Career Path (4)
Han Donghun could not, for the life of him, understand what he was looking at.
One thing alone was certain: the boy named Seo Eunwoo had filled two full sheets of A4 paper in less than thirty minutes.
Yes…
He still did not know.
At that moment Han Donghun thought this: until he carefully read every word written on that exam paper, he would never be able to define who Seo Eunwoo truly was.
That was why he felt an almost physical need to begin at the very first line of the story the boy had conceived.
…The opening line of the exam paper read as follows.
The grandmother in the picture was also someone’s mother.
A cold winter had settled in, and at last the first snow fell. Ground and sky alike turned white without distinction, and for some reason an old woman stepped out into the alley in front of her house with a broom in her hand.
She swept without end, clearing the snow that would hinder footsteps.
Regrettably.
No matter how much she swept, and swept again,
the snow pouring from the sky painted white once more the path she had just cleared.
While she continued that meaningless labor, a man in a police uniform hurried toward her.
Police (with worried eyes): “What are you doing right now!”
Grandmother: “What does it look like? I’m sweeping the snow. When my son was little he slipped badly on a snowy road, you see. He has to leave for school soon, so I have to hurry and clear it.”
The policeman was left speechless.
Because the man standing before her was her own son.
And anyone could see he was already old. The age for going to school had long since passed.
So why?
Why did the grandmother insist she had to clear the snow because her son needed to go to school?
…She had dementia.
Her condition was so advanced that she could no longer properly recognize even the son standing right in front of her.
That was why the policeman’s eyes reddened the moment he heard her words.
In truth, the tears rose not only because the mother before him had dementia. There was another reason as well.
He lowered his head and remembered his mother as she had once been.
She had always been harsh with her young son. As a single parent, she had probably done so to raise him strong.
But from the son’s side, the sorrow of that harshness had only piled higher and higher.
Then one day, when the policeman was still a student and left the house for school, he noticed something strange.
The snow that should have been piled thick in the alley in front of the house had all been cleared away.
At the time he assumed the neighbor had done it and walked past without a second thought. Only now, hearing the words of the grandmother with dementia, did the whole truth finally reach him.
The grandmother had always carried guilt and apology toward the son she had treated so harshly.
That was why, every day it snowed, she swept the entire path so her boy would not fall again on the slope—and even now, when she could no longer recognize him, she was still sweeping so that he would not fall.
The grandmother felt puzzlement at the policeman who kept his head lowered and stared blankly at him.
Perhaps because of the cold, the policeman sniffled and spoke.
Police: “That… he doesn’t know. Your son.”
Yet at those blunt words the grandmother, for some reason, broke into a bright smile.
Grandmother: “He doesn’t have to know. As long as my son doesn’t slip, that’s enough.”
With her clear, sunny words the policeman fell silent.
Then he took off the coat he was wearing and draped it over the shoulders of the grandmother who was still sweeping the ground—his own mother.
Grandmother (eyes widening): “You’ll catch cold…”
At his warm kindness she looked up at him with a worried face.
In answer the policeman forced a bitter smile and gently drew her into an embrace.
He took his aged mother’s hand and said,
Police: “You can stop sweeping now. Your son… never fell even once. Thanks to you, Mother, he says that after that day he never fell on a snowy road again.”
Grandmother (face full of joy): “Is that so? I’m so glad.”
Drip—
A single gray spot bloomed on the pure white ground.
It was the water that formed as the policeman’s heart, frozen solid with sorrow, melted like snow.
And so…
they smiled at each other for a long while.
Each carrying different emotions,
each thinking of different people.
Yet one thing was certain…
Those two smiles simply…
felt warm to each other.
The story the boy had created ended there.
“…….”
Before he realized it, Han Donghun had finished every word Seo Eunwoo had written.
Even after reading it all, he still could not find his voice.
The story the boy had made gave him something beyond mere warmth—it gave him genuine emotion.
Was there any story that could have used the photograph and the given keywords more perfectly than this?
And the most absurd part of all was that the boy had produced a story of this caliber in a mere thirty minutes.
Before reading the piece, Han Donghun had been unable to form any clear definition of the student.
Now, little by little, the outline was coming into focus.
He recalled a memory from a few months earlier.
That day he had been summoned for a meeting with Song Hayul, Chairman of Hanbit Arts High School.
Thanks to Writer 927 the previous year, the Video Production Department’s popularity had soared into the sky.
Competition rates had risen accordingly, and far more talented students had enrolled.
Curious about the level of this year’s Video Production students, Song Hayul had asked their major teacher, Han Donghun:
“Has any student shown enough brilliance to one day reach that writer?”
She was probably asking with scholarships in mind.
She loved gifted students and considered it her duty to nurture them.
Yet at her question Han Donghun could only offer a bitter smile and shake his head.
A few students certainly stood out—but if the standard was Writer 927, the conversation changed entirely.
Song Hayul had looked disappointed and murmured softly,
“Is that so… I suppose hoping for a student who could stand on equal footing with that writer was just my greed.”
At the time Han Donghun had agreed with her, and at the same time felt a quiet sadness.
The writer who had become the future for so many students might also become the one who stole that future from them.
When someone of overwhelming talent exists in a field, everyone else is inevitably measured against them.
For the students of the Video Production Department, that fact would arrive as crushing frustration.
Perhaps every student who entered from now on would feel the same negative emotion…
But then again…
Chairman. He was right here.
Han Donghun had seen him.
He had seen a genius who would one day stand shoulder to shoulder with Writer 927.
Yes.
Perhaps…
A student who will surpass that writer was just sitting right here!
Without realizing it, Han Donghun was smiling brightly.
And he was certain.
Someday the boy named Seo Eunwoo would bring a great wind with him.
Thinking back to the proctor’s face just before I left the classroom, I felt a twinge of worry.
That had definitely been a look of pity, hadn’t it?
“Haa… Did I actually do something wrong?”
I was pretty sure I hadn’t snored, and I definitely hadn’t cheated. I just couldn’t figure it out…
“Ow, my wrist.”
One thing was certain: my wrist hurt like hell.
Well, of course it did. Writing nonstop for nearly thirty minutes without a break—if it didn’t hurt, that would be the abnormal part.
This was a bad habit that had followed me from my previous life.
The moment I start writing I sink so deep into the work that I lose all sense of time.
In those moments I probably wouldn’t even hear a car honking right beside me.
Because of that, right after finishing the story I had been a little scared that the exam time might already be over.
But when I actually looked up, only thirty minutes had passed.
Thinking about it, it was just one short scene—not even the length of a single drama episode—so of course it hadn’t taken longer than that.
“How was your interview?”
“I almost died of suffocation. The person sitting in the middle looked like the Chairman—she’s seriously terrifying.”
Just then the conversation of the other examinees waiting beside me drifted over.
“Want a tip for the interview?”
“Oh? If you’re offering, I’ll take it.”
“Never make eye contact with the Chairman. The second you do, your mind goes completely blank.”
“……That bad?”
I couldn’t tell whether that was advanced psychological warfare meant to rattle the competition or genuine advice born from experience.
Well…
“Examinee Seo Eunwoo. Please prepare and come to the next room.”
I would find out soon enough.
This felt a little different from the story-composition test.
The previous exam had been a field I was at least somewhat confident in, so I had approached it with a relatively easy mind. This one, though—I still had no idea.
All I could do was hope I would do well.
I opened the door and stepped into the room. Teachers were seated in the center for the interview, and right in the middle sat someone whose gaze was anything but ordinary.
If Executive Director Yoo Yeonjung was a fox, then this woman was an eagle…
That was Song Hayul, Chairman of Hanbit Arts High School.
Hmm…
But still.
“…….”
Why is she glaring at me so fiercely?
Apparently the tip that examinee in the waiting room had given wasn’t a lie after all.