Come Back Knowing That One Thing
Grandfather kept his eyes fixed on me.
"……."
For a long while he said nothing at all.
The hall had gone suddenly still, and perhaps that was why every head turned to follow his gaze. Naturally, the weight of all that attention settled on me.
Ugh.
Grandfather, isn't this against the rules?
Have a heart! Hadn't he promised that if Brother Yugeon's business succeeded, he wouldn't say a word about who inherited what?
But it seemed the old man still had a shred of conscience left in him.
"……."
Nothing but a heavy silence. He never mentioned me outright.
Then what's the point!
Inside that quiet, I could almost hear him anyway.
You haven't forgotten our grandson went and fetched home a da Vinci, have you?
That rascal Jihun must have his mother's blood in him, the eye for art… Ah, did I not say? His mother came out of Seoul National University's College of Fine Arts…
If design is the future, then at the center of it stands our boy…
Grandfather's voice seemed to drift and bob through the silence.
Anyway! Even after that he stressed it, and stressed it again: in an age when technology had been leveled flat, design would be the key. It rankled, a little, that he had singled me out and set me at the front of the thing. His eye for what was coming, though, was enough to raise the hair on my neck. Only after he had declared that this would be Design's Hyeongang did the applause break out.
Clap, clap, clap! Clap, clap, clap!
Grandfather came slowly down from the podium. The event looked more or less finished. If he would just leave, that would have been fine.
Step. Step.
He came straight for me.
"Heard you got a recommendation from the Queen."
I nodded.
"How'd you come up with that?"
"Anyone can have an idea."
At that he let out a hollow laugh.
"All right. I'll ask again."
"……."
"How'd you pull off the thing everybody else only thinks about?"
"It's a long story."
"Longer's better."
With that he started walking, slow and deliberate. He meant for us to change rooms. The rain of stares had already grown heavy on me, so I hurried after him. We ended up in a small side parlor, a sofa and a low table between us, grandfather and I facing each other.
"So. What'd you do to the Queen?"
When I had finished the story of the painting and the letter, a wide smile hooked itself at the corner of his mouth. It didn't last. Perhaps it was the ache of having to send a clever grandson away; either way, he soon put the smile aside.
"Jihun, you. Running off to England to get clear of your grandpa—feel nice and light, do you?"
"Sorry?"
"What, you thought I wouldn't know?"
I had assumed he might guess. I had never thought he would say it outright.
"Know why I'm sending you even though I know all of it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Because there's something you can only learn over there."
He kept his eyes fixed on me and went on.
"Those British boys. What kind of lot are they? Fools for tradition, stubborn past all sense, aren't they? If it didn't pay, why would they cling to it like that?"
You carry a tradition forward because it brings you a profit. That had to be the reason.
"Those rascals succeed early, so they know what counts. They believe there's a value that never changes, and that's why they hold their tradition to the very end. That's what I'm telling you."
So he wants me to go and feel that value for myself.
Telling a grandson bound for study abroad that he was allowed to play!
"You told my brother he absolutely had to come in first."
"The eldest son and the second son the same, are they?"
Exactly. Please, a little discrimination. Ahem.
"It's still a long way before I even start high school. Why are you already like this?"
"What? Fixing to act like you'll miss us now?"
"I'm leaving my family to live on my own. You think I'm nothing but happy about it?"
"Then how about science high school, and you inherit the motors?"
I shook my head. Grandfather snorted a laugh.
"If you're going anyway, learn it properly and come back. Understood?"
I put off answering.
Lightly, he laid his hand over the back of mine. The hand of a giant who had lived through an age of storms. There was a strange resonance in those blunt, rough fingertips.
"Why no answer."
"……."
"You can, can't you?"
At his question I nodded, reluctant to the last.
Time flew like an arrow.
Park Yonghak had lived a long life, and yet these days, of all days, each one seemed to pass too quickly. Was it because his grandson's departure for school in England was right in front of him? There were moments he wanted to seize the second hand of the clock and hold it still. He let out a long, grudging breath. What could he do? Nothing but take it calmly.
That didn't mean he spent the time doing nothing but regret it. Lately Park Yonghak went out walking morning and night. He was the same man who used to shove exercise to the back of the line, snapping that he was too busy working to waste time on it. Step, step. Now he walked twice a day without fail, and on weekends he even went hiking. How does a man change so completely in a moment? The reason was simple. If he meant to watch that grandson for a long time, he had to look after his health. In his heart he wanted to see the wedding too, and the day the company was handed down.
Not something that goes the way you want, that.
He said as much, and still, after every walk, he dutifully ate his restorative meals. A thoroughly pleasant change.
Today, too, he was just about to set out for his night walk.
"Anything to report?"
"Yes, Chairman."
"Good. You walk a bit too."
And so, all of a sudden, the chief secretary found himself out on the walk as well.
"I've looked into this year's successful applicants to Royal School."
A man who only did what he was told never climbed as far as chief secretary. It was the same now. Checking the list of admits? For a moment it seemed like fretting over nothing. Then the interest stirred.
Every one of those boys is going to end up a friend of Jihun's…
Perhaps he had read the chairman's eyes. The chief secretary spoke with confidence.
"They say the third son of Buffett, the investor they call the Sage of Omaha, has been accepted. He's only just entering high school, and already his personal fortune is over five billion won…"
"Did he get some gift, then?"
"They only put seed money in his hand. By investment alone, it seems he's grown the assets more than thirtyfold."
Like father, like son, was it? It was certainly something to be surprised by. In truth Yonghak felt very little. The reason was obvious.
That rascal Jihun—just how many times over has he multiplied his?
Perhaps because he saw the boy every day, a thirtyfold return struck him as nothing much at all.
"Besides him, the eldest daughter of Britain's Barclays Bank, the second son of Citi Group, and the fourth generation of JP Morgan's founder have all put their names on the list of admits."
Fitting for Britain, the center of European finance: it felt as if every figure in the financial world were gathering at Royal School.
"Any Asians?"
"No, sir. The young master is the only Asian, and furthermore…"
"……?"
"I was told that everyone except the young master is white."
Hm.
Could the boy settle in all right, in a place packed with nothing but white students? The worry lasted only a moment. A smirk lifted the corner of Park Yonghak's mouth. This was the kid who had gone and secured the Queen's own letter of recommendation. No matter how his peers came at him, would he so much as blink?
Not a chance.
Ah, and since the subject had come up.
"What's that rascal Jihun doing now?"
"Ah. I heard the young master is out training at a dojo nearby."
"A dojo?"
"They say he's taken completely with judo and wrestling…"
"Wasn't it boxing, last I heard?"
"His love of boxing is unchanged."
"What?"
"He goes to the boxing gym every dawn, and judo and wrestling after school…"
"And soccer on the weekends too?"
"Yes, sir."
"What's he doing, training for the Olympics!"
He barked it, but his mood wasn't bad. Lately the boy's shoulders had seemed to fill out all at once. A hundred times better than sitting at a desk like some pale scholar.
"They say if you do judo, your ears turn into dumplings."
"If the blood is drained in time…"
"See the boy doesn't get hurt. Look after him proper."
"Yes, Chairman."
At Park Yonghak's word, the chief secretary bowed his head.
Meanwhile, for the past several months, I had been reporting for duty—if you could call it that—at Korea National Sport University every single day. Today was no different. I was learning wrestling from a former medalist.
Of all the sports in the world, why wrestling?
Like plenty of men my age, I had followed MMA in my previous life. From Fedor against Cro Cop, all the way to the day McGregor would sweep titles in two weight classes. I liked mixed martial arts quite a bit. Writing day after day in a cramped little room, I'd never really had the chance to train properly.
This life is different!
I wasn't going to become an athlete anyway. Training as a hobby was the whole of it. Still, once you start, the will to win comes up on you now and then. This was one of those times. My opponent was a college student, and a national-team reserve at that. Let him use even half his strength and I was guaranteed a flight through empty air. I knew that was only natural.
"Hnn—!"
I dug in and tried to hold. Of course the professor had his own share in how desperately I fought.
"I told you to control the wrist!"
I had the wrist, clear as anything, and it felt like gripping a dumbbell.
"Dig into the armpit!"
I somehow worked a hand in, and it felt like throwing my arms around a giant old tree.
"Come around!"
Is that even possible?
"Can't you hear me!"
"……."
"Move your legs!"
Damn it.
I feigned a grip on his back. Then I dropped my weight and went for his left foot. A single-leg takedown. Somehow I caught it. All that remained was to lift his base foot and shake his center of balance. He flung me off with raw strength and shot a takedown of his own.
"Get your center lower!"
The coaching came flying in loud enough to split an eardrum. Thanks to it I almost managed a defense. Then he slipped straight into my armpit. Had he decided the match was over?
"Enough."
"Hah—hahhh—"
"Winded from just that?"
This time the professor stepped in himself.
"When there's a gap in strength, what did I tell you to do first?"
"Secure the position, sir."
"And?"
"I was a step late."
"Stand against the wall."
And so the private lesson began. Even if you're good at jiu-jitsu, if you can't take the other man down it's all for nothing. Wrestling is essential for strikers and grapplers alike. That was exactly why I was learning it.
"Position!"
Training every day with the college guys, I couldn't begin to tell how much I'd improved.
"Rest."
That was after the session had finally ended. The professor, who had been shouting through the whole lesson, casually held out a sports drink.
"You're leaving this weekend?"
"Yes."
"Then when are you back?"
"Probably not until summer break."
"And training?"
"I'll manage somehow."
"Want me to track down a few British medalists for you?"
"Then I'd be grateful, honestly."
At that the professor nodded, his face as blunt as ever.