face to face drinking tea, someone might have screamed with their whole body on fire.”

“When you put it that way, it’s kind of eerie?”

“Right? If there were beings more dimensional than humans who could unfold time like space, how would this street look to them? Flames shooting up next to people peacefully drinking tea, children’s bicycles passing by charred corpses, shopping mall music mixed with the sound of exploding shells and sirens – it would be incredibly chaotic and colorful, wouldn’t it?”

I was listening intently to the author’s words when I was startled.

Wait.

Sirens? And bombing?

Suddenly the strange phenomena I had seen at The Siren-Ringing Train Station came to mind.

The mysterious crushing deaths that occurred after the siren sounded.

The ‘thing in old military uniform’ that wanted burn treatment.

The station building that was a burnt ruin.

The black forms that gave off an acrid, fishy smell.

And even the structure that was perfectly identical to Yongsan Station.

Could this just be coincidence?

If not, then perhaps…

I was silently shocked by the pieces fitting together in my head.

Then Author Nabbit seemed to misunderstand something and stammered.

“Ah, I was talking strangely by myself again, wasn’t I…?”

“Oh, no. I was listening with interest.”

I quickly came to my senses and explained.

But Author Nabbit was already deflating.

Really a high-maintenance person.

“I was thinking it was fortunate. From prehistoric times until now, all sorts of things must have happened, and if we could see it all, I wonder if our brains could handle it. So I thought it was fortunate that we’re humans who can only see the present.”

At my hastily improvised words, Author Nabbit’s face brightened again.

“That’s right. That might be why they call forgetting a blessing from God. No matter what humans experience, they quickly forget and go on living.”

Author Nabbit said in a cheerful voice.

But I could barely hear those words.

What filled my head now was only the correlation between The Siren-Ringing Train Station and Yongsan Station that had been bombed.

* * *

“It’s really true…”

I muttered while looking at the easily searched photos and videos.

Everything Author Nabbit had said during the day was true.

On July 16, 1950, Yongsan Station and its surroundings had been bombed.

Even though it was during wartime, it was quite surprising that such a thing happened in the heart of Seoul.

But that doesn’t mean I find it as wondrous as Author Nabbit that buildings now stand there and cars drive around.

Only one thought had been circling in my head since earlier.

The identity of The Siren-Ringing Train Station.

Was that place really Yongsan Station?

Then were the monsters lurking there victims of the bombing?

No, that doesn’t make sense.

The bombing was about 80 years ago, but that railroad station was a modern building.

Of course, this wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make sense.

I had picked up an unexpected clue, but still couldn’t find answers alone.

But now it was probably okay.

Earlier, the fear I felt at the Yongsan Station exit was still vivid.

That dizzying sensation made me remember again.

How desperately I had struggled to escape from The Siren-Ringing Train Station.

So I decided to stop thinking about it now.

Having escaped with difficulty, it seemed too wasteful to keep my mind fixated on that place.

Of course, I was still curious about Lee Sol’s wellbeing.

And about the disposal of those bad guys Sol mentioned, the humans who killed people and put them in item storage lockers.

But this too would gradually be forgotten with time.

They said forgetting was a blessing from God.

So let me cherish the daily life I had finally regained.

Thinking this way, I put down my phone.

Then I buried myself in bed and tried to sleep.

Just as I was falling into light sleep.

A cold presence woke me up.

I tried to pull up the blanket, but couldn’t grab anything.

I sat up wondering what was wrong.

“Hmm…?”

Where is this place?

I was definitely sleeping in my room.

But now I’m abandoned alone in an empty ward.

Is this a dream?

I hope it’s a dream.

It’s too cold to be a dream.

Does God exist?

Even if He does, He doesn’t seem to be on my side.

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