Shattering the Delinquent Image
All eyes in the studio turned to Suhyeon’s mouth, and he spoke the answer slowly and deliberately.
“The culprit is… Taylor, who just came home after finishing her lecture at the English academy in apartment 403.”
The PD looked stunned and hurriedly explained the rules.
“You have to explain the exact reason why for it to count as correct.”
Jeon Hanmu prodded Suhyeon.
“Come up to the board quick and explain why it’s number 3 yourself. I haven’t even finished grasping the problem yet… You shouted the answer way too fast…”
Suhyeon walked to the board amid the panelists’ murmurs, picked up the chalk, and began explaining.
“The mistake everyone’s making is treating this dying message like basic arithmetic…”
Jeon Hanmu shot back with a baffled look, as if wondering what nonsense this was.
“No, Suhyeon. There wasn’t even time to make that mistake. It was too fast…”
“Haha, is that so? This is my first time on a show like this. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“No need for that. We’d love it if you solve them quick so we can wrap up early. I’m dying to know how you figured it out. Walk us through it.”
“Sure. Actually, it’s simple once you see it. First, focus on the squares on both sides. Basic arithmetic symbols don’t have squares. And intuitively, no number you put in those squares makes the equation work. So, while it looks like arithmetic, it probably isn’t.”
Suhyeon paused to make eye contact with the panelists, checking if they followed, then continued.
“Second, the biggest number is 19. If it corresponds to letters, it can’t be Korean consonants—there are only 14. Common sense points to the alphabet. So, replacing numbers with letters gives this.”
He wrote the dying message numbers as letters on the board, then paused to let everyone catch up.
“Now, if it’s not arithmetic, what do the symbols mean? Roman numerals? No. X is 10, but there’s no cross-shaped Roman numeral. Chinese characters for ‘cross’? The shapes don’t match. So, maybe they’re just literal symbols. Looking back, on the right side, everything except the square is gone.”
Suhyeon drew a large square on the board and started placing the left-side symbols inside it in order.
“Following the dying message, I crammed all the left symbols into the square, leaving nothing outside. One X inside, then space it out a bit for another X—too close and they’d merge. Then the cross. See anything now?”
“Now you see it, right? The lone square on the right was a hint to cram all the left symbols inside. With letters: 5 is E for England—the old flag had a cross in a square. 19 is S for Scotland, 9 is I for Ireland. Scotland and Ireland once had X-flags in squares. Colors and details varied, but a dying person scrawling in blood wouldn’t get fancy.”
Suhyeon set down the chalk, faced the camera squarely, and concluded firmly.
“The current UK flag—Union Jack—is the union of old England, Scotland, and Ireland flags merged into one. The dying message points to a British connection. Thus, the culprit is Taylor heading home from her English academy lecture.”
“Correct. Suhyeon, you’re amazing.” The PD banged the xylophone enthusiastically in admiration.
Returning to his seat after nailing it, Suhyeon keenly observed Jeon Hanmu’s change.
“Suhyeon, you solved it so coolly. Truly impressive. Pick the next one.”
Suhyeon felt a twinge of disappointment at Jeon Hanmu’s calm delivery and steady gaze.
‘As expected… One problem won’t shatter my image. How hard it is to break deep-seated prejudices etched in people’s minds. No matter how time passes, human nature never changes.’
A bit disappointed inside but smiling softly on the outside, Suhyeon picked the next.
“Next, musical.”
A new problem appeared on the monitor, and Jeon Hanmu read it.
“Jeon Hanmu is going to a musical with Zhang Yian from Abnormal Meeting. Zhang asks which one, and Jeon sends this long text.”
He began reading the text on the monitor.
“There was a traveler. Walking along, he found a paulownia tree. A bit further, a camellia tree. Then a crape myrtle. After walking far, he spotted a huge temple-like building, entered, and inside was a dragon breathing fire. Fleeing the flames, the traveler burned to death. From this text…”
Watching Jeon read, Suhyeon thought, ‘Zhang Yian—my body’s previous owner knew her. This is tailor-made for me.’
“Correct!”
Suhyeon’s swift answer rang out before the problem fully finished. No gasps of awe or shock filled the studio this time. Only silence hung heavy, laced with an eerie hint of inexplicable fear.
‘Gotta keep pushing till I smash those preconceptions completely.’
Jeon Hanmu, looking slightly unnerved by Suhyeon’s quick call, slowly asked,
“Suhyeon… Did you get it the instant you saw it again? What’s the answer?”
“This one’s really easy. The Three Musketeers.”
Suhyeon strode confidently to the board in front of everyone.
“This was an easy one for everyone. The big hint is the text to Zhang Yian. Everyone knows she’s Chinese from Abnormal Meeting, right?”
“Right. Zhang Yian’s Chinese. It’s a Chinese character puzzle—the common ‘word-breaking’ game. First, famous musicals aren’t that many. Top 10-20 at most. Scan titles similar to the problem, and it clicks.”
Suhyeon wrote overlapping wood radicals on the board.
“The types of trees don’t matter—they’re just a red herring. There are three trees. Two ‘wood’ radicals make (grove). Three make (dense forest)—like in forest bathing.”
“Ah-ha. Then the dragon later?”
“Read it this way: the dragon is inside a temple-like place—its lair, its home. Take the roof radical over house, and you get the sense of a dwelling. Place the dragon within it, and it forms as in favor or pampering, the very word often used in historical dramas when a king shows favor to a subject.”
“Ha. Now the end’s clear. Traveler dies, so death. All together: The Three Musketeers.”
“Exactly. Among musicals, it’s top-tier fame.”
To the xylophone’s chime, Suhyeon scratched his head sheepishly, smiled softly, and returned to his seat.
‘Don’t let up. Nail the acting. Gotta look humble to viewers…’
Seated, Suhyeon watched Jeon Hanmu’s mouth intently.
‘This should’ve shifted their view by now…’
Jeon Hanmu looked at Suhyeon with admiring eyes.
“Suhyeon, even if you wandered in school… How’d a brain like that get such abysmal grades? Any hidden reason we don’t know?”
Suhyeon inwardly cheered at the question. ‘Gotcha!’
But outwardly bashful, he spoke slowly.
‘Now’s key. For smooth entertainment life, time for lifetime-best method acting.’
“Why bad grades despite brains? Puberty hit. Entering middle school first year, my parents suddenly divorced.”
Everyone’s ears perked toward Suhyeon. Jeon Hanmu, slightly surprised, picked up.
“Oh, your parents divorced then?”
Suhyeon bit his lip painedly, nodded.
‘Endless excuses per incident is tiring. Spread natural backstory bait now for easier future.’
“Yeah. Already playful and rowdy kid, puberty plus divorce? Dropped studies cold. Sigh. Hurt my single mom bad in middle/high school. Played dumb till luck struck—decent face got me into YK trainee senior year.”
Suhyeon glanced ceiling-ward guiltily, then faced front.
“Trainee or debuted, still immature—partying only, no interests elsewhere. How immature? Company pushed acting? Feared less free time, pretended incompetence. Total idiot. Then… recent major accident.”
“Right, you got badly hurt recently?”
Suhyeon smiled awkwardly, scratched head.
“Yeah. Rainy night, late drinking with friends, slipped into motorcycle slide. Pathetic now, but hadn’t wised up. Bedridden months, tons of reflection. Post-discharge, finally maturing—ready to live truly, day by day. Late, but now human-worthy. Regret past childish words/actions.”
Jeon Hanmu wrapped up.
“Such a story for you, Suhyeon. Good you matured. Still young—not late. Back to puzzles?”
‘Time for final flourish.’
Suhyeon raised hand at Jeon’s words.
“One last thing?”
“Go ahead.”
“Sigh. To all hurt/angered by my immature school/debut antics, sincere apologies via this show. Especially… women I lightly dated when less human… If I hurt you…”
Suhyeon stood slowly.
“Deepest apologies. Shamelessly beg forgiveness, promise no repeats—from now.”
Finished, he gazed sincerely at camera, bowed deeply, straightened, sat.
“Viewers’ll love you more post-this. Heartwarming.”
‘Yes! Planned this absurd show for that. Sigh. Original owner’s messes easier to clean now…’
“Back to puzzles?”
Suhyeon beamed. “Yeah, wanna solve quick.”
Post-recording, Suhyeon found his manager in waiting room.
“Hyung Seongcheol.”
“Yo, Suhyeon. Nailed those… Didn’t know your brain was that sharp.”
“Haha, always was. Just immature, skipped study…”
“Yeah, yeah. C’mon. Back to office. Park Siljang set tomorrow’s audition—come straight post-recording.”
“Got it. Office for dinner. Brain-drained, starving…”
Suhyeon rode back to YK building.