"Size 800?"
"Who's saying they're going to paint on a size 800?"
"Who?"
The news that someone was going to paint on an unheard-of size spread to the corners of the studio.
Because the studio was quite large, there were a lot of people staying there. The studio quickly became noisy.
"It's Kang-seok."
"Kang-seok? The one who goes to Cheonghwa Arts High?"
"What? Why is he taking so much paper? Wouldn't just one big sheet be enough?"
"…Right. Why bother bringing all those small sheets?"
Whispers about Kang-seok filled the studio with a low murmur.
Kang-seok, the Cheonghwa Arts High student that Go Doo-han, of all people, favored.
That phrase carried more weight than expected. At least in this place where all of Go Doo-han's disciples gathered—his studio—that's how it was.
Most of them had been paying close attention since Kang-seok first set foot there, so the whispering was persistent.
"That's quite thick... how many sheets is that?"
"But that's not 4-cut or 2-cut paper, right? Could it be 8-cut?"
People not involved in the studio work tried to follow Kang-seok's movements with their eyes. Without their orders, their eyes estimated the thickness of the paper he carried.
At that thickness, it had to be several hundred sheets. What on earth was he going to use all that for? They racked their brains.
"Is it sketch practice paper…?"
"It looks like animation drafting paper, maybe he's going to draw on it and then paste it on panels? Then why would he bother using drafting paper? That's pretty unusual."
"Go Doo-han isn't the type to like something unusual, though…"
They were curious about what exactly Go Doo-han liked about Kang-seok.
All of them wanted to be favored by Go Doo-han, so it was natural.
Though he was known as a person who favored some more than others, Go Doo-han was basically a picky tyrant.
He was ambitious about talent, but had very strict standards for judging it. That was Go Doo-han.
Because of that, even people considered talented didn't enter the studio easily, and if they did, don't think Go Doo-han would be grinning happily.
That was certainly true.
"Oh. It's almost lunchtime, I was just checking when he'd come… huh? What time did he say? Lunch? He said he'd already eaten lunch? With whom? Lee Min-hyuk? Professor Lee Min-hyuk? The Lee Min-hyuk I know? That's who he has plans with?"
What exactly had turned him into an automatic question-answering machine? They wondered.
And Park Ji-hoon, one of the people who studied under Go Doo-han the longest, was just as curious.
At that moment, Park Ji-hoon twitched the corners of his mouth as he watched Kang-seok walk toward his seat with the paper.
He was intrigued that Kang-seok was carrying a huge amount of paper, and that it was drafting paper he didn't usually use.
Until now, it was curiosity about a newcomer favored by Go Doo-han, but now it was curiosity about Kang-seok himself.
"What do you think he's going to draw with that?"
Park Ji-hoon muttered, and Bae Ji-min, who was working, turned her head.
She saw Kang-seok sitting down.
What Park Ji-hoon called "that" was hidden by Kang-seok's back. The only visible thing was Kang-seok reaching into his bag.
He pulled something out and immediately bowed his head. Judging by the movement of his shoulders, it looked like he started drawing right away.
"One thing's for sure."
"...."
Ban Jeong-heon nodded in agreement.
Park Ji-hoon gave Bae Ji-min a look, as if telling her to say it.
"What is it?"
"No matter what he's drawing, Kang-seok will probably finish it faster than a loafer like me."
Bae Ji-min raised one corner of her mouth as if to mock Park Ji-hoon, then turned back to concentrate on her work. Park Ji-hoon tried to say something but shut his mouth tightly.
Compared to Bae Ji-min and Ban Jeong-heon, Park Ji-hoon was indeed slower.
Though Kang-seok's hands moved quickly and impressively, Park Ji-hoon wanted to go visit his spot in person, but Bae Ji-min's comment kept him seated.
Damn it. I'll find out eventually anyway. Park Ji-hoon calmed his curiosity and grabbed a pencil. It was time to work.
Soon,
Only the sound of a dozen pencils moving remained on the first floor.
Late afternoon. The white sky. The sun was settling at the two o'clock position in the sky. The cold was creeping in—it seemed night was approaching.
Go Doo-han zipped up his jacket and quickened his pace. It was 4:47 PM.
About four hours earlier, he had received a message from Bae Ji-min saying Kang-seok had arrived at the studio.
'Knowing his personality, he's probably already drawing.'
Go Doo-han swallowed a smile as he opened the studio's front door.
The excitement of not being able to resist looking at Kang-seok's drawing right after entering the studio hit his heart.
Art was such a magical thing that even a middle-aged man like him could return to childlike wonder.
'No way he's already finished.'
Kang-seok's drawing motions were quite fluent, so Go Doo-han flinched at the thought he might not get to see it.
'No way.'
No matter how fast Kang-seok's hands were, if he was drawing something worthy of being called a work, it wouldn't be finished yet.
Still, a small hope crept up.
Go Doo-han's steps quickened in a battle-ready manner.
...
Bang!
The front door slammed shut like a bullet. The shoe rack doors flapped from the recoil. It was a noisy entrance.
Everyone in the studio stood up and turned toward the entrance.
"I'm here."
Go Doo-han had entered. Usually, he moved quietly like a cat, but today's entrance was unusually loud.
"Teacher."
"Artist, hello."
"Teacher, you're here."
The studio echoed with various greetings addressed to Go Doo-han.
He nodded while walking forward, overwhelmed by the flood of greetings like paper airplanes.
Im Woo-hyun and Son Dong-wook were absent due to a display issue with Go Doo-han's solo exhibition.
The next to join him were the studio's longtime trio, trailing behind Go Doo-han.
"Nothing unusual, right?"
"No. I left messages from senior Im Woo-hyun and Son Dong-wook on the artist's desk. I told them to check when they come and get back to you, so you can check them at your leisure. Also, the water purifier technician stopped by. The mail I checked while seeing them off is beside the artist's luggage. Oh, and…"
"Keep it short."
"Nothing unusual."
"Good. Is Seok at his spot?"
"Uh… well…"
Go Doo-han, who had been walking calmly, furrowed his brows. He'd said Kang-seok had arrived earlier—was there some problem?
The corners of his mouth twitched like angry cat whiskers.
Go Doo-han turned his head and was about to issue a sharp command, but stopped abruptly. Everyone in the studio, including Bae Ji-min, had already turned their gazes in one direction.
"I was actually going to tell you as soon as you arrived, sir…"
Ignoring the murmured voices behind him, Go Doo-han's face followed their gaze. Toward the spot everyone was looking at. When he first turned his head, what caught his eyes was color.
Red.
A red line stretched diagonally across one wall, like a comet engulfed in flames.
At that intense color, Go Doo-han gasped, inhaling sharply. Before he could even exhale, the realization came: that red line was a painting. A painting. If so, there was only one person who would use such a bold color.
Kang Seok.
Go Doo-han's head dropped naturally. At the end of his lowered gaze, he saw a figure attaching that fiery streak like a comet — it was Kang Seok.
"Right. It could only be you. Those who studied under me know only monotone colors. This is something only someone who recreated the 'Creation of the World' fresco on a shopping mall wall would do."
But why color pencils instead of just pencils?
And why, of all colors, that strikingly protruding red?
Go Doo-han took heavy steps as if hammered by some force. If Kang Seok had done this just to stand out on his own, no matter who he was, he deserved a scolding.
The reason Go Doo-han included his disciples' and other newcomers' works even in his own solo exhibition was one: symbiosis. Though he acted like a tyrant, Go Doo-han cared deeply about the Korean sketch art scene and actively promoted new talent.
As someone who wished for the development of the sketch art world — where a single pencil could express the philosophy of a work and gain recognition — any artwork that threatened this symbiosis and sought exclusivity had to be rejected.
No matter the value of that painting.
Go Doo-han took a solemn step forward.
After about four heavy steps, he stopped again. His eyes flickered like a candle in the wind. Within those eyes, blurred by the weight of years, the red shimmered.
His eyes discerned dozens of reds and shades resembling red.
It was an optical illusion as if one red split into dozens of colors. So stunning that it calmed the anger that had been rising.
Go Doo-han muttered:
"Seok-ah.
You incredible kid.
You brought together so many different reds into a single shade, even though the difference was clear just a few steps away."
It was a color that made him want to shout for Kang Seok to drop sculpture and switch to Western painting immediately.
Talent.
Many can capture form well, volume well, and depict well. And those people can be surpassed or matched by relentless daily training.
But color is different.
Color is innate. And Kang Seok was born with it. Go Doo-han was certain of that now.
He wasn't someone to be held back to just sketching forever. Kang Seok's red would blaze the world.
Go Doo-han approached. He had to grab Kang Seok's shoulder and ask if he had no intention of pursuing Western painting. Before he could reach him, though,
Go Doo-han's eyes flickered again.
As he got closer, he noticed something not visible from afar. This was no simple coloring. It was a colored pencil drawing.
"...People."
The theme of Go Doo-han's upcoming solo exhibition,
"You drew all this in four hours?"
It was different from the four sheets of figure sketches drawn in four hours. Although the paper was noticeably smaller, about 16절지 (a paper size), there were easily over a hundred sheets if counted.
Moreover, the people drawn on the paper were all striking different poses. During the brief moment Go Doo-han looked at the painting, many thoughts crossed his mind.
Mostly, what he had drawn or observed at Kang Seok's age.
Which made sense.
In Kang Seok's painting, countless people appeared.
Women, men, middle-aged women and men, boys and girls, young men and young ladies, grandmothers and grandfathers, children, babies, even pregnant women — each moving with different shades of red.
How much must he have observed people to draw this?
Is this really the world seen through the eyes of someone not yet eighteen?
Go Doo-han nodded in awe.
The 16절지 sheets were tangled endlessly like traditional Korean paper on a wooden frame. Now he could see clearly. It wasn't flames. Nor was it a falling comet.
"It's a sunset."
Within the sunset, people walked.
The people hurrying along were certainly part of the painting but seemed to move dynamically, creating an illusion. Another amazing point was that not a single person was identical.
Not one had the same expression or pose.
"Huh."
"Sir?"
At that moment, Kang Seok turned his back. It was the first time he noticed Go Doo-han. Flames surged in Go Doo-han's eyes as he looked at Kang Seok. That too was red.
Thud! Go Doo-han planted his hand on the wall and asked:
"How much will it take? How much will it cost?"