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Chapter 48: Proof (1)
TL: Enuma ID
Kang Ji-won smiled.
He'd thought the boy would be scared, but if he wanted to paint, all the better.
"Of course. I'll get it all ready for you."
[Jun. Wait.]
Ẃ ёḃ ňӧv̂еl̄ Е̃ń üm a
The Shadow spoke quietly.
It was a different tone than usual.
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[Look at that man's eyes.]
Lee Jun looked at Kang Ji-won. He was smiling.
[His face is smiling, but there's no smile in his eyes. That isn't pure goodwill.]
"That man says I can paint."
Е n u m а
Pure delight colored Lee Jun's voice.
It was the joy of getting to paint.
[.......]
The Shadow glared at Kang Ji-won.
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Its two white eyes narrowed.
A hundred years had passed, and nothing had changed. Not this world.
W е̇ b́ n̊ о̀ v е́ l Е ñ u m.ã
A quiet fury boiled inside the Shadow.
"What do you think you're doing!"
Kim Yo-han shouted at Kang Ji-won.
The awards hall went quiet. The reporters' cameras all swung toward Kim Yo-han at once.
Kang Ji-won spoke without dropping his smile.
"'What am I doing', you ask? I'm merely giving him a chance to put the doubts to rest."
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"Does it make any sense to stand a six-year-old in front of hundreds of people and demand he prove himself? This is child abuse!"
"Professor Kim Yo-han."
Kang Ji-won's voice was nothing but soft.
"You do realize how far the ghost-painting suspicion has spread? The main pages of the portals, YouTube, the TV news. Your own name, as the man who recommended him, comes up every single day. And faith in the Art Association is being shaken along with it."
Kim Yo-han clamped his mouth shut and glared.
"Leave it as it is and the suspicion won't go away. It'll fade with time, sure, but the label 'the winner under a cloud' will follow the boy for the rest of his life. Is that what you want, Professor?"
E ňům̆ а̄ .іd
"And this is your way of resolving it? Putting a six-year-old on a stage and making a clown of him?"
"It's the surest way, isn't it. He shows them himself, and it's over."
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Kim Yo-han clenched his jaw.
"Vice President Kang. The judging was done by the Art Association. The winner was chosen by the Art Association. If there's suspicion, it's for the Association to answer, not something to be dumped on a child!"
"Which is exactly why I proposed the surest way to answer it. And young Lee Jun accepted."
"Telling a six-year-old to clear his own name is nothing but you, the head judge, shoving your responsibility onto a child!"
Е ṅǔm̄ а . іd
Kang Ji-won's smile wavered for a moment. But it came right back.
"Professor Kim. There's really no need to put it so harshly. I've only offered a chance for fair verification."
His face, unruffled to the very end.
Kim Yo-han's fist trembled.
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"Of course, no one's forcing anything. If the boy himself doesn't want to, then naturally he won't. I've merely made an offer. If he can't do it, he doesn't have to."
And if he refused, the suspicion would only grow larger, on the grounds that he'd dodged the proof.
Е̇n um̈_а́
A suspicion that would have died down on its own, Kang Ji-won had deliberately stoked.
Kim Yo-han was furious. But he couldn't let that fury out here.
Countless reporters, children, and parents were watching. Storming out because he didn't like it, the way he usually would, would do Lee Jun no good at all.
A small hand settled over Kim Yo-han's trembling fist.
"Teacher."
It was Lee Jun.
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Kim Yo-han flinched and looked down at his young pupil.
"Um, can't I paint it?"
Clear, pure eyes were looking up at him.
Something rose all the way up Kim Yo-han's throat.
The world of the child Lee Jun, sealed off entirely from the world of adults.
He just wants to paint. That was all. Whatever that adult meant by telling him to.
Е̇ñǔm̂ à.. i̊ d
"But I want to paint...."
Lee Jun mumbled, crestfallen.
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Kim Yo-han's mind cooled fast.
Kim Yo-han crouched down to meet Lee Jun's eyes.
And asked in a low voice.
"Jun. Do you really want to paint?"
Е ñu m̀a. і́ d
"Yes. I've wanted to for a while now."
Even now his fingertips were itching.
If they'd let him, he wanted to paint, more than anything.
Kim Yo-han looked into Lee Jun's eyes.
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There was no tension. No fear either.
They were the same as always. Just the eyes of a child who wanted to paint.
Ê n̈u mа.
In that case.
Kim Yo-han glared at Kang Ji-won.
"......Prepare a canvas and paint."
There's no avoiding it now.
In that case, the only thing left is to trust the boy and take it head-on.
Kang Ji-won looked at Kim Yo-han for a moment, then nodded.
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He signaled the staff with his eyes. As if everything had been readied in advance, the crew began to move quickly.
An easel went up onto the platform. The same canvas he'd submitted for the competition, a size 15, was set on it. [TL Note: 15호, a standard Korean canvas size, roughly 65 × 53 cm.]
A paint set. Brushes. A palette. Turpentine, and the rest.
A camera was set up to capture the canvas, too.
An image appeared on the screen behind the platform. The white canvas showed large across it.
The setup was far too smooth.
Е ňûm а . i̇_d́_
Watching it, Park Sang-hoon ground his teeth.
"The materials, the camera angle, even the screen hookup. This isn't the kind of setup you throw together on the spot. That bastard meant to put Jun up there from the very start."
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Kim Yo-han didn't answer.
He only kept his mouth shut and glared up at the platform.
"Professor, will Jun be all right?"
"We were just about to go get something to eat with Jun. What on earth is going on?"
W ё b̆n o v̌ē l̀ Е̇n ǔ_m ã
His aunt So-young and his parents asked anxiously too.
Kim Yo-han softened his expression and spoke.
"......You don't need to worry too much. Jun will be fine."
Kim Yo-han said it. As if trying to convince himself.
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"Can that little one really manage all on his own? Shouldn't somebody be there helping him?"
Lee Jun's father, Lee Jeong-su, asked.
Е̄ ǹu m̌a .і ḋ_
"No. Jun can do it on his own. He's done all of it on his own up to now. This is where he proves that."
No adult can help him. Do that, and they'll just pick a fight over it all over again.
From beginning to end, the boy had to do every bit of it himself.
"People don't believe in Jun. Not that a child that small can really do it. That's why they want to see it with their own eyes, right now."
Kim Yo-han turned his gaze to Lee Jun's parents.
"But you, his family, please believe in Jun. Jun can do this. Believe in him and cheer him on."
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When Lee Jun's painting teacher said that, his parents could say nothing either.
Not knowing what was what, they could only pray it ended safely.
"Jun......."
His aunt Han So-young clasped her hands together and prayed too.
Please, let Jun pull it off. Let him come to no harm.
*
Е̇ n ŭ m̌_а
Lee Jun climbed the platform steps.
These are steps he's climbed once before. This time he didn't stumble.
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He stood before the easel that had been set up.
A white canvas was waiting.
A chair, a table, a palette, fresh paint, brushes in every size. And turpentine and linseed oil.
The setup was, surprisingly, all in order.
E ǹ ŭ m̌ а .іd̀
[That man is hoping you can't paint it.]
The Shadow let its quiet fury show.
Lee Jun tilted his head.
"Why?"
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[Because he only wins if you fail.]
Lee Jun thought for a moment.
Е ň ùṁà. ïd̂
"But I still want to paint."
[......I know. That you want to paint.]
The Shadow glared at Kang Ji-won a moment longer, then looked away.
Now was not the time to worry about anyone else.
It looked at Lee Jun.
Sparkling eyes. The face of a boy who couldn't hold back, his hands itching to go since a while ago.
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[......l'anima semplicetta che sa nulla.]
The Shadow murmured.
A poem carved into the Italian soul, Dante's The Divine Comedy.
That one line now stood before it, made real.
[A pure soul that knows nothing.
Drawn only by its joyful Creator, it turns gladly toward whatever delights it.]
Ẽň_um̊а
The Shadow's fury slowly subsided.
And it turned into a different feeling.
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[......All right. Paint. Let's paint.]
The Shadow clenched its fists, shaking.
[It doesn't matter what that man is scheming. If you want to paint, you paint.
Your painting belongs to you. This is no one's test.]
W̆e b n о ṽ_е_l Е̃n_uḿ а
Lee Jun smiled a little.
[Just paint it properly. Enough to knock that man down a peg. Got it?]
"Yeah."
The hall went quiet.
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Hundreds of people sat gathered, watching the platform.
A camera was running from diagonally behind Lee Jun.
Еn̊ ǔṁa_
Lee Jun and the canvas, caught by that camera, were showing on the big screen.
Suspicion and expectation, curiosity.
Countless eyes turned toward Lee Jun.
Lee Jun looked at those eyes.
All these people were looking at him.
When he'd received the award earlier, and now too.
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People who'd come to celebrate him.
It was the first time so many people had gathered just to look at him.
It felt good. His chest was warm.
[Jun. Listen carefully.]
The Shadow's voice was different than usual.
A tone he'd never heard before. Serious, sharp, and fast.
Е ń û ḿ а
[Today we do it my way.]
"What way?"
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[Forget glazing. Drying, waiting, building up in layers, none of that today. We paint it and finish it in one go.]
Lee Jun nodded.
A lot of people were waiting. He couldn't paint something that made them wait a long time.
"I've never done that before."
Е n̂ ǔmà.id̄
[It's fine. You just finish it in one pass, no drying in between. Other than that, it's no different from usual.]
A painting finished in one go, with no drying.
Somehow, it sounded like it would be fun.
[So, what are you going to paint?]
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"People."
[People?]
Ên̊ù m а̃.
"Yeah. Those people over there. The ones who came to celebrate."
The Shadow looked out at the seats.
[People here to celebrate, huh.......]
Half of them doubted Lee Jun.
The reporters with their cameras were waiting to catch the moment Lee Jun failed.
Some parents were wondering whether it really was a ghost-painting, hoping the prize would pass to their own child instead.
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Kang Ji-won stood beside the platform with his arms folded, glaring toward it.
As if daring the boy to do it if he could. It was not a look that should ever fall on a six-year-old.
But Lee Jun's eyes couldn't see any of it.
Everyone was smiling. Everyone was applauding. The camera flashes were lights of celebration.
That was the world reflected in this child's eyes.
He was a child who knew nothing of adult malice.
W̃ е́ b n̊ о̂v̄ѐ l Е_n̂ u m а
What an irony this was.
The Shadow swallowed its fury.
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[......Right. Paint it the way you see it.]
The Shadow said it quietly. Then it changed its voice.
[Block in the big masses first. Details come later. The ceiling, the seats, the people, three masses. Wide brush, big strokes, no flinching, go all in one shot.]
Lee Jun nodded.
Ѐ n u m а . ĩ d̊
First he set the palette on the table and squeezed out the paint.
Then he took up the biggest brush.
He loaded it with paint. Naples Yellow.
[With the flat of the brush, lay it in wide, the way you'd block in a sky.]
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The wide brush went onto the canvas.
First he laid in the ceiling.
Е̌ nu̇ m а̂ . і d̈
A warm yellow light spread across the top of the canvas.
The first brushstroke showed on the screen.
The hall held its breath.
[Good. Don't stop. Straight to the next.]
With Burnt Sienna he drew the flow of the seats.
A viewpoint looking down from above. It was the scene of the audience as seen from the platform.
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[Don't draw a line twice. Draw it in one stroke. It's okay to get it wrong. Try to fix it and you ruin the painting.]
The brush moved again.
They were rough lines. But they had direction. They had perspective.
Front rows large, back rows small. The side near the platform bright, the far side dark.
[Yes. That's it. Go by what you see, by what you feel. Think, and you slow down.]
Just five minutes.
E n uḿӓ. i.d.
The composition was set.
There were still only blocks of color, yet it was unmistakably the awards hall.
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One reporter who'd been watching whispered to the person beside him.
"That actually looks like something."
"Is he really painting this for real?"
"He's only six, they say, so is a real painting even going to come out of it? Probably just kid scribbles."
W̃е̂ b̈ṅ ò v̄ еl E̊ńŭm̂ ä
"Could this be rigged too?"
"No way."
The reporters' muttering didn't stop.
Park Sang-hoon, who'd been eavesdropping, grabbed Kim Yo-han by the arm and pulled.
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"Hey. Come here."
"...What?"
Ẇ е_bńо̇v̂ ĕ ĺ Е̄ ṅú mа̃
"We've got to explain it to the reporters."
Kim Yo-han frowned.
"Why should I?"
"What'd you say before? Didn't you say protecting Jun is the job of grown-ups like you and me?"
"......."
Park Sang-hoon's face was serious in a way it usually wasn't.
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Kim Yo-han shut his mouth too.
"Right now that little kid is up there painting alone in front of hundreds of people. The cameras are rolling, it's going out live too. Those reporters have to write their stories without even knowing what they're looking at. It's on us to tell them how well Jun's doing, isn't it?"
Kim Yo-han looked at the platform. Lee Jun stood before the canvas, moving his brush.
He was far too small a child to be standing alone on that wide platform.
"The story runs nationwide tomorrow. Today, if they're quick. 'A six-year-old painted a picture at the awards ceremony.' What gets written after that depends on what we say right now."
Kim Yo-han gazed at Lee Jun for a long while.
Ĕ_nu m̆ а̃
A little child, fighting a crowd of adults all on his own.
His pride was holding him back.
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Kim Yo-han shook it off.
"......All right. Let's go."
*****
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