The 100-Year-Old Letter (2)

After Theo left, Yang Myeonghyun grabbed the closed door and tried to force it open.

He pulled on the old wooden door with all his strength, but it didn't budge so much as an inch.

"It's completely locked."

I let out a sigh at his words. It seemed the real quest had begun.

I called Theo's parting words back to mind.

'It's probably a letter sent... roughly 100 years ago. Please be sure to write a reply. You can slide it under the door.'

"A hundred years ago? From Van Gogh's perspective, that would mean the sender is already dead."

I asked with a puzzled look, but Yang Myeonghyun only shook his head, apparently just as much in the dark as I was.

The room Theo had left was no different than before. It still matched the composition of Vincent van Gogh's painting, The Bedroom in Arles, exactly.

"Yang Myeonghyun-ssi. Did you happen to look around before I woke up?"

"No. Like I said earlier, I was asleep just like you, Jisan-hyung. Leaning against that chair."

'His way of speaking is really unusual.'

That clipped, matter-of-fact tone — so unlike young people these days — remained fascinating no matter how many times I heard it. The way he wore a perfectly fitted suit with his hair neatly combed back made his appearance seem too composed for a man in his early twenties.

Security guard? Or maybe a model?

'First things first — find the letter.'

"In any case, someone's letter to Van Gogh should be somewhere in this room. Let's search everywhere."

"Thankfully it doesn't seem to be time-limited. I was worried the room might start shrinking on us."

Creeeeak—

"?!!"

Barely had the words left Yang Myeonghyun's mouth when the room began to shrink with an unpleasant grinding noise.

As the walls shifted, the desk and chairs scraped across the floor and slid toward the center of the room.

It wasn't quite claustrophobic yet, but the floor area was unquestionably smaller than before.

'If we keep wasting time, the room will only get smaller.'

This was straight out of a comedy sketch. I shot Yang Myeonghyun a resentful glare.

Looking sheepish, he turned his head away into empty air.

"......"

"Don't tell me you triggered it?"

"As if. Damn it — let's hurry and find that letter!"

Taking my shout as a starting gun, the two of us began ransacking the room from top to bottom. The desk, the picture frames, even under the bed.

'Here it is!'

I stretched my arm under the bed, and along with a cloud of dust, a pile of letters came sweeping out.

"Found a whole bunch over here!"

"I found some as well."

After that, we flattened ourselves against the floor until our clothes turned black with grime, scouring every corner we could reach. When we finally gathered everything, the number of letters ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hidden away in the room was larger than I'd expected.

"I think that's all the letters we're going to find."

Yang Myeonghyun and I dumped the armfuls of letters onto the desk in a heap. A good twenty or so envelopes, give or take.

How were we supposed to find the intended recipient of the letter Theo had described among all of these?

'Ah.'

Several of the envelopes bore the name of the younger brother, Theo. Since Theo had said the letter wasn't one he himself had sent, there was no need to even look at these.

"Let's set aside everything addressed to Theo for now."

"Yes, Jisan-hyung. Ah... aside from Theo van Gogh's own letters, none of the envelopes have names written on them. We'll have to open them and check the names and dates inside."

No name on the envelope — the single most important piece of information.

The Museum was clearly playing a petty trick, deliberately designed to burn through our time.

Once we tossed all of Theo's letters onto the floor, only eleven letters remained on the desk.

"Right. It'll take a while, but let's check the contents."

"The trouble is, we don't know what year it is now."

I couldn't recall the exact period when Van Gogh had come to Arles, either. I'd read plenty of books about him back in the day, so the Docent might be able to pull up the answer...

'...Should I use my Docent ability in front of Yang Myeonghyun?'

No. Not yet.

I tore open one of Theo's discarded envelopes and checked the letter inside.

"Judging by Theo's letters, they seem to be from somewhere around the 1870s to 1880s."

"Then we're looking for a letter from the 1770s or 1780s."

Yang Myeonghyun nodded at my words and immediately picked up one of the letters on the desk and tore it open.

In silence, we rapidly worked through the pile of envelopes we'd set aside. Riiip — in the thick quiet of the room, the only sound was the tearing of paper envelopes.

—1872

—1885

—1888

—1883

Most of the letters dated from the same period Van Gogh had lived. They were largely correspondence from artists living far away from him.

"Feels like a treasure hunt."

"Tell me about it, ugh—!"

Creeeak—

The room began to shrink again, just as before. The floor space had contracted to the point where the chair and the bed, once far apart, were now pressed together.

The shifting wall shoved against me, and for a moment my body wobbled unsteadily.

"Jisan-hyung, are you all right?"

"Yes. I can manage this much. But if this keeps up, it's going to get dangerous fast. We need to find that letter, and quickly—"

Just then, Yang Myeonghyun's eyes flashed, and he thrust a letter right in front of my face.

The year it was written was inscribed at the bottom of the page.

—1801

"Eighty years ago — does that count as roughly a hundred?"

"I'd say it could. Let's read the contents first."

Every other letter had been sent during Van Gogh's lifetime, so this one, sent eighty years ago, was by far our most promising lead.

The handwriting looked hastily scrawled in ink, and as expected, it registered in our eyes as Korean.

"The ink has smeared — I can't make out the name."

"That's a horrendous hand."

Terrible handwriting. At once, a certain figure flashed through my mind.

'"A comrade of the past, whom you cannot meet." Since this is a system the Tower created, they can send a letter from eighty years ago — but in reality, the two of them never actually crossed paths.'

There was no right answer, but that didn't mean it was a free pass, either. This Tower had never once been that accommodating.

Creeeak—

"Get up high!"

The room had shrunk until there was barely any floor left to stand on. We had to move before our legs got wedged between the furniture.

Yang Myeonghyun hurriedly climbed onto the bed, and I stepped up onto the chair.

"...Damn it. I'd like to write that letter before the desk breaks apart."

"You mean you'll write it yourself, Jisan-hyung?"

"If Vincent van Gogh doesn't walk through that door right this second, I'm afraid we'll have to pretend to be him and write it ourselves."

'And chances are, Van Gogh isn't coming.'

If Van Gogh were going to show up, there'd be no reason for us to agonize over identifying the letter's sender at all — he could simply write whatever he pleased.

I'd thought the same thing earlier, but this Tower was never that easy.

'Oh! I could use Soul Rental, couldn't I?'

For a moment, I'd completely forgotten about my additional Perk. After channeling Van Gogh's soul once, I had come to possess it.

If I used Soul Rental now and let ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Van Gogh write the letter in my place, the quest would be cleared on the spot.

'Soul Rental, activate. Vincent Willem van Gogh.'

...Despite my call for the Perk to activate, strangely, nothing happened.

I squeezed my eyes shut and tried invoking it in my mind.

'Soul Rental, activate!'

'?!'

The Curator.

Just like during the Rabbit Trial, the voice was whispering into my ear alone, muted so that no one else could hear it.

'Curator. Care to explain why Soul Rental isn't working?'

'So why isn't Soul Rental working?'

Shff—

The Leaflet had unfurled, displaying everything about Soul Rental. And at the bottom of it sat a line I had never seen before.

'What is this? You could have told me from the start.'

'Ha. So if I rent out Van Gogh's soul now, that soul disappears?'

'...Can I obtain Van Gogh's soul again later?'

The Curator answered instantly, before I'd even finished asking.

Apparently I would have to hold Van Gogh's soul in reserve until I could acquire a new one.

'...Unless failing to solve this quest ends up putting my life on the line, that is.'

"Jisan-hyung, is something the matter?"

Yang Myeonghyun was watching me with a worried face. I kept my expression carefully managed to hide the fact that I'd just held a conversation in my head with the Curator.

"...No. I just have a feeling Van Gogh isn't going to enter this room."

"Fair enough — this Tower, this Museum, does love its quests, all clever little word games. And as it happens, I've found paper and a pen."

Yang Myeonghyun held up a sheet of paper and a fountain pen, waving them. I was certain he hadn't been holding them just moments ago.

'How long has he had those?'

"...Where did you find them?"

"When the room shrank, I heard a pen rolling around. It seemed to have been swept out from under the bed, so I grabbed it quickly."

"......"

Had he really done that? When I'd searched under the bed earlier, I hadn't found anything but the letters.

'...Right. I probably just didn't stretch my arm in far enough.'

I turned my gaze back to the enigmatic letter addressed to Van Gogh.

"Just like the Curator's and Van Gogh's voices register as our own language to us, the letter might not actually be in Korean. So we can't assume the sender was a Korean artist."

"The letter's author would presumably be a painter, then?"

At Yang Myeonghyun's question, I shook my head firmly.

"Hard to say. Vincent van Gogh had friends among artists of every kind, not just painters — we can't narrow it down to a painter alone."

"A regular scholar, aren't you, Jisan-hyung. Impressive."

"...Thank you."

Being praised in that theatrical, recited-a-line-from-a-play tone only made it more uncomfortable. I cleared my throat and pointed a hand at the frames hanging on the wall beside the bed.

The frames hung on the wall of the Bedroom in Arles — paintings in which Van Gogh had depicted his acquaintances.

"For example, those pictures in the frames inside the Bedroom in Arles — are those friends too...?"

'Huh? Was there a woman like that in the painting? ...No. That can't be right.'

An old-fashioned dress that didn't belong to Van Gogh's era. With its abundant lace and a neatly arranged hairpiece, she didn't look anything like Van Gogh's commoner friends.

"Jisan-hyung, is something wrong?"

"No. Not yet. I need to sort out my thoughts."

'"If there is a work of art you desire, write to me. There is no right answer. But the path will change."'

In other words, as long as we correctly guessed the name of the artist who sent the letter, we were free to write any work we pleased. But in exchange, the route to the 11th floor — or what awaited us there — might change depending on our choice, so we had to choose carefully.

Yang Myeonghyun, standing on the plush bedsheets, also glanced around uneasily at the shrinking room.

"At this rate, we might be crushed to death. This 10th floor is a confined space, which leaves us precious little room to reason."

"It's still just a hunch, but I think I know who sent the letter."

At my words, Yang Myeonghyun stared at me with wide, startled eyes. For the first time, a shift in his emotions showed plainly on his face.

"Really, Jisan-hyung? How could you already—"

As always, I couldn't be entirely certain yet, but right now there was no time to sit and agonize. Before the room shrank completely and our bodies were crushed flat, we needed to discuss the strongest candidate.

"We're both thinking the same thing as before — that this quest, meaning the letter, holds the hints we need. Right?"

"That's correct."

"Combine this letter with the hints scattered around the room, and... I believe that person is the most likely answer."

"Who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is it?"

Yang Myeonghyun pressed me urgently. I nodded and spoke without further delay.

"The artist who sent Van Gogh a letter is—"