I Became the Final Boss’s Limited-time Teacher

As I sift through my childhood memories, it feels like moments flash by like a dam bursting.

I remember the scars from my father’s beatings, forcing me to wear long sleeves and pants even in the heat of summer.

I wanted to be like my brother, studying hard and trying to surpass his shadow, but it was never easy.

I recall holding back tears while enduring the bullying and insults from other kids, trying to be the good child.

And then,

“You really can’t write.”

I remember being told this by my classmate while filling a blank piece of manuscript paper with black ink.

========================================

“There’s way too many commas in your writing. Your line breaks are weird, and in the end, you’re just talking about things only you understand.”

My first encounter with Yoo Seolhwa was anything but pleasant, at least as far as flattery goes. She was eavesdropping on my work during the school’s writing contest, evaluating it as I filled out my manuscript paper.

For any creator, being disregarded is a feeling that just feels downright bad to anyone who hears it, but

“Your thinking is way too extreme. Who’s going to read a story that’s just sad all the time?”

She didn’t know this at the time. Growing up as the granddaughter of a chaebol group, her path in life shaped her into someone unafraid to evaluate others and point out their flaws.

“So what?”

I shot back, my words reflecting the truth of my emotional dumpster called writing. I thought that if I could dissect and hurt the people I hated through words, it might ease my own pain just a little.

“What, what are you saying to me right now?”

“Yeah, who do you think you are to belittle others’ work?”

Honestly, it really ticked me off. It annoyed me that someone so fortunate, who hadn’t even experienced a fragment of my life, could casually critique the wounds I poured into my writing.

“I won the gold prize at last year’s writing contest, and I also won the grand prize at the national writing competition, you know?”

I remember the way Seolhwa looked at me, her expression a mix of disbelief and confusion.

A world where only results count, regardless of the process. I absolutely loathed such a world, which prompted my sharp comeback.

“So you learned that you can tear others’ work apart just because you’ve won an award?”

“……”

Normally, I wouldn’t have said such a thing. I should’ve mimicked being a good kid.

It just felt wrong that characters I had imagined and created over a lifetime were being dismissed.

They were friends who had shared my unfortunate childhood, and they were as precious to me as my own children.

“Just like there’s no finger that doesn’t hurt when bitten, every work of a writer is valuable. Choose your words carefully.”

“Yeah, thinking about it, you might have a point…”

Once my attitude flipped, only then did Seolhwa nod, admitting her fault.

“Then can you tell me why the protagonist needs to have such a past?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off the manuscript paper as she glanced at me, finally managing to bring it up. Instead of just showing her interest at the outset, she danced around it.

What I was writing at that moment was a prequel to my future martial arts web novel, King of Diamond Fist.

“This kid is a monster. Born with the curse of the Heavenly Demon Star, he can’t survive unless he kills someone.”

I was actually scribbling the narrative of Biwool, who would eventually become the Final Boss.

Maybe Seolhwa questioned whether it was okay for a middle schooler to write something so dark, which is why she dared to ask me.

“Is that why you wrote about a famine-stricken village as the opening scene? A swarm of locusts filling the sky being the root of all problems?”

“Exactly, I think of the Heavenly Demon as a figure who punishes the heavens for not hearing the cries of the people. That’s why I darkened the sky.”

“Ooo… The direction is quite nice.”

Finally understanding thanks to my explanation, she nodded her head.

She even took notes from my manuscript, organizing the settings and plots.

“Does the content about committing suicide using poisonous mushrooms or boiling a dead corpse again really need to be included? I find it overly bleak.”

“When people are cornered, they might do anything.”

I was once someone who wished to die countless times, having tried many ways due to my past.

After my brother’s death, I couldn’t withstand my father’s domestic violence, and whispers about me circulated among the girls simply because I was handsome.

“Harsh environments can transform good people into ones who take extreme actions. You might not understand, but…”

I glanced at Seolhwa’s belongings. Everything from her wallet to her backpack to her common writing tools exuded elegance and sophistication.

I had learned to scan my surroundings and read people’s expressions just to avoid my father’s scolding.

“Who…. says I don’t understand?”

Seolhwa fanned herself with her hand, perhaps feeling targeted by my words. Her eyes widened like a cat’s as she began to justify herself.

“I know at least that much. I’ve been trained rigorously since childhood on how heirs to wealthy families change when they become heartbroken….”

“…So, you’ve never experienced it personally, huh?”

“……”

I gently lifted up the collar I had been hiding and revealed the scars I had concealed from her.

The red bruises were marks from being choked by my father, alongside traces of self-harm.

I would typically hide such pain; however, the empty classroom and the writing contest may have loosened my resolve.

“I just felt like you had the potential to write better stories, so it was a shame to see you consistently write such negative things. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Mistakes are part of life.”

After seeing my scars, Seolhwa let out a small gasp of surprise, and then lowered her head, muttering.

“I didn’t know that…”

Tears began to roll down her cheeks. It was fortunate there was no one around; otherwise, someone would have called me a piece of trash for making a girl cry.

“Hey, are you crying? Stop it. Stop.”

“I’m… I’m sorry…. Hwaaaah….”

In the wake of this sudden incident, I comforted her by patting her back.

“I just wanted to become friends with you…”

Later, I learned that Seolhwa was such a passionate fan that she would cut out and keep my writings.

========================================

After that, Seolhwa and I became incredibly close. Honestly, which guy wouldn’t appreciate a cute girl who loves his writing?

“Why did you name Biwool like that?”

“In my neighborhood, the moon in the night sky is breathtakingly beautiful. It’s the only light illuminating a place where streetlight beams hardly reach.”

“So, it’s Bi (飛) for flying and Wol (月) for moon. That’s romantic.”

From then on, we started sharing ideas and building two independent worldviews together.

A granddaughter of a chaebol and a boy living in a shanty town.

A sharp contrast of light and dark, social classes that wouldn’t even allow us to meet and talk outside of school.

“What if instead of making this person the protagonist, we made them the Final Boss? A story of overcoming a painful past sounds cooler.”

“Hmmm… what should we do? Honestly, I’m not so sure.”

“I’ll give you a kiss later. Just agree to this, please.”

My negative hue began to seep into her, as if the world perceived by a boy in love began to turn a rosy pink.

Looking back now, many elements in the world I created were drawn from her influence.

Biwool’s beautiful black hair was inspired by Seolhwa’s, Verdandi’s pure and innocent character reflected her sunny smile.

“Isn’t this girl’s name too similar to mine?”

Azazel often demonstrated cheeky traits based on how Seolhwa frequently acted toward me.

“So, do you dislike it? I’m giving you a special role in my story.”

“No, I like it…!”

Moreover, the character Bing Seolhwa, Bing Yeon’s half-sister, was also influenced by her and became a heroine linked to the protagonist.

“The protagonist Kim Hyul fights alone until the end, right? Even after killing the Heavenly Demon, he can’t achieve his revenge.”

“Yeah, that’s right. That was the plan.”

“Well then, let’s make it so you and I are in a relationship. This heroine comforts the protagonist’s wounds.”

With cute and lovely handwriting added to my notebook, she was creating hope amid the sad conclusion I originally had planned.

“I believe every story should end happily. The author, the reader, and the characters in the story should all be happy.”

“Alright, I will remember that.”

The reason I’m now searching for the Final Bosses and trying to save them was entirely due to the values Seolhwa had spoken about.

========================================

It was a nostalgic dream.

It felt like I was stepping back into my childhood, reliving the moment I first met Seolhwa and dreamed of becoming a writer.

“……”

I pulled out an old, tattered notebook from my bookshelf. It bore the childish title Han Dohyun and Yoo Seolhwa’s Dream.

It tracked my efforts from middle school through high school, university, and even my military service.

The reflections of my attempts to write better stories, amid failures and failures, were all recorded in this precious piece.

“1. Write stories that make both the writer and the reader happy.
2. Become an author I can be proud of.
3. Han Dohyun and Yoo Seolhwa must definitely get married in the future!
(This is something we both wrote together! No changing this later!)”

It held an untarnished purity from my younger years, something more precious than life itself.

The reason I’ve continued to write.

The reason I didn’t give up despite being told I lacked talent.

The reason I powered through wrist pain with braces, dozing off in front of the computer, and neglecting my health, all while writing my novels.

“…It was all because of you.”

All thanks to my first love, Yoo Seolhwa.

========================================

As I flipped through the old notebook and read what I had written, I couldn’t help but smile wryly.

Unlike my own awkward and messy handwriting, there were cute and neat letters from her.

“Dohyun, why do you always write about love so earnestly?”

It was her round, beautiful handwriting on the page.

“Well, I do like romance novels, especially pure love stories, but this heroine sounds just like me…”

In fact, much of what I had continued to write in my old stories was because of Seolhwa, as I had been secretly fond of her all this time.

Girls have a sharp intuition.

“Do you… like me?”

Because I couldn’t express it all through words,

Because it was a love I couldn’t write down.

“Yeah, I like you a lot.”

I once wrote back shyly using a red pen. Below it was a small note scribbled “Me too…!” and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

We wrote these tiny love notes in the notebook, quarreling about the happy future that awaited us someday.

“Do you prefer sugar in your rolled egg, or salt?”

“Salt.”

“I’ll make a note of that for later, shall I?”

“What would others think if they saw this…”

After this memo, during home economics class, Seolhwa secretly made rolled eggs for me.

The taste of love felt during middle school was salty and savory like those eggs.

“It’s fine. If this notebook gains attention later, we can just let everyone in class know that you and I are dating.”

“Aren’t there too many differences between us? Our status, money… You bought lunch again this time.”

“Think of it as the price of seeing your face up close.”

“???”

Then, as we entered high school, a big change hit us while we were continuing our little notes.

“Dohyun, if I die, you’ll keep writing, right?”

Seolhwa’s tear-stained note gradually transformed into an almost illegible script.

“……”

A tragic accident struck.

The hit-and-run truck that struck her remains unidentified to this day, and the spinal infarction from the accident was slowly paralyzing her body.

“Don’t say that. I’m right here. What’s there to worry about?”

“But… my arms can’t even move enough to write in this notebook anymore.”

“It’s okay. Just say the sentences, I’ll write them down for you.”

As we reached the latter end of the notebook, Seolhwa’s handwriting faded, leaving only my own legible letters.

“Dohyun, what scares me more than dying is being forgotten in this world.”

By the time I entered university, she had become so stiff that she couldn’t walk without a splint.

“An author needs to speak through their words, yet I don’t want to die without ever publishing a single book in the world.”

Seolhwa, who was slowly dying, spoke words that contradicted her usual positivity.

“Dohyun, your writing is fun, so you must keep writing!”

At the time I joined the army and could no longer take care of her, she made an extreme choice.

“I love you. So much.”

Only those two words remained as her final farewell.

In a handwriting that was nearly impossible to read, she spoke of her love, having left behind hands that could barely move.

Thus, all the love written in that notebook came to an end.

Since then, I continued to write without giving up.

To fulfill Seolhwa’s unfinished dreams, I wrote to ensure she would not be forgotten in this world.

Even after being discharged from the army and graduating from university, I persevered, failing and failing again, striving to write better stories.

Yet, I never achieved success.

Even while donning braces for wrist pain, dozing off in front of the computer, and wrecking my health, it didn’t work out.

Was it the first love of my childhood, or simply the reluctance of an adult who didn’t want to accept reality?

No.

It would be more accurate to say that I had sold my life for love.

I believed without a doubt that someday I would succeed and twisted my dream of becoming a novelist into that of a web novel writer.

[Writer, you can’t stop updating. I’ve read all three of your works; what am I supposed to read if this one disappears too!]

Thus,

[If that’s the case, I can’t help but show my ‘true feelings’ here.]

I found myself immersed in this strange yet beautiful world of literature after seeing a comment from an avid reader.

---