Immediately after the theme was announced.
I glanced around the suddenly chilling Garam Hall and let out a way laugh.
The tension in the air was reminiscent of an exam hall during entrance tests.
‘Everyone’s completely freaked out after what just happened.’
The shocking unveiling (and swift disposal) of a female student’s work, who had tried to rise above the rest with unprecedented speed, had left a much larger impact than anticipated.
— If you submit a ridiculous answer, you’ll only get scorn.
What Professor Jung Jeonjin had torn apart wasn’t just a piece of paper.
It was the reckless bravado of students dreaming of fleeting moments of brilliance.
“I guess I can forget about dancing…”
“Why? Didn’t they say performance art was allowed?”
“If the theme was something like light, festivals, or music, I was thinking of wearing a glittery outfit and doing a silly dance to at least get some interest points for humor… But if I do that now, I’d just get scolded.”
“True. That professor in the black suit, calmly explaining everything without raising his voice—that’s terrifying.”
“What’s scarier is how the other teachers didn’t even flinch when he tore the paper.”
“Guess I’ll just stick to something safe, like watercolor.”
After hesitating, everyone eventually returned to their areas of expertise.
What they’d learned at school.
What they’d learned at their studios.
They were free to use any materials, objects, or formats available in this hall.
Yet, the students gravitated toward the familiar materials they’d used countless times.
— If you stand out, you’ll get criticized.
— I don’t want to be criticized.
— I’ll just do something safe and familiar.
Endless freedom tied to personal responsibility pushed students toward safer choices.
“Sniff…”
Especially the female student who had borne the brunt of Professor Jung Jeonjin’s critique earlier.
She was sniffling while diligently sketching a lightbulb, adhering to the rules more than anyone else.
It seemed like her earlier attempt had taken tremendous courage.
‘At least Professor Jung must have realized that and didn’t immediately eliminate her, even allowing her to retry…’
The problem was his delivery—it was terrifying.
In reality, Jung Jeonjin was considered relatively mild and neutral among the professors, which made it even scarier.
Regardless, the shock seemed profound for students unaccustomed to the harsh realities of the industry.
Even the bold ones seemed to lose their nerve.
‘Actually, audacious types like her aren’t uncommon in competitions and sometimes even win awards.’
Being bold wasn’t a crime.
Often, opportunities hid at the end of paths that seemed impossible.
However…
‘She met the wrong opponent.’
In competitions, understanding the judges’ preferences is the first technique.
I glanced toward the panel of judges.
Professor Jung Jeonjin was surveying the hall with a stoic expression.
That face triggered a memory.
Professor Jung Jeonjin—more familiar to me as the text “Artist Jung Jeonjin” in books.
He was one of the 20 most prominent artists in Korea.
He was famous for being educated in Germany.
Germany.
The country, despite the tragic suicide of a certain mustachioed Austrian aspiring artist, became renowned in Europe for its earnest dedication to nurturing artists.
It even had systematic artist development programs through art schools.
As such, European, especially German-trained artists, shared peculiar commonalities.
‘Jung Jeonjin learned under a master of German contemporary art. German artists’ works generally favor clear arguments.
In short, they idealize problems and answers being precise.’
Almost like philosophical discourse.
Professor Jung Jeonjin sought simple and accurate answers.
Judging by the jury’s passive attitude toward his actions, the competition’s criteria appeared centered around his philosophy.
‘Alright, got it. Preference noted.’
I turned my attention to the Hanul High School students.
They were already breathing as if detecting and solving problems instinctively.
Ssss, sss.
Dry sounds of pencils scratching paper filled the air.
They ignored colorful art supplies entirely, focusing solely on the basic medium of pencils.
Their subjects were objects like charcoal or plaster casts, entirely in monochrome.
Black and white.
The alpha and omega of light and shadow.
External students and Hanul Middle School students passing by were puzzled by the high schoolers’ behavior.
“Why stick to pencil when there are so many paints?”
“If you place a pencil drawing next to watercolor, it won’t stand out.”
But I admired those high school students.
‘Of course, they’d quickly grasp their professor’s preferences. With problem-solving skills like that, college entrance exams should be no issue. Not that they’d have much trouble with domestic admissions to begin with.’
“…Alright.”
After grasping the situation.
I casually got up and selected pencils, erasers, and paper.
True to the competition’s reputation, all the materials were top-quality products from European brands.
The pencils were perfectly finished, holding their shape even when sharpened repeatedly.
The paper was sturdy and smooth, resisting even light scratches from fingernails.
Starting a drawing with such luxurious materials felt exhilarating.
Sss…
Wow.
This is nice.
So nice.
This is what drawing should feel like.
‘Damn, this is amazing. These are leagues ahead of the cheap supplies they give you during college entrance exams. I should sneak a few of these out later. A dozen would probably cost 20,000 won…’
Indeed, money is the best tool for art.
With money, you can afford to experiment boldly with the finest materials.
‘This pencil is worlds apart from the 100-won ones sold at stationery shops.’
The saying “A master doesn’t blame their tools” should be condemned.
How many people have suffered due to that ridiculous grit-centered ideology?
Good tools lead to better results faster.
That’s an eternal truth.
‘Masters, after all, already have incredibly expensive tools, so they don’t need to complain.’
Anyway.
With those thoughts, I casually moved my hand, and before I knew it, hours had passed.
In front of me lay a few pieces that, at least superficially, resembled finished artworks.
Light and shadow.
Simple compositions using objects.
“…Hmph. Should I just submit this?”
Frankly, I felt it was embarrassing to call them “works.”
There were many areas that needed improvement, and my limited range of motion had left many parts underwhelming.
‘It looks like something an elementary schooler would create with effort.’
Clearly, I still needed a lot more practice.
‘Still, should I just submit it as is?’
It seemed good enough to satisfy Professor Jung Jeonjin.
That thought crossed my mind.
Moreover, I’d already achieved my purpose for entering this competition.
I’d confirmed the high standard of Hanul students and gained an understanding of the goals and flow of the <Hanul Youth Art Competition>.
Regular participation could build a track record and add to my future experiences.
And since I had seen Han Mari’s face…
‘Ah, speaking of which.’
What’s Han Mari up to?
I’d forgotten about her while absorbed in drawing.
I turned my head to look for her.
What the heck.
Why is she just sitting there zoning out?
Is her mind open?
‘This might be the last competition she can participate in while alive…’
It wasn’t fun.
Through her eyes, which saw more than most, the scenery absorbed into her mind.
What she saw were scrunched-up faces.
Everyone was sweating profusely.
Blood vessels bulged in their eyes.
Hands trembled as they moved.
No one was truly enjoying the act of drawing.
Han Mari had the ability to read people’s emotions through their expressions.
But she couldn’t join them.
It was hard to understand.
Even when she tried to explain what she saw, no one understood.
‘This isn’t fun.’
Han Mari was still sitting in the waiting area.
Eventually, she hugged her knees and let out a deep sigh.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come here…?’
It was always like this.
She simply enjoyed observing and drawing things.
Yet, hardly anyone understood her.
— Why do you talk like that?
— It’s weird.
— Are you showing off because you think you’re a genius?
No.
‘I just wish everyone could genuinely love drawing…
It’s so much fun.
The sky and people change every day, and all the colors are different.
How can anyone live seeing the same thing all the time?
The world is so beautiful.
You can express so much more through drawings than words.
Don’t you agree?’
— You’re weird, and the way you talk is weird… Everything about you is weird.
— Make me understand what you’re saying.
— Not everyone can do things like you.
Awards and all that…
What even matters?
At that moment.
A low voice rang out from the front, belonging to the mean teacher who’d scared everyone into not enjoying drawing (and whom Han Mari had been taught by for a year but couldn’t recall their name).
“…What are you doing?”
“Submitting my work.”
Han Mari watched the scene.
The mean teacher’s head was covered with a box, like a cheap robot.
And standing before him was a surprisingly adorable fairy-like child.
‘It’s her. The fart girl.’
Technically, it was the man next to her who had farted, but…
I tried to talk to her but failed.
A funny kid.
A child who genuinely lives a joyful life.
Hana
The child said,
“This is my ‘light’.”
“…A box?”
Han Mari’s eyes widened.
“Ah, I see.”
The box playfully covering the mean teacher’s face was, ironically, the most vivid expression of “light” anyone could have created.
Han Mari understood it instantly.
“Ahaha…!”
Ah, here it was—
Someone who genuinely enjoyed life.
It was fun.
You.
You were fun.
I suddenly wanted to ‘play along.’
“…Alright, then I should join in too.”
Han Mari stood up from her seat.
‘What have I done…?’
She had tossed aside the drawing she’d been working on with a bored expression and hastily engaged in a performance.
There was no going back now.
Looking at her dull face, she had suddenly realized something.
—”It just looked fun.”
It wasn’t a mockery or an insult.
It was honest.
Finally, she understood.
—”Uncle, this picture looks like it was drawn with so much fun!”
—”Does it? It looks the same to me…”
—”It feels like the artist enjoyed every moment of drawing it!”
—”Huh… I don’t see it, but maybe you’re cut out to be an artist.”
—”I want to be like that too!”
She remembered everything.
‘I get it now.’
You had truly come to this competition to ‘play.’
For you, drawing was a joyful act.
‘You were so pure.’
That’s why you were disappointed.
Because everyone was treating it like an exam.
‘At the end of it all… I hope you find my unexpected actions amusing.’
This impromptu act is my final gift to you.
Isn’t it funny?
‘In this serious setting, the person who created the situation is now standing here looking ridiculous with a box on their head. And yet, that’s the answer to the problem.’
“A box?”
Professor Jung Jeonjin repeated the question.
I answered calmly.
“…It’s my submission.”
Even without seeing his expression, I could feel his anger.
‘Damn, did I mess up…?’
German humor was notoriously thin.
Still, if I was going to get scolded, I needed to explain my intent.
Like a black knight in a comedy film, I addressed Jung Jeonjin, who stood with a box on his head.
“Light is most visible in darkness. So, I created the only space here without light, allowing people to sense it through a tiny slit.”
“…That’s all.”
Inside the box, Jung Jeonjin’s eyes trembled.
Light.
Through the faint line of the clumsily cut ramen box, light was visible.
Like a young adult in a semi-basement dreaming of success,
It shone painfully vividly.
He saw it—light that shouldn’t have existed, taking form.
The German philosopher Hegel once said:
“Existence and non-existence are interdependent.”
Light and darkness.
Existence and non-existence.
Lack and desire.
All things come into being…
“…From nothingness.”
The absence of light stems from darkness.
A clear answer.
The one who provided it was this child standing before him.
‘Correct.’
And then,
The professor removed the box.
Another person had also found the answer.
“Wait, huh?!”
“Isn’t that Han Mari?”
“What is she doing to the windows?!”
Colors were racing across the Garam Hall like a dance.
Han Mari was humming a tune while painting the windows with vibrant hues.
The hall itself became drenched in her colors.
Blending red and green, the light of the setting sun reached out to people like a charge.
Faces transformed as they reflected the colors Han Mari was painting.
Light and color were inseparable.
Han Mari had undeniably shown “light.”
Like stained glass.
Like a princess ruling the space itself.
Like a queen commanding an army of radiant colors.
She played with “light.”
And that “light” seeped into the hearts of the people.
‘Again… correct.’
Professor Jung Jeonjin was left speechless.
‘Replacing those windows will cost a fortune.’
With that thought, he concluded his assessment and returned to reality.
On the way home, I was in the passenger seat of my uncle’s truck, reflecting on the day’s events.
‘I feel like I caused a big mess out of nowhere.’
“Hana, did you have fun?”
“What about you, Uncle?”
“Why do you ask? Well… I found a broadcast showing international soccer, so I watched that. Later, I joined some soccer club kids for a bit… Yeah, it was fun.”
He grinned.
“It was kind of fun.”
“…Good to hear.”
To be honest, I enjoyed it too.
Sure, I threw caution to the wind and caused chaos, but…
‘Who would’ve thought Han Mari would match my chaos and create her own?’
She seemed to enjoy it in the end.
Surprisingly, Professor Jung Jeonjin remained calm even after witnessing our antics.
And behind us, inspired by our boldness, other participants began submitting works filled with ‘what if?’ feelings.
Of course, Professor Jung’s sharp critiques followed, but…
The scene ultimately devolved into delightful chaos.
Time passed, and the competition ended.
Everyone seemed to have had fun.
‘That’s good.’
If everyone had fun, that’s all that matters.
For a first attempt, this wasn’t bad at all.
I brought back plenty of materials, and as a bonus, I even took some scissors we’d been using.
‘Hmm, not bad at all.’
I closed my eyes.
And slowly drifted into sleep…
-Screech!-!!!
-Bang!-
-Crash!-
-Thunk!-
“Whoa, whoa?! There’s been a huge car accident on the road next to us!”
Suddenly,
I felt chills run through my entire body.