Chapter 12 – The One Who Hatched from the Egg
“What the fuck…”
This is a bolt from the blue. <Aureka> on hiatus?
A curse slipped out of the high schooler’s mouth as he held <New Chance>.
His brow furrowed, his lips clenched.
Just then, a voice from behind.
“Don’t swear, you little punk.”
“But Grandpa… <Aureka> is on hiatus!”
“So what? It says someone else is filling in.”
“Ugh… you really don’t get it.”
The buzz-cut boy scratched his head at the owner’s scolding and let out a big sigh.
<Aureka>.
The one fantasy comic still selling decently in the dying Korean comic industry.
Nine out of ten <New Chance> readers bought it for <Aureka>—no exaggeration.
And now, of all times, it was on hiatus. How could he not sigh?
And to make matters worse…
‘Why, of all people, is this guy filling in?’
The name “Shin Pil-ho” made the boy’s breath catch.
Some old fart who’d won a comic award somewhere.
His art style was hyper-realistic in a way that felt oddly uncomfortable, and the stories always had something that rubbed people the wrong way.
On top of that… the content was hard to follow—half the time you had no idea what was going on.
“They’re trying to tank the magazine or what?”
Fine, <Aureka> could take a break.
As an aspiring comic artist himself… he understood the writer’s struggles.
But why, of all people, was this guy the fill-in?
“Sigh… Grandpa, can I read this here?”
“If you’re not buying, keep it clean.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Flip.
The boy opened <New Chance>.
‘I’ll read it just to curse it properly.’
Let’s see… where’s Shin Pil-ho’s comic.
Thud—his hand stopped.
Under the title “Comics Are First Love,” a man gazed down with a sad expression at a girl drawn life-size on a giant sheet of manuscript paper.
‘What…? The art feels… different somehow.’
The overall style was definitely Shin Pil-ho’s. But clearly the same artist—yet the art felt more refined.
The pen lines were cleaner, the black inking distribution had changed, and the highlights on characters were different.
Tiny differences.
But somehow, they gave the art a refreshing clarity, like it was drawn by someone else.
‘Guess he put extra effort into the cover.’
Like I haven’t been burned by this guy before.
Anything Shin Pil-ho puts out is predictable anyway…
Flip. Flip.
He narrowed his eyes and turned the pages.
But then.
“Huh?”
The boy’s eyes gradually widened.
“What… is this?”
***
“You really draw comics well. Are you going to be a comic artist?”
The reason the man started drawing comics was that one sentence he heard in elementary school… in the classroom.
“Uh… y-yeah!”
“Then sign here. When you succeed, you can’t pretend you don’t know me, okay?”
His blushing answer.
Thanks to his introverted personality, he had no friends and spent all his time doodling—this felt like a blessing.
After that, he quickly grew close to the girl.
They doodled together, chatted, and thanks to that, he made lots of friends.
Every day was unbelievably fun; he felt like he was floating.
All because of comics.
Comics were the blessing that saved his life.
…At least, that’s what he thought back then.
“Y-you’re… really leaving?”
“Yeah… because of Dad’s job. But don’t worry—I’ll come visit when you become a great comic artist.”
The girl had to transfer because her military parents were reassigned.
‘When you become a great comic artist, I’ll come visit.’
That one sentence she left behind became a curse for him.
“Hey, wanna play soccer?”
“N-no… I have to do this.”
Middle school, high school.
The years when an ordinary boy should be making the most friends.
But the man buried himself in comics.
He had to become a great comic artist to keep the promise with the girl.
But…
“Aaaargh!”
It didn’t take long for him to realize this was a curse.
He failed contests, got rejected on submissions, tore up manuscript paper, threw away pens.
He got slapped by his father for stubbornly refusing college, and his mother cried every day watching him.
He had to become a great comic artist as soon as possible.
Only then… could he reclaim the blessing of his life.
Why didn’t anyone understand him?
He raged, raged, and raged again.
He ran away from home, bounced between manual labor jobs to survive, and drew comics at night.
How much more hellish time passed?
“Congratulations, Writer. Looking forward to great works from now on.”
“…Editor.”
“Yes?”
“Can I… become a great comic artist?”
Winter, age 23.
He won a contest and debuted as a comic artist.
But he never saw the girl again.
‘I’m… still not a great artist.’
He drew comics, and drew more.
Squeezing his brain and hands dry to create great comics, he charged forward.
Eventually… he became the flagship artist of a certain magazine.
“Writer! Congratulations on 1 million copies sold. Here, take this bouquet.”
“Am I… a great comic artist now?”
“Come on—what kind of question is that? Of course you are!”
But the girl… the blessing never returned.
‘Why?’
Was he still not great enough?
Or had she forgotten that promise?
He waited every day for a fan letter or email, but there was never a trace of her.
It was painful.
‘What if everything I’ve done is meaningless?’
What if all he’d done was cling to a childish promise from long ago—nothing but delusion and obsession?
“Aaaargh!”
Alcohol and cigarettes, tears and breakdowns, self-harm.
Bang bang bang! Bang bang bang!
“Writer! Writer, are you in there?”
Editors started visiting his home more often.
A life lost, wandering without direction.
It hurt.
‘Why did I go through all that pain…’
I should never have started comics.
If I’d never touched this damn thing.
What he once thought was a blessing from the girl became a curse.
A shackle that kept him forever trapped in comics.
How much more time passed in that hell?
One day, asleep face-down on his studio chair, a familiar voice struck his ears.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
He lifted his head.
Inside the manuscript paper stood the girl—no, a drawing of the girl.
“Come play with me.”
Thud!
A hand stretched out from the paper and pulled him into that world.
Memories flooded in—he was summoned holding the girl’s hand tightly.
—This festival, let OO draw the class promotional comic!
The festival prep, drawing comics and his friends loving it.
—I’m sorry, OO. I… I was a failure.
The day he won a contest—his drunk father hugging him in tears.
—Writer OO! I’m a huge fan! How did you come up with that character?
All the moments shared with people who loved his comics.
Warm memories from drawing comics kept filling his heart.
Hand in hand with the girl, he ran through memory after memory.
As he did, his body grew younger and younger.
When they reached the end of the world…
They arrived in a space filled entirely with white.
“So… do you still regret starting comics?”
“…”
The girl’s question.
Looking into her sparkling eyes, the man—no, the boy—couldn’t answer, tears welling up.
In this moment, he realized something.
The reason he drew comics… wasn’t because of the promise with the girl.
Perhaps, perhaps…
The boy—no, the man who had returned to adulthood—shook his head.
Hot tears spilled from his eyes, dripping down his chin.
“Yeah… then I’m glad.”
The girl clasped her hands behind her back and smiled brightly.
Then… her body began to glow white.
Whoosh!
In an instant, the girl’s form shattered into thousands—tens of thousands—of sheets of paper, filling the white space.
Every comic the man had ever drawn was densely etched onto them.
The episode that earned countless fan letters, the manuscript that won him a contest and allowed his debut.
From high school, middle school, even the crude comics he first showed the girl in elementary school.
All of them flooded the space, burying him.
Yet somehow… a smile lingered on the man’s face.
As he was submerged in the pages, he gazed into the void as if realizing something.
“Ah… you…”
The man’s world was covered in comics.
…
…
How much more time passed?
“Winner of the Korea Manhwa Grand Prize! Writer OO! Please come to the stage!”
In a grand, beautifully decorated hall, a man in a suit—now well into his mid-thirties—stood holding a bouquet and trophy, smiling.
In the audience, his father and mother sat with reddened eyes. Fellow artists and editors he’d met along the way looked at him with warm pride.
“Thank you for this award. First, I’d like to thank Editor OOO, Director OOO, and…”
As he gave his acceptance speech, the man scanned the crowd.
As if searching for someone.
Perhaps wondering if the blessing from the far edge of his childhood memories might be sitting there.
But… contrary to his hopes, no one was.
“Come on, after-party! You’re coming, right, Writer OO?”
“Haha, I think I’ll eat with my parents first.”
“Then join us later. We’ll start without you!”
“Yes. I’ll cover the second round—just wait for me.”
“Really? Awesome—you better show!”
A little later, the man walked noisily down the hallway with his fellow artists.
Just then—
“Um…”
A familiar voice from the side.
Time slowed as the man naturally turned his head.
There stood a woman in neat clothes, her hair grown long.
“Do you… remember me?”
“…”
She asked with an awkward expression.
The girl who had given him a curse—no, a blessing—in childhood now stood before him, all grown up.
The man’s eyes widened, his face trembling as he stared for a long moment.
Soon it softened into a gentle smile, and without a word, he nodded.
He slowly, savoring each syllable, said,
“So… did I keep my promise?”
The woman mirrored his smile and replied,
“I came to find you, didn’t I?”
“Comics Are First Love” – End –
…
…
Back in the bookstore.
“…Huh?”
The buzz-cut boy stood frozen, mouth agape, blinking.
The bookstore grandpa glanced over and asked,
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh, no, Grandpa—this… it’s by Shin Pil-ho, but… wait… no…”
“What are you mumbling about? If you’re buying, hurry up. If not, put it down—you’re gonna wreck the book.”
The boy’s body shivered.
‘This is insane.’
Had it even taken five minutes to read?
Yet he felt as if he’d just returned from the world inside the comic.
Afterglow? Chills?
Some indescribable emotion churned through his mind.
The <Aureka> he’d been dying to read didn’t even cross his mind anymore.
Thud!
He closed <New Chance>, grabbed another copy from underneath… and headed straight to the counter.
“Grandpa, these two.”
“Huh? Two? Earlier you were cursing the guy.”
“I think… I misjudged him a little.”
A mischievous grin spread across the buzz-cut boy’s face.