The Tales of an Infinite Regressor

Chapter 22 – Reader II

[Translator – Jjsecus]

[Proofreader – Gun]

Chapter 22 – Reader II

4

I was thoroughly satisfied with my self-built “Canned Hotel.”

A guilty conscience? That didn’t exist. After all, weren’t the authors who would meet their demise in other turns anyway? Even the embodiment of ethics, not to mention a saint, would give me a thumbs up for my actions.

[…Doctor Jang.]

“Yes? What is it, Your Holiness?”

[…Oh, nothing at all.]

Above all, I was truly saving the lives of the authors.

Do you remember the mention of the “Reincarnation Truck” earlier?

The Reincarnation Truck is a mysterious monster that statistically occurs to readers of web novels, promising, “I will transport you to a world where the settings of your favorite novels are fully realized!” and causing a collision accident to the reader.

It’s not a lie, it’s a real monster. Seriously.

If you’re a fan of web novels, one day you might be walking down the street.

-Beep beep!

And if you turn your head, you might see an 11-ton cargo truck speeding towards you.

The distinctive feature is that instead of numbers, the license plate has the title of a work engraved on it.

Maybe someone will rejoice, thinking, “Ah! Finally, I can escape this monster-infested apocalypse!” and even actively try to kiss the truck, but don’t do that.

I tested it three times, and there was no dimensional travel whatsoever. It’s just another fake monster like the “Hero Syndrome.”

Anyway, this Reincarnation Truck occurs not only to readers but also to authors. Because the author is the first reader of their own novel.

So?

-Beep beep!

-Crash! Beep beep!

-Beep beep! Crash!

Cargo trucks started lining up one after another in front of the “Canned Hotel” I built.

“Wow… strange trucks have gathered in front of our revolutionary hideout!”

Even the fairies with fractured cheekbones marveled at the scene.

Those trucks shouldn’t be underestimated.

Wherever the protagonist of a work of fiction walks, the Reincarnation Truck will use every means to pursue them, commit a hit-and-run, and then disappear without any legal consequences.

The Reincarnation Trucks have slaughtered countless protagonists in various works, ranging from saviors and heroes to destroyers, villains, gods, and even extra protagonists (the strongest). Truly a weirdo with a resume that lacks no shortage of “God Slayer” titles!

Similarly, unless it’s the Fairy of Tutorials who has slaughtered numerous protagonists, no one could possibly stand up against such a terrifying weirdo.

“Any problem with the barricades?”

“Nope, Master! Despite their resistance, the revolution’s dialectical development remains unyielding! The historical evolution’s inevitable progress cannot be reversed by the antics of those bourgeois hooligans!”

Kwaaaaang!

As if to prove those words, one of the 11-ton trucks, suddenly appearing from beyond the horizon, slammed into the hotel’s main gate.

However, the barricade we set up with the fairies remained intact. The truck just ended up dented like an aluminum can.

-Beep beep…

-Crash! Beep beep…

The Reincarnation Trucks lined up in the parking lot honked their horns as if mourning the heroic demise of a comrade.

In contrast, the fairies on the balcony waved red flags with prints of Che Guevara’s portrait, displaying courage tenfold. Some even shed tears, crying out, “Ah, Comrades! Comrades!”

“Our dream will never die, you fascist scum!”

I nodded in satisfaction.

“Alright then. Let the Revolutionary Vanguard continue to defend the barricades. The success of the revolution hinges on this operation. Everyone, keep up the good work.”

“Yes! Master!”

“Long live the revolution!”

“Our dream lives on!”

The fairies saluted with such dignity that the citizens of Paris in 1871 would have given them a standing ovation.

Behold. I hold the safety and well-being of the authors in such high regard.

If it weren’t for the Canned Hotel, where would those dozens of trucks have gone? I not only saved the lives of the authors but also their readers. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that the entire web novel industry of the peninsula owes me their lives.

In return for such dedication, I didn’t ask much from the authors. Just write novels. That’s all.

If they could fill up their empty food bowls with some new material to eat, sleep, and dress, and block the Reincarnation Trucks, I could guarantee their safety for at least ten years.

After patrolling the security guards, I headed to the secretary’s office (the editing department). The fairies who greeted me there seemed a bit more intellectually inclined than the security guards.

“Ah, Master. Welcome back.”

“Alright. Everyone’s been working hard. It’s been a month since we started the canned project, so I assume the authors have stocked up enough serialized works.”

I sent a meaningful glance to the editing director agent.

“Agent 264, bring in the accumulated novels from the past month.”

“Got it!”

In this turn, Fairy 264, who had taken over the secretary’s position, brought in the newly printed works from the printer.

I eagerly awaited, my anticipation rising, as I accepted the new works…

I couldn’t help but doubt my own eyes.

“What’s this?”

For supposed output from hundreds of authors over a month, these A4 sheets seemed a bit, well, too sparse. They were more like thin joint fanzines than substantial collaborative douji*shi.

“…Why is there so little?”

“But there really isn’t anything else!”

Unbelievable.

Instead of writing novels in exchange for food, shelter, and blocking the Reincarnation Trucks, the authors, it seemed, weren’t writing novels at all!

Having completed my duties as a regressor for a month (awakening the secretary, cooperating with the saint, closing the gate, fostering promising candidates, collaborating with guild leaders, etc.) and returning to the hotel today, I was at a loss.

No, I had been waiting for this day all month.

“I’ve brought in nearly 335 writers, and we don’t even have a hundred pieces…?”

Shiver.

The stack of manuscripts in my hand vibrated. The anger and disappointment turned into a magnitude 7 tremor in the Richter scale.

Writers who weren’t writing? What’s the difference between them and unemployed people? At least the unemployed might feel anxious about wasting time watching movies or dramas, but these so-called writers would boast about “I’m not just playing around” “Experience” “Learning” “I’m absorbing experiences from movies and dramas.”

If there’s no difference between the two professions (or non-professions), then why should I, as a regressor, expend valuable resources to take care of these unemployed people?

“Who’s responsible for this mess!”

“Are we just sending them all to the Gulag?”

“This is already the Gulag… Well, regardless, we can’t just send off our valuable word slaves anywhere!”

I slammed the desk.

“Gather all the writers in the lobby immediately!”

A moment later.

The writers were summoned to the lobby.

But wait?

“Authors… Have you gained a bit of weight?”

Scratch scratch.

Even when they were kidnapped to the Canned Hotel, their average health wasn’t exactly great, but over the past month, somehow they managed to gain quite a bit of weight.

Just a bit more and they’d be shining 24/7 from their facial skin.

“…Writers, this reader is deeply disappointed.”

I sighed deeply and addressed the writers.

“One person writing one piece a day would make 335 pieces. That’s over 10,000 pieces in a month. Do you understand? Over 10,000 pieces. But right now! Look at the manuscripts that have reached this reader’s hands.”

“….”

“91 pieces! It’s 91 pieces! Is this even reasonable? And to make matters worse, that’s just the number of pieces written, in reality, there are only 12 authors! Out of 335, only 12 have actually written anything!”

Swoosh!

I scattered the A4 sheets on the desk. By the way, they weren’t real manuscripts, just empty pieces of paper. It was some kind of performance.

I couldn’t really scatter the writings of the great ones on the floor.

Anyway, my performance was well received. The writers’ faces changed.

“Even now, this reader is tirelessly working day and night for your safety and comfort! But what’s this! If you have any excuses, tell this reader!”

“Um….”

“Mm….”

[Translator – Jjsecus]

[Proofreader – Gun]

The writers glanced away.

“W-well, you see… Reader, we’re really sorry. The thing is, it’s not like new works just pop out of thin air…”

“…That’s right. We’ve been brainstorming, walking, sleeping, trying everything, but nothing seems to come up.”

“Reader! It takes longer to plan a work than to actually write it! Especially when preparing a new work.”

“As much as I hate to say this in our situation, objectively speaking, asking for new ideas in just one month was an unreasonable demand.”

“Exactly!”

“That’s right. We really didn’t want to not write, but even though we want to write, we just can’t. We want to write, but we can’t. It’s driving us crazy…!”

Even after hearing the writers’ explanations, I hesitated.

‘…Does that make sense?’

Certainly… creating is said to be a continuous agony.

There are writers who take 3 or 4 years to write a new work after completing one.

Maybe it was unreasonable to demand new works in just one month…. Hm?

“…Wait a moment. Here, only 126 authors need to prepare new works, while the rest would have been serializing existing works, right?”

The writers flinched.

“Why couldn’t they write? They were doing just fine before moving into the hotel, not missing a single serialization?”

“It’s adaptation to the environment…!”

The writers chorused.

“The serialization environment is so delicate. Some writers write at home, some at cafes, and some even have separate studios.”

“But there are no writers writing in hotels….”

“It’s a totally different story.”

“I had a bad cold yesterday and couldn’t sleep well, so even though I sat in front of the monitor, my head felt fuzzy and I couldn’t write anything. I didn’t even want to touch the keyboard?”

“Oh, I know exactly how that feels…!”

“I had too much time, so I got trapped in an endless loop of proofreading and revising. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“When you encounter a new working environment, you have to completely rebuild your writing habits from scratch. Serialization is ultimately a matter of habit, isn’t it?”

“Looks like writers really understand each other. Sigh. It’s a very detailed aspect that outsiders who haven’t serialized for a long time can’t understand or empathize with.”

“That’s right. It’s really not easy.”

Is that so?

Certainly… creation requires delicate sensitivity.

I occupied a luxury hotel in Incheon to provide a comfortable communal living environment.

Allowance was provided every week to prevent any dissatisfaction. In a ruined world, and in a closed environment where going out was impossible, one might wonder what the use of money was, but surprisingly, it was still useful.

‘There’s a casino in the basement of this hotel.’

Originally meant for foreigners, it transformed into a paradise exclusively for writers.

Writers could enjoy the casino using the currency provided monthly, which they converted into gaming money. The luxury shopping mall originally in the hotel was also available for enjoyment, of course, with money.

According to reports from Fairy No. 264, the writers were highly satisfied with this environment and showed a very high utilization rate at the casino.

It was truly almost perfect welfare!

‘But it’s still an unfamiliar environment.’

I nodded.

How could I, just a mere reader, intervene in the deep anguish and delicate sensibilities of creators.

Using [Mind Reading] would allow me to read the writers’ minds, but I felt it wasn’t a respectful gesture toward the writers I loved.

“Understood. Then I’ll extend the period by another month.”

“No, a month is a bit… at least three months…”

“Oh dear. No matter how difficult the task, diligence in self-discipline is required in any profession. I believe in the diligence of the writers.”

“Yes…”

“I will strive to do my best…”

One month had passed.

In my hands were 75 turns of serialization.

“Why has it decreased even more!”

I couldn’t help but be astonished. Why is this happening?

The fairy smiled brightly.

“But this is all there is!”

“No… Secretary. Does this make sense? There are 335 of them. 335! Even if each person writes only one turn a week, that’s over a thousand turns of serialization. But it’s not 750 turns, it’s 75?”

Despite summoning the writers again and again to inquire, the response remained the same.

And if the same answer came back twice, it meant excuses.

Unfortunately, the writers could no longer be trusted. Come to think of it, it seemed like there had been filters over my eyes from the beginning.

An expert. We needed an expert who could objectively analyze why this situation had arisen.

And after consulting with the expert, we were able to get an immediate answer.

“Are you a fool? The environment is too good, sir.”

[Translator – Jjsecus]

[Proofreader – Gun]

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