The Tales of an Infinite Regressor

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]

Chapter 193

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Investor II

4

The story about the cocktail bar 'Mori' that was just shared is based entirely on a documentary.

While the guest was peacefully dreaming and enjoying a cocktail bar in his sleep:

“B, play the Ghibli anime OST jazz version as background music!”

Next to the guest's bed in reality, the promoter, aka the writer, was eagerly nagging at the dream demon.

“You need to emphasize that a Japanese person runs this bar! And the weather is too calm! Let's make it rain!”

“Huh? This human is suddenly speaking informally... It’s making me want to check how well his head is attached to his neck...”

“But, but we agreed to split the commission fifty-fifty!”

“I didn't realize it would be this much trouble... Ugh, I hate my past self for agreeing to this…”

The writer sat next to the guest's bed all night, pestering the dream demon. He adjusted the bartender's lines, family background, life story, the bar's atmosphere, the sounds from outside, the mysterious guests who showed up around 1 a.m. (who were National Intelligence Service agents), and so on.

In short, what the tutorial fairy had previously provided to people was just the base game—the vanilla version.

But now, the writer began tuning the game’s 'mod' and selling it.

Once, the most famous engineer on Earth had said:

"People don’t know what they want until you show it to them."

Indeed, that saying hit the mark even in the apocalyptic era where capitalism had completely collapsed.

The mod 'Cocktail Bar Mori' that one writer created and uploaded became a massive hit in the reality creation marketplace.

“I want to go to Mori too!”

“Expand the bar! How can you only accept 10 customers with so many people wanting to go?”

“I’ll pay 1,000 coins! No, 3,000 coins! Please, boss! Let me invite a friend too!”

Writer A became happy.

And like any happy writer, he followed the usual path.

In other words, he began bragging to other writers about how amazing he was.

“Why the sudden change of plans? You had a reservation at a BBQ place... This place must be expensive.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! I’m doing well these days! I’ll pay for everything tonight! I just wanted to get the old group of writers together for drinks! It’s all about camaraderie! We’re the only ones left in Busan, anyway.”

Flinch.

The ears of the former writers gathering at the military stew restaurant perked up.

Their clothes were all shabby.

It was natural. Writers are usually mentally fragile, lack social skills, envy and resent their peers, hide behind anonymous masks online to slander others, crave adoration, and are physically weak with creaky spines and joints.

In short, they had no redeeming qualities. They were the worst kind of people to survive an apocalypse.

The fact that they had survived and settled in Busan made them first-rate.

So, no matter how long Writer A's speech dragged on, the former writers only heard one line.

――I’m doing well these days――

That one sentence flashed through their minds in Nasu Kinoko's writing style.

“...”

“...”

They exchanged glances in silence (a basic skill for writers).

The writers began with small talk. "Hey, we used to make decent money. We should be grateful we survived. I heard from a Japanese writer I know it's a mess over there..."

As time passed, and alcohol and chatter made everything feel more sluggish, someone finally opened fire.

“So, what do you do these days that makes you so successful?”

“Huh?”

Writer A tilted his head, pretending not to understand the question, an attitude that made the other writers feel a flash of contempt.

Camaraderie among writers? What nonsense. Everyone knew this gathering was just a chance for him to show off.

But they endured this momentary contempt with the help of alcohol. Considering that the alcohol was also paid for by the host, they could tolerate it one more time.

“You said earlier that you’re doing well. Did you suddenly awaken some ability and join a guild? Like that one guy, what’s his name... The jerk with good writing skills who hit it big after awakening?”

“Ugh, him? He’s not a writer. He’s just someone who used to be a writer but switched to being an awakened one. But I’m still making a living as a writer!”

Flinch.

The writers' ears were slowly turning into elf ears.

“You're still writing? Are there still readers who pay for your work these days?”

“No, I’m not writing. We non-awakened folks can’t even access SGNet. There’s no platform. But does that mean we should stop creating? Even during wars, there are writers who continue creating. For people like us, writing isn’t just a job—it’s our heart. If your heart stops beating, you die.”

The host should have been grateful that the military stew was so delicious. Back in the day, gossip would have spread through the industry by now.

“Anyway, what I’m doing these days is――.”

Two hours into the gathering, the main topic finally began.

――So I thought! If I sweet-talk the fairy from the tutorial dungeon I survived, I might be able to conquer this market! But what should I do? I know cocktails, right? And I know some Japanese. Let’s go with the concept of a Japanese cocktail bar!”

“Oooohhh...”

“Wow, impressive.”

“But why a cocktail bar? I mean, it’s nice, but isn’t the scale too small? Wouldn’t it be better to start with a fun world-building concept and make bigger money?”

“Sigh. That’s thinking from the writer’s perspective. Even though we used to be successful, we’re beginners now, right? We haven’t touched a keyboard in over five years, and this is the first time we’re creating in this way. New platform. New format. We need to get used to it again!”

“Oooohhh...”

“Wow, impressive.”

“Sounds a bit like a TRPG.”

“Huh? Yeah, that’s right. Writers have a problem—they get arrogant too easily. We need to stay humble and approach it with a learning mindset. And there’s another thing. People who like alcohol usually have a drinking group. If you get one regular customer, that person will bring other customers along. You have to approach it with a business mindset like that!”

“Oooohhh...”

“Wow, impressive.”

“What’s the profit split with the tutorial fairy? 8 to 2?”

“Pfft. You think that’s possible? It’s 5 to 5, 50/50. It’s like the early days of web novels when contracts were terrible. I have a lot of complaints, but without the fairies, I can’t do business, so I have no choice――.”

“Oooohhh...”

“Wow, impressive.”

The host should have noticed that while the other writers' responses had become increasingly robotic, their questions were getting more detailed.

But he didn’t. He was drunk.

It's not that the other writers weren't drunk, but they had the 'ideal' and 'reality' to overcome their intoxication.

As I mentioned earlier,

A writer is nothing more than a socially inept species with creaking spines and joints.

But if that's true, isn't it strange? How could such a degenerate survive all this time?

There was only one reason.

‘I’m doing better than that bastard!’

‘Damn, I write better than that guy!’

‘That guy has no artistry, that one has no commercial appeal, this one has no backbone, and that one is too stubborn—.’

An overwhelming and endless competition that even the depths of hell would flinch at!

This competitive spirit was the only driving force that kept the writers going.

For example, Tolstoy was the kindest human among all history writers.

His novels were filled with love, concern for others, and respect for nature.

But even he dissed Dostoevsky whenever he got the chance.

Because somehow, 'love,' 'concern,' and 'respect' didn't apply between fellow writers.

In other words, if you take away the money, Wall Street in America is basically a writers' community.

"Ohhhh…."

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]

"Wow, that’s impressive."

In some sense, the purpose of this gathering planned by the sponsor was achieved.

Everyone here felt the 'affection' among the old writers.

Thump.

The 'hearts of snakes' that had been barely sealed away, even as the apocalypse destroyed civilization, began to stir.

5

A few days later.

Busan's construction site lost about seven workers.

Since they were low-quality laborers anyway, no one on-site cared.

Instead, seven new signs were added at the entrance of Dream Casino.

[Former web novel writer! 100 million views on a major platform! Specializes in modern fantasy/fantasy. ☆Become the strongest awakened in the world☆ and explore medieval dungeons!]

[Specializes in chaebol and corporate stories. ‘The journey to becoming a legend after getting hired by a securities firm!’ - Just 1,000 coins for a night]

[Romance/Beautiful girls specialist. Drama adaptation experience. Graduated from Yonsei University with a degree in psychology. For details, consult with the writer. Absolute confidentiality guaranteed]

[Former web novel writer / 200 million views on a major platform / Multiple webtoon adaptations / Animated / If you read novels in the past, you would know this person - A chance to hire this writer for your own project! - Will match your desired world as much as possible]

[Former web novel writer / 29 million views, 30 million views, 50 million views / Never missed a single update / TRPG Master with 8,500 hours on Roll20 / Promises consistent and stable quality]

"What, what is this?"

That day, Writer A, the founder of the cocktail bar 'Mori,' was shocked as he happily went to work.

Weren't his past rivals, who he had fed army stew to last week, now shamelessly holding signs in front of him?

Former writers… No.

The 'returning writers' spoke sheepishly.

"Well, you see."

"We got inspired by your words."

"Yeah, we were really moved by what you said. You were right; a writer should make a living through creative activities."

"Exactly, exactly!"

"It’s been a while since our creative spirit ignited. Haha."

The writers laughed sheepishly, pretending their actions were purely motivated by inspiration from him, which filled Writer A with a sense of humiliation.

Inspiration, my foot! It’s plagiarism!

'But…!'

Professional writer A, who once lived by the pen, bit his lip.

It was difficult to call this 'plagiarism'…!

If one of them had put up a sign for a 'cocktail bar,' 'pub,' or 'izakaya,' he might have challenged them to a duel.

But the writers had merely borrowed the genre of his business, craftily disguising the content differently.

Just like in the old days, when they would creatively reinterpret any genre that gained popularity, whether it was a hunter story or an academy story…!

'This familiar feeling! Could it be!'

'Yes.'

The eyes of the fellow writers, who smiled sheepishly and innocently, glinted darkly.

'It’s time for the serialization competition again, rookie.'

'Ah, it’s been a while. This chilly sensation. It feels like I’m back when I used to check the best rankings every two minutes whenever I launched a new series.'

'No, no! Don’t do it! Have you all forgotten that hell, you fools!'

'Yeah. But your hell seems more livable than our reality.'

'I always liked hellfire anyway. I used to manage three simultaneous series at once.'

Again, exchanging silent glances was a basic skill for writers.

Finally, Writer A realized his mistake, albeit too late.

Why did he commit something he would regret for a mere night of pleasure?

(Of course, because he’s a writer)

- What’s this? Why are there so many signs?

- Did Mori finally expand his business?

Murmur murmur.

But Writer A didn’t even have time to regret it properly.

Because it was almost quitting time, and people were starting to flock to Dream Casino.

It was time for all writers to face their inevitable fate: 'serialization time.'

'Stop! No! My customers! My readers!'

However, contrary to Writer A's worries, he didn’t lose any customers.

“…Huh?”

Neither did the other writers fail to attract new customers.

Though there were some variations, all eight writers, including Writer A, drew in enough customers.

"Huh?"

The next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.

Even as the number of signs increased from one to eight, and then from eight to twenty, no one lost any customers.

In fact, selling dreams became even more successful than before, and even when the cocktail bar's capacity was increased from 10 to 20, it was always packed.

Only then did the writers realize.

"Oh."

The word that had been forgotten because civilization had perished so long ago.

Blue Ocean.

This wasn’t a bloody sea where you had to kill your competitors to survive.

The place they discovered after rolling in the dirt at the construction site was the golden Eldorado――.

It was a gold mine.

[Translator - Jjescus]

[Proofreader - Gun]