The heated debate between two elderly individuals that aired on an evening program of a Japanese terrestrial channel unexpectedly garnered significant attention.
This reaction stemmed from a combination of factors.
First, the discussion topic was quite plausible.
It wasn’t a “heavy topic” that people might avoid discussing, like politics, baseball, religion, or money.
Nor was it a “trashy topic” such as celebrity gossip or lurid, provocative rumors (though, in reality, people often indulge in such subjects).
Rather, it was a topic so neutral that it could naturally follow a comment like, “Nice weather, isn’t it?” with, “Oh, by the way, have you heard about this?”
Second, the topic was incredibly simple.
– Can something like that be called art?
Beyond the interactive nature of the artwork a virtual personality created by the artist interacting with people in real time it also touched on broader questions about “the value of the virtual,” encompassing manga, animation, and internet culture.
Because this subject had already been debated extensively in the past, it was easier for it to capture public interest.
Third, both sides’ arguments were evenly matched.
Typically, those who enjoy and acknowledge subculture would quietly consume it while inwardly accepting that “this isn’t mainstream culture.” A sense of resignation had already taken root in their minds.
But this time, things were different.
A young genius artist from a foreign country boldly declared before numerous domestic artists:
“This is art too.”
And they were recognized for it.
Watching this, people began to gain confidence.
– When an average otaku argues this, it sounds like nonsense. But when a genius girl says it, why does it suddenly seem so convincing…?
The sense of satisfaction from witnessing this was not limited to subculture consumers alone.
Countless artists who produce virtual culture were also inspired by the logical defense of “the value of the virtual.”
When a famous voice actor summarized their thoughts on this discourse in a single phrase on their social media, the discussion gained even more traction:
“I’m an artist too!”
That single phrase.
It engraved a new sense of pride, transcending the “simple producer” label they had worn for decades.
As a result, this post quickly spread and became something of a slogan.
After the emergence of a clear slogan,
the internet turned into a battleground of heated arguments.
– As an active animator, I find this incident very intriguing. It’s no longer just about showcasing the final product to the public; the process of interaction itself holds meaning. This is only possible because we live in a digital society. Couldn’t this also be considered a form of art?
┗ Can voice actors who merely follow orders or animators who draw as directed really be called artists?
┗ If making the virtual tangible were as easy as just following orders, how convenient would that be?
┗ It seems you don’t understand why there are animation directors and key animators.
– Honestly, it feels like a fad or even propaganda. It seems like a ploy to incite otakus chasing their ideals to tarnish the integrity of high art that engages closely with reality. Besides, anyone could come up with such a simple idea, right?
┗ Then why hasn’t anyone presented something like this before?
┗ Someone must have done it at some point.
┗ So, when exactly?
Such exchanges continued.
But no conclusion was reached.
This was, after all, a topic with no definitive answer, and both sides were too emotionally entangled to change their views.
Moreover, most people engaged with the debate out of curiosity rather than genuine interest in the subject itself.
As a result, this grand “pro-wrestling match” of sorts only continued to grow…
into the seventh day of the exchange.
Suddenly, a smug-faced MC jumped out of a broadcast station van and shoved a microphone toward me. He smiled like a hyena closing in on its prey.
“Hello! I’m Ono from Charge! Broadcast King! Are you Ms. Gohana from Korea? First, I have a question for you. Some people claim that your statement implies, ‘Japanese art is inferior, and only otaku culture holds value.’ What do you think about this?”
“…”
“By the way, is this something they teach at art schools in Korea? Or is it a personal belief that you can’t distinguish between dreams and reality?”
“…”
Mija, Palgon, Geonwoo, and I had just returned from lunch and were planning to take a look around the exhibition hall. This sudden interview completely caught us off guard.
‘If they know I’m Korean, why are they asking in Japanese…?’
As Mija whispered a translation of the question into my ear, I stood there, dumbfounded. I wasn’t even angry—just baffled at how childish their approach was.
The MC, seemingly fishing for a specific reaction, leaned into the camera and asked in clumsy Korean, “Do you hate Japanese art? Do you like otaku culture?”
What… in the world is this nonsense?
It was a textbook example of distorting logic into black-and-white terms. The question itself was loaded with the assumption that I was a “representative of Korea” and that I denied “pure art.” No matter how I responded, they were clearly trying to drag me into a swamp of factional rhetoric.
‘So, they’re planning to use a loaded question to spark controversy and blow it up for attention?’
Realizing their intent, I suddenly felt much calmer.
“…”
This was one of those “pitfall interviews” that only people who’ve stirred public interest can receive a setup famous personalities often fall into.
At the same time, it was the perfect chance to become a superstar capable of driving both supporters and critics into a frenzy. Many top figures had, at moments like this, smiled and delivered explosive statements. And now, this glorious opportunity had fallen into my lap.
‘If I just blurt out, “Is this question an example of Japan’s level of journalism?” it’d set online communities ablaze, wouldn’t it?’
The thought of stirring up such chaos made my heart race.
Who was I, after all?
Wasn’t I a juvenile delinquent from the land of fire games?
“…”
As those thoughts crossed my mind, a mischievous smile almost crept onto my face. Noticing this, Mija hurriedly whispered to me.
“Just don’t answer…! That guy’s notorious for baiting famous people into saying something controversial. His program’s built its fame on that. Tons of idols have been forced to publicly apologize because of him!”
“…Makes sense.”
Looking at Mija’s pale face, my mischievous grin began to fade.
If it were just me, I might’ve gone ahead and said something reckless. But I had my friends with me, and they didn’t need to get caught up in my antics.
The growing buzz from onlookers didn’t help either. The sanctuary hadn’t opened yet, so it wasn’t as crowded as it would be in the evening, but there were still plenty of people around. And they were all looking in my direction.
Murmur, murmur.
“…”
I glanced to the side.
Geonwoo was momentarily flustered, but soon grasped the MC’s intent and urgently interpreted for Palgon. Upon hearing this, Palgon let out a deep sigh and approached me.
– Step, step
As the nearly two-meter-tall, muscular young man strode closer, shadows began to form in the exhibition hall. It was as if a towering rock mountain were walking toward us. The man who usually smiled gently, like a well-fed bear, now hardened his expression. His gaze, with starkly visible whites of his eyes, was strikingly sharp.
A dark, ominous gaze.
The kind of gaze that seemed to belong to someone who had wrestled a man barehanded.
Everyone in the room could feel it. The chatter gradually died down. Instead, people discreetly pulled out their phones or cameras to record the scene.
“…”
“…”
“…”
– Gulp…!
The air turned tense, silencing everyone. The exhibition hall was filled with an overwhelming stillness. As if sensing the imminence of a volatile situation, all eyes trembled with apprehension.
But Palgon did not move any further. He simply fixed his gaze on the MC, silently saying, “Go ahead, try saying something else.”
“…”
“…”
The MC, visibly terrified, still managed to babble like a chattering sparrow. However, as he spoke, his face grew increasingly pale. He kept glancing at the rolling cameras, as if drawing some sense of reassurance from them.
“I-I’m here for the viewers’ right to know.”
“…”
‘Ah, this guy’s the type who suddenly becomes polite when faced with fists instead of laws,’ I thought, watching the MC transform into what resembled a war correspondent dispatched to a conflict zone.
I replied to him, “I don’t speak Japanese.”
Thud-thud.
The MC froze for a moment, his brain visibly short-circuiting in response to the absurd answer. Then, in broken Korean, he stammered out a series of questions.
“J-Japan bad? No like Japan? No know Japan talk?”
He bombarded me with multiple questions, seemingly attempting to fit my answer into one of them.
I responded in Korean.
“What does ‘Japan’ mean in Korean?”
“…”
Thud-thud.
“…”
“…”
The MC looked completely dumbfounded, unable to recover from the shock. He seemed to be scrambling to interpret my response but appeared increasingly disoriented by a wave of futility washing over him.
Watching him, I smiled.
Ah, doesn’t he understand?
This is the technique for handling trolls 20 years ahead of its time.
‘He’s probably experienced people getting heated and firing back at his remarks, but this is the first time someone has responded with such nonsensical answers.’
The MC, realizing that neither the broadcast nor even an unexpected incident was turning out as planned, seemed to grasp that the situation was slipping away. Finally regaining his composure, he…
The MC tried glaring at me, as if to intimidate me further.
“Do you think broadcasting is some kind of joke?!”
– Ahem, ahem…
Hearing Palgon’s uncomfortable clearing of his throat, the MC quickly backed down. Forcing a smile, he awkwardly blurted out, “Wow, what an impressive piece of art!” and tried to lighten the mood with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Even so, the surrounding spectators began murmuring disapprovingly as they watched the MC persistently badgering a mere student.
– “No matter how much it’s for TV, this is a bit much…”
– “I’m embarrassed just watching this…”
At that moment, I heard a familiar voice from a distance. It was Takashima, the professor we had met on the first day of the workshop. He was approaching with a group of students in tow.
Takashima scanned the scene before politely asking,
“Excuse me, but who might you be? This seems to be an unauthorized broadcast not coordinated with Tokyo University of the Arts.”
“!”
The MC, who had appeared nervous earlier, seemed oddly relieved upon seeing the Japanese professor. He quickly responded with a feigned air of confidence.
“Ah, hello! I’m Ono from Charge! Wave King! I’m here to interview a rising artist who’s become quite the hot topic recently. This is for the public’s right to know.”
Takashima tilted his head slightly and said,
“From what I overheard, unless I misheard, some of your questions seemed quite misleading and easy to misconstrue. I worry this might result in misinterpretation.”
“…”
The MC’s face stiffened at Takashima’s pointed remark. However, he quickly forced another awkward smile and said,
“Oh no, not at all! I was merely representing the public’s curiosity about her genius and her work.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than Geonwoo, who had been listening quietly, held up his phone. With a click, he played a recording aloud. The MC’s clumsy Korean questioning rang out clearly through the speaker.
– “You hate Japanese people? You don’t like Japanese art? Are you an otaku?”
The childish and humiliating questions played on and on, making everyone in the hall avert their gaze in embarrassment.
“…”
“…”
Takashima massaged his temples and muttered, “Good grief…” Meanwhile, the students from Tokyo University of the Arts grimaced in discomfort.
With a slightly weary expression, Takashima finally addressed the situation.
“I deeply respect the open discussion and dialogue between artists and viewers. However, cornering an artist in this manner is highly inappropriate. Asking such aggressive questions to provoke political statements from a young artist is regrettable and, frankly, quite unfair.”
Sensing the tide turning against him, the MC forced an unnatural laugh and began retreating.
“Ah, haha! I see, I see! That’s an excellent educational philosophy. Of course, for the sake of television, I may have used some exaggerated language, but our network prides itself on fairness….”
Cutting him off, Takashima, clearly uninterested in further discussion, said curtly,
“Yes, I understand. I wish your network continued success.”
The meaning behind Takashima’s farewell—”Good luck surviving in this industry with broadcasts like that”—was clear to everyone. Soon, applause erupted throughout the room.
– Clap, clap, clap!
On the surface, it might have looked like enthusiastic support for the MC’s passion for broadcasting.
Flustered by the crowd’s reaction, the MC’s face turned bright red. His forced smile looked as unsteady as a tightrope walker about to lose balance.
“Well, t-then, I’ll be taking my leave now! I have to prepare for the broadcast!”
He bowed quickly and scurried off in a panic.
Geonwoo put his phone down, letting out a quiet chuckle.
“That whole situation was a form of art. Bad art, though.”
Takashima responded with a wry smile.
“This incident might go down as a legendary anecdote someday. Though, I feel ashamed to have exposed a darker side of society.”
His words triggered another wave of laughter among the crowd.
I turned to Takashima and said,
“Art and society are alike in that everyone sees and interprets them differently.”
“That’s quite a profound response,” he replied, looking at me with curious eyes.
Meeting his gaze, I continued,
“There’s no definitive answer here. It’s always about offering alternative perspectives, getting countered, and debating endlessly. Neither side can claim to be the ultimate truth. If I had to name a ‘correct answer,’ it would be the attitude of constantly questioning and challenging everything. Of course, that process sometimes involves distortion to achieve a desired outcome. It’s just human nature, I think.”
Takashima nodded thoughtfully.
“Truly… a clear and insightful perspective.”
He then guided the students toward me, asking for an explanation of my work. Later that evening, during the grand reception, I welcomed visitors in the role of the Saintess, Chris.
And so, the exchange exhibition period flew by.
When I returned to Korea, the reaction was overwhelming.
The airport was packed with people.
“Here comes the genius girl, Go Hana!”
“The prodigy who charmed Japan and shocked America!”
“Hana! You’re a hero! We always believed in you!”
“…”
What kind of ridiculous prank is this now?