The Great Storyteller

Chapter 48 - A Flower Yet to Bloom (4)

Chapter 48: A Flower Yet to Bloom (4)

Translator: ShawnSuh | Editor: SootyOwl

Pil Sung Choi, in the future, he would become a bestselling author under the name of Sung Pil. He was a flower yet to bloom, and his potential was yet to be fully realized. Juho looked forward to the countless books he would be putting out in the future and even more so to the moment when that bud bloomed into a beautiful flower in their cruel world.

He saw Sung Pil’s back from behind. The people sitting beside him were leaning forward just like him. Everyone had their heads down with their eyes focused on their paper. Only those who could dare to straighten their backs in that place were given the rights to escape and move up to a higher place. ‘Would Sung Pil dare to take the chance?’ As Juho’s thoughts meandered, Sung Pil suddenly looked up and glanced over at Juho. Their eyes met. Juho was somewhat surprised by him. He was mouthing some words, and Juho looked carefully to try to figure out what he was trying to say.

“Hurry up and get back to work.”

Juho chuckled quietly at his concern. With his thick eyebrows twitching, he turned around and faced forward. He didn’t quite blend with such a serious atmosphere. Amid anxious, impatient people, he was the only person who was excited. Perhaps that was how he would be able to soar to the sky as a writer.

‘I want to write about him.’ The girl who lived at the beach was no longer. Only the thick eyebrows remained in Juho’s mind. He wanted to see the sight of Sung Pil facing the storm. He wanted to know how to face the storm.

He checked the time. There was about an hour left to the competition. He mapped out a story in his head, and there wasn’t enough time to write everything he wanted to. The format of his story didn’t quite fit the occasion, but it was a story he could finish in a couple of hours. ‘Well, I gotta follow what my heart desires,’ he reminded himself as he picked up his pen.

As he was busied himself writing, his hand again made contact with the person next to him. Just like previously, he briefly glanced over without saying anything. He stopped writing, looked in her direction and whispered, “Sorry.”

He apologized first. She seemed flustered, but soon after she lowered her head. Juho smiled, feeling relieved.

Like everyone else in the hall, Juho moved his hands busily. He was rushing slightly. Even as he recognized the urgency in his heart, he kept on writing. There was no time, so it made sense that he was feeling that way. It was nothing unexpected.

What was more important in that moment was to maintain a rational mindset. One shouldn’t be carried away by the urgency in his own heart and make the mistake of letting his hand take over. The wise thing to do was to write with rationale. There wasn’t much meaning to a composition that had been rushed into completion because the writer had been in a hurry. His hand no longer reeked with alcohol, and he knew he was capable, so he tightened his grip around his pen.

“Now, please bring your submissions to the front,” a voice informed the end of the competition.

Then, Juho looked up. The creative literature professor was at the podium.

“Is it over?”

He put down his pen. His hand was glowing bright red. Sounds that had grown distant slowly made their way back. The lecture hall was getting noisy. Some looked relieved whereas others looked sad. While massaging his hand, Juho slowly stood up from his seat and walked toward the podium. When he walked outside after submitting his paper, Sung Pil was there. As soon as he saw Juho, he walked over to him and asked, “How’d you do?”

“Eh, so-so.”

“I feel pretty confident. What did you write about?”

“‘The beach.’”

“I see. I went with ‘days.’”

He had just answered Juho’s next question without even being asked, and Juho nodded. ‘Days, huh?’ He was curious about what kind of story might have come out, but he wouldn’t be able to read it now that it had been submitted. As he watched the other contestants lingering outside, Juho asked Sung Pil, “I think there’s a school orientation now. I’m thinking about heading back. What are you going to do?”

“You’re not going to stick around? Can we do that?”

“It’s up to the person.”

Sung Pil took a moment to think and said, “Hm. It’s still part of the schedule. I think I better stick around.”

‘I knew it.’ He had a diligent character and he wanted to stay for the entirety of the program. Juho nodded.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll buy the ice cream tomorrow.”

Juho remembered their bet from earlier and chuckled. ‘He could’ve let it slide.’ Without saying any more, the two parted ways. Juho walked back to the subway station on his own, thinking, as he walked down the darkening street, ‘What was my answer to his question when he asked how I did?’

So-so.

“Maybe, I could’ve done better.”

Bitter, he kept walking.

*

Joon Soo looked at the pile of papers before his eyes. Other judges like Professor Choi, Professor Han, and Professor Byung, were also reading something.

“I guess it’s too soon to expect the next Yun Woo,” Professor Choi murmured as he put down what he had been reading. There was regret in his tone.

Joon Soo answered, “If these kids wrote like Yun Woo, I wouldn’t be able to keep my job.”

“Haha! You’ve got nothing to worry about Mr. Bong. Everyone knows about your skills.”

“It’d be nice if that was true,” Joon Soo answered to Professor Byung with a chuckle.

“There are still some who did well. Look at this one.”

Professor Byung handed Joon Soon one of the submissions. Topic: Days. Name: Pil Sung Choi.

After reading through it, he nodded, “This is good. He used a convenience store as the space for expressing the time loop. Refreshing. I like his style. He’s young, but it’s got some weight to it. I think I’m going to be seeing him around as an author.”

“Who wrote it?”

“Take a look.”

He stretched as he handed over the paper to Professor Choi. He was tired from reading through and judging other people’s writing. He found no joy in reading for the purpose of categorization. No matter how sloppy it was, a composition that embodied its writer’s dreams made for an excellent work. ‘Coming to think of it, what about that kid I ran into earlier?’ Since he didn’t know his name, he couldn’t look for his work. Then, he thought about the lecture, ‘I didn’t see him...’ He set aside his thoughts and continued reading through the piles of paper.

“Next up...”

This time, the paper was on ‘the beach,’ by Juho Woo. ‘That’s a unique name.’

“What should we do for dinner afterwards?”

“Let’s go for a drink nearby, shall we?”

“We still have a lot of work to do,” while working quietly, Professor Han responded with a gentle voice.

The two other professors laughed it off and then went back to reading.

“You look so serious Mr. Bong. What are you reading?” Professor Han asked while looking at him. Joon Soo didn’t respond.

Professor Choi, who was sitting next to him, called for him again, “Mr. Bong?”

“... Yes.”

Still, Joon Soon looked up in a delayed response. At that, Professor Choi took the paper from his hand.

“What is it that’s mesmerizing you?” With a cringe, he added after taking the paper from him, “This is incomplete. It should be disqualified.”

He put the paper down without even reading it carefully.

“... Of course. This is a competition,” Joon Soo said as he kept his eyes fixed on the paper.

It was a competition. There was no award for unfinished work. Yet...

“I don’t think I’d like anything else in here anymore.”

*

Juho stared into the ceiling as he lay on his bed. He was regretting his performance at the competition.

“There wasn’t enough time.”

He had been ambitious. He had known that he was cutting too close. He had been aware that he might not be able to finish it in time.

“I didn’t think I’d actually not finish.”

He thought he would’ve been able to pull it off. He didn’t feel angry or sad. Only, the regret lingered at the end of his finger tips.

“Sung Pil. He had done it.”

He reminisced about the past. It had been about a week since the competition, and as usual, he had met up with Sung Pil for his morning exercise. His thick eyebrows had seemed like they were sitting higher than usual.

“I got the award,” he had said with a slightly stiff voice. While he had been stretching, Juho had looked up at him. He had been looking down with anticipation and concern.

“Hahaha!”

At the sight of his stiff, peculiar expression, he couldn’t help but laugh. Flustered, Sung Pil had asked seriously, “Why are you laughing?”

“You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

“That’d be difficult since I don’t have a mirror on me at the moment.”

Juho hadn’t been surprised by the news. He’d had a feeling that Sung Pil might win.

“Congratulations.”

After laughing for a good while, he had sincerely congratulated his friend. Sung Pil had smiled joyfully. He had won an award in his first essay competition. He definitely had potential.

“He lost the race that day, too.”

Juho got up from his bed. ‘Rustle.’ Dozens of pages made a rustling sound whenever he moved on the mattress. It was the remainder of the story that he hadn’t had the time for.

‘After facing the storm, the man became even stronger.’

“Would things have been different at all if I had actually finished?”

‘Or would Sung Pil have won still?’

“Although, I’m not particularly crazy about the award.”

His only regret was not being able to compete with Sung Pil’s story. ‘Whose work would have moved the hearts of the judges more?’

“Well, I didn’t even make it to the end, so what can I do?”

An incomplete work was not read by the judges. It was a competition after all. The moment he had submitted his work, no, the moment the bell had rang, Juho had known all along.

“I felt confident for once.”

For once, he had actually felt the desire to write, to beat Sung Pil, and to write about him.

“Well, no use in crying over spilled milk.”

Desiring a change of environment, he decided to go for a a walk. He stepped on the floor, and there were papers scattered throughout even that. He walked toward the door, stepping over many pages.

“The sun feels hot today.”

He put his hand over his eyes at the sudden sunshine and felt the parts of his body exposed to the sun getting warmer. He walked aimlessly. ‘When did I start going on walks?’ He tried to retrace his memories. At first, he didn’t like to wander around outdoors. That changed when he started writing. Since then, he intentionally went out whenever there was time. It could have been that being an author involved going out and looking for things.

He walked into a residential area. There were many hills because the entire neighborhood was on the mountains. From time to time, he saw the mountain peeking through the alleyways and he went up and down several hills, growing sweatier. By the time he had lost count of the hills he had climbed and gone down from, he saw another hill before him. Without hesitating, Juho headed up.

“It’s kind of steep.”

He moved slowly. The peak of the hill was pointing toward the sky. Then, he saw a person, a mother with a stroller with her baby inside.

“They must have come out for a walk too.”

He looked at the houses that were facing one another between the hills. He couldn’t remember exactly from when, but it was definitely one of the older memories. It had been either really hot or really cold, but the only thing left in that fragment of memory was a voice.

“I heard it around here somewhere.”

The voice of a mother had come through the wall of the residential area. There had also been the sound of a baby crying. It had been weeping in sorrow while the mother shouted, “I’m so, so sick of this! I’ve had it!”

“Had she been saying that to her baby?”

To that day, he didn’t know what the mother was getting sick of. Only, he vividly remembered her voice echoing throughout the hills. As he wondered if he’d hear that voice again, he climbed the hill. After looking at the houses, he looked ahead. There was a stroller coming down the hill.

A scream followed.