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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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Chapter 51: Electronic Warfare
The blistering summer of August blazed on.
Reiko sat across from Jung Junhyuk, let out a low groan, and ripped up the manuscript paper she’d been clutching.
“Ugh…!”
The meeting room was empty.
A small rented space—just enough to afford privacy. Torn sheets of manuscript paper fluttered to the floor like wilted petals, scattered by Reiko’s sudden outburst.
Even faced with this little explosion, Junhyuk watched her like it was nothing new. He didn’t flinch.
After all, he was the one who had told her: ‘If it gets too overwhelming, just tear something up. Better out than bottled in.’
Back in his own turbulent days, Junhyuk used to do the same—rip paper to shreds, punch pillows like they were sandbags.
Watching Reiko hold back her frustration with visible effort, he spoke—
“This place is soundproof. You could scream a little—it’d be fine.”
Reiko, resting her arms on the desk, muttered in response.
Picking up on the cue, Junhyuk casually covered his ears.
A short scream burst from Reiko’s throat, echoing briefly, like a pressure valve popping. Then, as if all the steam had been let out, she slumped back in her chair, limp and worn out.
“…Hey.”
She murmured, her voice dragging like heavy cloth.
“Why did you decide to become a writer?”
Junhyuk gave a thoughtful ‘Hmm’, paused for a second, then answered—
“I was just watching manga as a kid one day, and thought, ‘I could probably do this better.’ That was it.”
Reiko let out a snort of laughter.
“So you were one of those precocious little geniuses. How annoying. I love it.”
“Honestly, I bet your classmates felt the same way about you.”
With a sigh that was equal parts mocking and resigned, Reiko shot back—
“About someone like me? Someone who’s not even a REAL writer—just a hollow shell?”
“Pretty flashy shell, though.”
She glanced at Junhyuk and let out a faint smile.
Then, with a tone that stayed indifferent but carried just a trace of emotion, she asked—
“Don’t you think I’m pathetic?”
“My standards for what counts as pathetic are actually pretty strict.”
“Someone flailing around like this, who can’t even write anymore—you REALLY don’t think that’s pathetic? That’s pretty damn optimistic.”
Junhyuk shrugged.
Reiko let out a soft sigh and turned her head slightly. Her eyes—cold, sharp—met Junhyuk’s gaze.
“The reason I can’t write… You never ask about it. Is that because you already have a good guess?”
Junhyuk stared back into those cold eyes and replied—
“It's just… I figured it would hurt. And I was right—it hurt all the way through.”
At Junhyuk’s words, Reiko’s eyes widened in surprise.
“…There's no need to bring up something so painful—”
“My mom passed away.”
The air in the small meeting room sank, heavy and still.
“There was talk from the publisher—asking if I’d consider putting a book out. But the words just wouldn’t come. I was more on edge than usual because of it.”
“The exam was coming up soon, but I just kept writing. Naturally, my mom asked if I could maybe take the exam first and write afterward. You know what I said to her?”
Reiko turned her head, her voice quiet, laced with disgust.
‘I told her she’d never understand. Because she’s not a writer, she’d never get it. That was the last thing I ever said to her.’
With her face turned away, Junhyuk couldn’t read her expression.
But somehow, he didn’t need to. He could picture it without effort.
“She went out grocery shopping… and in the basket, there was a pack of the manuscript paper I always use. I’d always assumed it was Dad who kept restocking it. But it was her.”
Reiko’s voice lowered, barely above a whisper.
“And I thought—how could I have said something like that? What right do I have to keep writing now? That’s when it all fell apart. I mean, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?”
Junhyuk, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke.
“…Then why? Why keep writing even when it’s this painful?”
A question, quietly spoken.
For the first time, it wasn’t him matching her emotion—but voicing a pure, unfiltered doubt of his own.
Reiko, still facing away, leaned against the desk and exhaled softly as she answered.
“At first, I thought it was punishment. A punishment I deserved for saying something so cruel to my mom.”
“……”
“But then my dad—when I saw how much it hurt him, watching me drift further and further away from creating—I realized something. That something about this was wrong.”
She sat up again and picked up her pen.
Her hand was trembling as she gripped it.
“After she was gone, both of us just… withered. But if we kept withering away like that, it’d be like we were saying it was her fault. And I knew—I KNOW—that’s not right.”
Her grip tightened on the pen as she stared down at the paper. Her words came out like a vow, like she was talking to herself.
“So I’m going to write. I’m going to say it out loud. That I’m okay. That I CAN do this.”
Junhyuk looked at her, startled—her voice carried a fierce resolve.
“…Yeah. Yeah, I guess that is one way to look at it…”
He slowly closed his eyes, opened them again, and stood up, gathering the torn manuscript pages off the floor.
“I’ll make sure you can write your novel, Reiko.”
And if—IF—I’m allowed to wish for something, even just a little…
Junhyuk swallowed the rest of that thought and stared at the blank white paper.
＊ ＊ ＊
Jung Junhyuk’s Studio.
In front of the tablet on the desk, Togo frowned as he fiddled with the pen.
“How do you erase on this thing?”
“Ah, you just press the little eye icon here. That disables the pen.”
Togo, now reduced to a total beginner in front of the display tablet, looked at the screen with a clearly unimpressed expression.
“So this is how people draw these days… The world really has changed.”
“It’s tricky at first, but as you’ve seen, it's much easier to edit. In the long run, it’s actually a much more convenient tool for creating manuscripts.”
“Yeah… for where I’m at right now, it’s probably perfect.”
Though still a bit awkward with it, the tablet was clearly more efficient—in both time and effort—than trying to make corrections with shaky hands on paper.
For Togo, whose entire career up to this point had involved drawing and writing by hand, adapting to digital work wasn’t exactly a smooth transition.
“You’ve already finished the storyboard? That was a lot of pages too.”
Junhyuk skimmed through the data and printed out Togo’s storyboard.
As he flipped through the pages, Junhyuk’s hand suddenly paused. He turned his eyes toward Togo.
“…This…”
Togo gave a faint smile, watching Junhyuk’s surprised expression.
“What do you think?”
“Well…”
“It’s okay. You can be honest—I drew it knowing exactly what it is.”
At that, Junhyuk hesitated, then slowly opened his mouth.
“…It’s selfish and overbearing. Not something you’d want to show others.”
A harsh verdict—but Togo only smiled, as if that answer pleased him.
Hearing Togo’s soft chuckle, Junhyuk murmured quietly—
“I’m… kind of jealous.”
With a sigh, Junhyuk exhaled and returned to his usual composed expression, turning back to face Togo.
“So, when would you like to set the deadline?”
“I’m aiming for October.”
“October…? Isn’t that a bit tight? You’ve only got so much time you can physically sit and work.”
Given the time constraints and Togo’s condition, Junhyuk was ready to suggest pushing it back.
But this time, Togo stood firm.
“I want to finish it IN October. No matter what.”
The way he said it—it wasn’t stubbornness. It sounded more like a plea.
A desperate, heartfelt insistence.
And in the face of that, Junhyuk gave a silent nod.
“Understood. It’ll be tight, but let’s aim for October.”
“Thank you.”
Togo’s words drew a bitter smile from Junhyuk, who hid his expression by tapping the tablet lightly.
“All right then—October it is. Not much time, so let’s get those hands moving.”
＊ ＊ ＊
- You’ve done an amazing job, Sensei! This year’s NatsuComi (Summer Comiket) was a massive hit! Ever since we released the ‘Titan of Tremor’ PV, we’ve been flooded with requests for CM animation and key animation work. Even the director's been in such a good mood lately!
It had been a while since Junhyuk got a call from Mitami, a producer at Avid Works, and he replied with a polite tone of gratitude.
“I’m really glad to hear it’s going well. I feel bad for leaving it all in your hands. Thank you for putting so much care into it.”
- Haha! It’s our job to begin with, so don’t even worry about it. If anything comes up, just reach out anytime! When it’s a request from Sensei, it’s always a free pass.
Wrapping up the lively call with the ever-energetic Mitami, Jung Junhyuk walked into the conference room where Reiko was supposed to be.
“…Seriously?”
As he opened the door, it was clear that some kind of paper hurricane had already hit—the manuscript paper was scattered absolutely everywhere.
“You know what they say? The more temperamental the artist, the better the masterpiece.”
“……”
“If that’s true, Reiko-san, you’re basically top-tier.”
Reiko, who had been slumped over the desk, turned her face toward him.
“Then that means I’m above you.”
From the smirk on her face, Junhyuk could already tell she was about to say something inappropriate, so he quickly covered her mouth.
“Why is it that every time you can’t write, you start spouting nonsense?”
“This IS my version of stress relief. You’re the one who told me to rip up the paper.”
“I didn’t tell you to unleash your unfiltered id.”
The more he got to know her, the stranger Reiko seemed.
At first, she’d come across as cold and aloof, but once she opened her mouth, it was like she couldn’t stop throwing verbal grenades—and then there were the subtle, almost childlike moments too.
“…I AM still a kid, you know.”
Lately, she'd gotten so comfortable around Junhyuk that she even started slipping in the occasional off-color joke, which was getting harder to brush off.
“Reiko-san, it feels like you hit your limit faster than usual today. Don’t tell me—you went home yesterday and tried to write more, didn’t you?”
At Junhyuk’s question, Reiko averted her gaze.
“You’re making good progress. The hyperventilation that hits whenever you try to write has gotten much better, and the amount of time you can spend writing is increasing. So why are you in such a rush?”
Rushing psychological healing could cause setbacks. That’s why pacing was important.
“September’s right around the corner. I want to finish one novel by October.”
Is something happening in October?
Junhyuk had his suspicions—both Reiko and her father seemed oddly fixated on that month. It couldn’t just be a coincidence. He let out a quiet sigh.
As if answering that unspoken question, Reiko spoke plainly.
“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death.”
“…Ah.”
＊ ＊ ＊
During vacation season, even on weekdays, most places are more or less crowded.
The movie theater was no exception.
Watching the bustling crowd grab their tickets, popcorn, and sodas before heading into various screening rooms, Reiko asked Junhyuk—
“So… under what circumstances does one end up at a movie theater, exactly?”
“In the situation where YOU, Reiko-san, ignore our agreement and push yourself to write anyway.”
“Oh, so this is your way of making me fall in line. Got it. I’ll obey your every word from now on, so forgive me, please.”
The bombshell of a line came out without a second’s hesitation, prompting Junhyuk to bury his face in his hands.
“Aren’t you a local here, too? What if someone you know sees you saying things like that—with zero shame?”
“Why should I care? Doesn’t matter to me how others see me.”
To strangers, she might seem like the classic “girl crush” type—cool and unbothered. But in Reiko’s case, it really did come down to genuine disinterest in how she was perceived.
Sighing lightly, Junhyuk guided her into the theater he’d already reserved.
Reiko was stunning—just standing still, she drew attention from men passing by.
And now she was casually dropping crude jokes? Leaving her alone like this was a liability.
They arrived at the screening room for ‘D Note Part 2’.
“Of all things, you picked a movie adaptation of your own work. That’s low-key sketchy of you.”
“Well, yeah… but also, a classmate of mine is in it.”
That piqued Reiko’s interest. She shot him a sharp, slightly suspicious glance.
“A girl? Did you write her into your story out of some unrequited crush?”
Junhyuk gently pushed her head away and answered, trying to deflect the pressure in her stare.
“I don’t exactly have that kind of power.”
“But it IS a girl, huh.”
Muttering to herself, Reiko backed off and turned her attention to the screen.
Right on cue, the ads ended and the movie began.
Contrary to Junhyuk’s worries, Reiko seemed surprisingly focused on the film.
When they stepped out of the theater, the sun that had been blazing earlier was now slowly setting.
It was still only 7 PM, but the lingering daylight was typical for summer evenings.
“It’s been a while since I went to a movie theater.”
Stretching with a refreshed sigh, Reiko spoke like she’d shaken something off.
“That long?”
“I used to go with my family. But after it was just me and my dad… we didn’t go much anymore. It was always my mom who’d suggest it. I’m not as sociable as she was.”
Junhyuk nodded slightly.
That wasn’t unique to her, but she wasn’t wrong, either.
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
Then, Reiko bumped into him slightly, and looked up from a lower angle.
“You’ve got no tact. You were supposed to say, ‘That’s not true,’ you know.”
“I figured you wouldn’t appreciate empty words.”
“It’s not what you say, but who says it that matters.”
The way she looked up at him—challenging, maybe even flirtatious—made Junhyuk let out a dry chuckle.
“True. Just like how I read your novel aloud.”
“……”
To help with Reiko’s writing, Junhyuk had been reading aloud what she typed with her eyes closed, correcting things as needed, or jotting down what she dictated.
The memory of having her own work read aloud—or worse, having to read it herself—made Reiko go silent in embarrassment.
Side by side, they walked under the sky that was gradually turning to dusk.
“…Hey. What do you think of my novel?”
It was a casual question, voiced as usual—but a slight tremor lingered beneath it.
“I don’t know much about literature.”
Junhyuk replied without breaking his stride.
“But I personally like it. That kind of atmosphere.”
Reiko lowered her head slightly and smiled.
“Not the perfect answer I was hoping for, but… I’ll take it.”
The two of them kept walking together for a while.
Then Reiko stopped, lowered her gaze, and asked—
“…Do you think I’ll be able to finish it?”
Her fingertips, held as if gripping an invisible pen, trembled.
Just imagining the paper in front of her made her vision darken.
Her hand shook as though there was an earthquake beneath it—writing anything in that state seemed impossible.
“You CAN finish it.”
His voice, more certain than ever, held her together.
When Junhyuk suddenly stepped closer and took her hand, the trembling stopped.
“If you say you can’t, then I’ll hold your hand like this and MAKE you write.”
“……”
“Just don’t run away in fear.”
Grinning, Junhyuk’s expression lit up. Reiko’s eyes widened.
She barely resisted the impulse to swat his hand away, suppressing her racing heartbeat as she replied—
“Look who’s talking.”
＊ ＊ ＊
October.
The season where summer’s scent begins to fade, and the winds of autumn start to settle in.
At the Togo residence—without Togo present—Reiko stood restlessly in front of her father’s study, clutching a document envelope tightly to her chest.
“Let’s just go in and drop it off already.”
“……”
Normally, Reiko would never back down from a verbal sparring match—she’d fight tooth and nail to get the last word.
But today, for once, she had no response to Junhyuk’s suggestion.
“No… I can’t. Not this time. It’s just too bad. I mean, it’s my first time writing again in so long—the synopsis was a mess, and honestly, the plot’s all over the place. This time, let’s just say the point is that I FINISHED it—”
“I figured you’d say that, so I already placed your manuscript on Kimiyama Sensei’s desk.”
“—!!”
Reiko’s eyes went wide in shock. She was so stunned she forgot to even scold Junhyuk, instead flinging open the door to Togo’s study.
And—
“Reiko…”
“Dad?”
Togo—who she’d assumed wasn’t home—stood there holding Reiko’s manuscript in his hands, looking directly at his daughter.
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HELIO SCANS
[Translator - Hestia]
[Proofreader - Kaya]
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