The Great Storyteller

Chapter 47: A Flower Yet to Bloom (3)

Translator: ShawnSuh | Editor: SootyOwl

As soon as his torso moved forward, the footsteps followed. From the scenery to the various sounds, everything was a step behind him. Sung Pil was the only exception. He was running right beside him, and Juho smiled. ‘So, you’re not going down easy, huh?’

He started to run out of breath. Still, he felt much better than he had before. The building was near, and the door became visible, so the two thought simultaneously, ‘Whoever passes through that door is the winner.’ Although his legs were tired from running uphill, Juho pushed on. Sung Pil did the same.

“Here I come!” Sung Pil shouted.

They were getting close to the door, and Juho added with a smile, “I can’t let that happen!”

Then, he took his final step.

With his hand on his side, he bent forward. It was harmful to sprint immediately after a meal, but he chuckled as he caught his breath, “Haha.”

“Agh! No!”

‘Victory.’

Sung Pil groaned in defeat. He too was gasping for breath. Running up a hill was twice as hard as on a flat surface. On top of that, they had covered quite a distance. ‘Still...’

“Twenty nine total. Fifteen wins, fourteen losses.”

Juho felt great. They occasionally raced each other, and the results so far had been fourteen to fourteen out of twenty-eight. It didn’t feel bad at all to be adding another victory to the record.

“I could’ve caught up!”

“That’s a shame.”

Sung Pil clenched his fist at Juho’s calm attitude. The other contestants stared at the two as they walked into the building. The tension in the air had been alleviated by their race.

Paying no attention to the people looking at him, Juho looked around. The lecture hall was on the first floor. That’s where he was going to be writing. He left Sung Pil writhing in defeat and asked a college student who was working as a guide for information, “We’re not late, are we?”

“Ah, no. There’s still plenty of time.”

After checking the time, Juho told Sung Pil, “Take all the time you want. There’s plenty of time.”

“There’s always a next time,” Sung Pil said as he sprung up and brushed down his sides with his hands. It really wasn’t a good idea to sprint right after a meal.

While drawing people’s attention, they walked confidently into the lecture hall.

“There are so many desks here,” Sung Pil said the first impression he got from the hall, and like he had said, there was a large number of desks. The hall was full of them, each capable of seating at least four.

There were empty seats here and there. As Juho found a seat in the backmost desk, Sung Pil sat himself in the row ahead. He was visible whenever Juho turned his head diagonally to the right. There was a large screen in the front of the hall, and ‘The Youth Literary Essay Contest’ was written in large letters. Underneath it, was the time for the beginning and the end of the contest. Two hours. It was plenty.

“I wonder what the topic is going to be.”

‘They’re not going to make us play word chain all of a sudden like Mr. Moon, are they? You, sir, tell me the first word that comes to your mind. Whoever that would be, would panic.’ As Juho occupied himself with random thoughts, somebody walked up to the podium. He introduced himself as a professor of creative literature and explained the schedule of the contest. Then, he talked about the following school orientation and lecture that would be given by an author who had also been invited to be one of the judges of the contest.

At that moment, a sound came from behind everyone, and he walked in bent over at the waist. He was late, but the professor didn’t try to punish the contestant. For the most part, they seemed to be gracious toward people who were slightly late. It wasn’t such a strict contest after all.

“I will now present to you the topic of today’s contest.”

The moment everyone had been waiting for. The topic marked the beginning of the contest. The entire lecture hall stood still. There was an odd tension in the air.

The professor took out a small piece of paper and then added, “Winter, beach, and days. Please choose one. You may begin.”

As soon as he finished, the three words popped up on the screen: winter, beach, and days. Some kids started writing as soon as they received their papers whereas others took more time to think. None of the words Juho had guessed in the subway were there. ‘I guess that’s obvious,’ he thought.

“Hm...”

‘What to pick?’ The only two that his mind was attracted to were days and beach. ‘Days. Time coexists with space. Days spent in a certain place.’ He thought about the conversation he’d had with Sung Pil on the Subway ride to the campus, ‘Subway, convenient store. I’m more drawn to beach. I’ve written about a subway before.”

He thought about the beach, ‘The weather at the beach tends to be unpredictable. Waves break. It’s sunny for a moment, and then the rain starts to pour down the moment after. It’s a cloudy sky. After a peaceful time, a storm is bound to follow.’

As he put down the paper on the the desk, he closed his eyes and imagined the storm.

‘The girl who lived at the beach knew all about the storm that followed at the end of peace. The sky changed. Clouds changed their shapes. The air and the temperature felt different. Everything changed from how they had been when things were peaceful. The wind carried plenty of dust. The dust piled up in people’s hearts, breeding anxiety and impatience.’ Juho picked up his pen.

“Ah.”

His arm brushed up against another person. The student who sat next to him looked at his arm, but soon turned his eyes back to his own paper. ‘I forgot that I was sharing the desk with three other people,’ he thought as he lowered his eyes. The pens and pieces of paper were enough to fill the desk. His eyes followed down the desk. ‘Paper, pencil, hand, paper, pencil, hand, cock-a-doodle.’ A rooster crowed in his head. ‘Is this what it’s like to live as a chicken in a farm?’ It almost felt like he was stuck in a word factory.

‘This is frustrating.’ He put down his pen and looked around the hall. There were many hands busy, writing. The professor had been long gone, but a few of the administrators were standing around. He looked diagonally from him, and with a serious face, Sung Pil was steadily filling out his paper. His thick eyebrows were slightly furrowed, a sign of concentration. He was doing well, but he too was about to brush up against the person sitting next to him.

There wasn’t a lot of space, and Juho felt constrained. In the end, he stood up from his seat. ‘I need some fresh air.’ He randomly chose one of the people standing and asked for permission to step out. In a friendly manner, the person showed him the way to the restroom.

“Sigh.”

Juho went the opposite direction from the restroom and pushed open the door made of glass. The outside air rushed in, but it didn’t feel all that refreshing. He breathed slowly while leaning against the door. A building was blocking his sight, so he moved his eyes up to the sky. For some reason, the sky felt lower than usual.

“What if I can’t write anything?”

It was suffocating to even think about going back into the lecture hall. ‘A storm.’ He imagined a gust of wind sweeping across the hall. ‘It’d make things a bit more refreshing,’ he thought.

“Haha.”

Of course, that wasn’t going to happen.

“Excuse me, what are you doing here?”

He turned back at the sudden sound of a person’s voice. A man with a friendly face was standing there. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and as Juho stood straight, the man asked again, “Is there a problem?”

He sounded friendly, and Juho knew who that man was, “Professor Bong.”

“Huh, do you know me?”

“You’re famous.”

“It’d be nice if I were,” he answered with a gentle smile.

It was not a sign of modesty by any means. Then, Juho realized that what he had said hadn’t happened yet. ‘Joon Soo Bong. This is before he becomes known.’

So, Juho added to settle the matter, “I’m a fan. I’ve been enjoying your work quite a bit.”

“Thanks. I didn’t know I’d have such a young fan.”

Although he was an excellent writer, his work didn’t appeal to the masses. From a livelihood-as-an-author perspective, absence of such appeal was fatal. Yet, he refused to change his style.

Then, he became famous.

Juho stared intently into his face. He had heard that he used to teach as a professor before committing to writing full time. The professor from the lecture hall had mentioned something about a lecture. ‘Could he the speaker?’

At that moment, he remembered that he had forgotten to answer the professor’s question.

“I came out for some fresh air.”

“You’re taking part in the essay contest right? I saw you back there. You were the only person looking up.”

‘Did he catch me getting distracted?’ Juho thought as he laughed awkwardly. Joon Soo waved at that.

“Oh, I didn’t mean anything bad. I just thought that you knew the value of knowing your surroundings.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Joon Soo nodded with a smile, a naive kind of smile, and Juho would have never guessed that he’d be meeting him here.

“Are you here as a judge?”

“Yes, embarrassingly.”

‘Embarrassing.’ He was cautious about judging other people’s writing. However, Juho accepted it. An amateur wouldn’t recognize a master, but a master tended to recognize an amateur at once. In the same way, the writer’s skill level became apparent even after reading for a brief moment.

‘I didn’t think I’d meet such a big-name writer at a contest I signed up for whimsically.’ Juho wasn’t sure of what to do.

“Then, I presume that you’ve read my book?”

“Sure,” he answered with a smile.

‘How would he judge his own writing? Before that, will I even be able to write anything for the contest?’ Juho thought.

‘Buzz.’

At that moment, Joon Soo’s phone rang. After checking the caller’s name, he added, “It’s my teacher. If you’re a fan, you’d know who, right?”

“Yun Seo Baek?”

Joon Soo smiled bright at the sound of her name. Again, it was a naive kind of smile.

“You really are a fan. I appreciate that. Well, good luck, and make yourself at home.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walked out through the door Juho was leaning against. ‘His teacher.’ He had been referring to an author named Yun Seo Baek. Well into her fifties, she took in pupils in order to train authors for the coming generation. Among her pupils, there were quite a few who were famous.

“She also happens to be friends with Hyun Do Lim.”

She had announced her last work at the age of sixty. It was about her husband, Hyun Do Lim, and the reminiscing of her past.

“What are you doing?” It was the person who had showed Juho to the restroom, and he added as he called for him, “There’s not a lot of time left.”

“I’m coming.”

Juho rushed back.

He sat down once he came back into the hall. It wasn’t like he was going to have more space because he had been gone for a few minutes. He looked to his sides. There were contestants busy writing. With serious faces, they each wrote down their own, unique stories. ‘How many of these students would actually grow up to be an author? How many of these students would actually dream about their childhood?’

Sadly, most of them would probably fail. There was no guarantee, whatsoever, that they would achieve their dreams in life. He was aware that it also applied just as much to him.

No matter how talented or how hard one tried, failure was always near. Some stayed completely still out of fear. Some kept moving despite it. Some carefully calculate their next step. There were many ways to deal with failure, and none of those were wrong answers. Humans were bound to experience failure regardless. Well, maybe not him.

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