Breaking Boundaries in Literature: The Nobel Prize and Korea's Untold Stories

Chapter 2.2 The Clash of Ideology and Reality

The scent of grilled sausage filled the air, and the first thing that caught my eye was the Bratwurst—a traditional German sausage nestled in a crisp bun, its juices seeping out with each bite. A smear of mustard heightened the already intense flavors. Some of the researchers opted for Currywurst, a dish drenched in sweet ketchup and dusted with curry powder, creating a peculiar yet unforgettable taste.

The professor recommended Kartoffelsalat, a traditional potato salad, served alongside a tangy helping of Sauerkraut. The tender potatoes, dressed in a light vinegar and herb dressing, perfectly complemented the rich, oily sausage. Across the table, Maya quietly sipped her beer. "You can't come to Germany without trying the beer," she mused, raising her glass of Berlin's finest craft brew.

One of the researchers, holding up his sausage, bellowed, "Nietzsche believed in eternal recurrence because he thought every choice leads to the same conclusion!"

I didn't agree, but I nodded, turning to Maya, who caught my gaze and smirked. "Oh, but according to our resident writer, nothing can truly repeat," she said with a playful glance.

"Really? How can you be so sure, Mr. Choi?" the researcher asked, eyebrows raised, curious.

I smiled gently, raising my voice to catch his attention. "When I visited Busan for a brief retreat, I met another version of myself—one from Universe 6. And now, here we are, in Universe 7. Unlike Nietzsche's eternal recurrence, the universe reacts differently with each choice, creating entirely new outcomes."

For a brief moment, the group fell silent, the gravity of my words pulling them into a contemplative pause. Then laughter broke out across the table. "So, tell me, Mr. Choi, how did your other self live in that other universe?" another researcher teased, as the others joined in with jokes.

"Well, does that mean we all exist in other universes too? Could we move between them if we're connected?" The idea seemed to amuse them all.

Maya, nudging me with a chuckle, blurted, "You should try stand-up comedy, you'd kill it!"

I took another sip of my beer, regretting my story. 'Who's going to believe that I can't even tell if it was a dream or reality?' I downed a gulp, the cold golden liquid easing the unease that gnawed at my insides. But then, something shifted.

Suddenly, the restaurant sounds faded, like a distant echo. Maya's voice, the researchers' chatter—all of it drifted away as if they were speaking from the other side of a canyon. A black car sped toward me, its engine roaring louder than my racing heart. It was coming at me—fast, relentless.

"No—!" was all I could manage before a thunderous "bang" exploded in my ears, the car slamming into the restaurant wall. The force of it was deafening, and my vision blurred as though the world had snapped shut, trapping me in darkness. The shrill cries of my colleagues vanished into the distance, swallowed by the void.

When my eyes finally fluttered open, I found myself bathed in the cold light of a sterile laboratory. The walls, slick with some unknown material, felt suffocating. This wasn't a place meant for living, for breathing. My entire body ached with a heaviness that made even the smallest movement a monumental task. Slowly, I scanned my surroundings—transparent glass panels enclosed me like a prison. Wires snaked across the floor, coiled around strange machines, while test tubes filled with some mysterious liquid lined the shelves around me.

And just beyond the glass, silhouettes—indistinct and ghostly—observed me. Their faces were blurred, shadows in the dim light, but I could feel their eyes on me. Watching. Waiting.

Then, breaking the eerie silence, a laughter echoed through the room. "Hahaha!"

I gasped, my voice shaking as I called out, "Maya! Maya, it's me, Choi Jun! Where am I? Please, get me out of here!"

But my voice bounced back at me, swallowed by the four walls that trapped me. Then, again, that laughter—a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"Hahaha... hahahaha..."

It grew closer, louder, creeping under my skin like ice. My fists pounded against the glass, desperation taking hold. But when I looked at my own reflection, the eyes staring back at me were not my own—they were hollow, dead, like the eyes of someone who had already given up.

"Maya! Please... please, let me out!"