"But that's just a game I'm planning; in reality, I'm a very gentle person. The most violent thought I have is… hoping Tottenham loses every weekend… Ah, that's because I'm an Arsenal fan…"
The atmosphere was completely unmanageable.
As a result, he fumbled with his words, unable to finish his sentence. Given the situation, he could only regret bringing it up and silently blame himself. But my thoughts were entirely different.
'Aspiring to develop games… with themes of assault and car theft, huh…'
Sure, violence appears in games occasionally. But car theft? That's quite uncommon. It brings to mind some of the biggest hits of the 21st century!
'Even if it's not certain…'
It's worth checking out. Anyway.
The seniors quickly began refuting Peter's words. In the midst of this, Julian chimed in, seemingly in agreement with the seniors.
"The creator of a work is the writer. But how can we separate the writer from their work? Those who claim this is possible likely advocate for mechanical neutrality or the fallacy of impartiality in other fields too."
By this point, Peter, seemingly deflated, had gone quiet.
It looked like my turn was coming, just as—
Knock, knock.
A light tapping sound came from the entrance of the classroom. Soon after, the door opened cautiously.
And what a surprise it was.
The professors gathered for grading all rose from their seats in unison.
"…?"
Naturally, everyone's eyes were drawn in the same direction.
There stood an elderly man with silver hair, dressed in an impeccable suit. His age was difficult to gauge, but he steadily made his way toward the podium.
"Fortunately, it seems I'm not too late."
At the old man's words, the host quickly grabbed the microphone and spoke.
"Allow me to introduce Professor Middleton, a former Chair of English Literature at Oxford and the newly appointed Principal of the Royal School, as well as a distinguished figure in comparative literature."
What? Middleton from Oxford?
A name any literature major would recognize. A man counted among the greatest minds of his time, along with Umberto Eco. In the entire history of British literature, he ranks among the top three literary theorists. He has been credited with discovering underground writers and expanding the horizons of English literature. Our publishing company even translated and introduced several of his books in Korea.
But such a man… has become the principal of a royal school?
'Isn't he at the point in life where he should be enjoying his retirement?'
As my mind raced, Middleton had already stepped up to the podium. After greeting the grading professors, he quietly took a seat.
"I feel as though I interrupted the flow of the debate because of my presence. I do apologize for that… but I couldn't help my curiosity about the incoming students."
The host quickly followed up, prompting a reaction from the students. However, the freshmen, unfamiliar with Middleton's fame, could only respond with lackluster expressions.
In contrast—
Clap clap clap clap! Clap clap clap clap!
The Oxford students, as if on cue, broke into a standing ovation. The ever-observant Julian rose with his green suit fluttering, and soon, the freshmen began to follow suit one by one.
Middleton gave a small nod of acknowledgment, then turned to the host and asked, "What was the topic of debate?"
"Whether it's possible to separate the writer from their work…"
"I see."
Middleton nodded, as if the topic was all too familiar to him. He then looked toward the debaters.
"Starting with the student on the far left, could you restate your opinion?"
"Ah, Principal, Olivia has yet to present a clear opinion."
"She hasn't?"
"It seems the topic was unfamiliar to her."
Middleton gave a small nod at the host's words.
"She's a freshman, after all. It's only natural for her thoughts not to be fully formed. That's fine. But I imagine she has some ideas by now. What do you think?"
Although the question was directed at Olivia,
"Principal,"
An unexpected answer came from elsewhere.
"This is highly unjust,"
A voice called out from the right side. Of course, it was Julian again. He spoke once more in an exaggerated, theatrical tone.
"Olivia failed to respond in time, and that's likely already reflected in her score. But if the Principal gives her another chance, it could affect the grading, creating a clear victim in the process…"
"What's your name, student?"
"Julian Burnett. On my father's side, we're related to the founder of Standard Bank, and on my mother's side, we're distant relatives of the Baron of Renfrew in Scotland…"
"I see. I apologize for interrupting the debate, but may I have a word with you, Julian?"
Professor Middleton sought our consent, and when everyone nodded, he continued calmly.
"Julian, it seems the concept of fairness weighs heavily on you. I understand. But there's one thing I'd like you to keep in mind."
"…?"
"Debating and grading students to rank them is a rather trivial exercise. What's more important is listening to the opinions of others through debate. So, Julian, how do you fare in that regard?"
"…"
"Rather than listening to others, your desire to outshine your peers has led you to deprive your colleague of her chance to speak. That's not what education is meant to achieve."
"I was merely pointing out an issue of fairness…"
But is that really all?
Middleton detected the hint of unease in Julian's eyes.
"You're still worried, aren't you? Worried that what you just said might cause you to be placed in a lower class."
Julian's expression faltered. A small smirk.
Of course, someone like Professor Middleton could easily see through the thoughts of a seventeen-year-old Julian.
"Don't worry. There's no reason for you to face any disadvantages. You heard the graders, didn't you?"
Only after receiving confirmation from the professors did Julian reluctantly nod his head.
A moment later—
"Miss Olivia must be feeling quite uncomfortable."
If you think about it, this whole situation stemmed from trying to give Olivia a chance. Naturally, she would feel awkward.
Perhaps that's why Middleton turned to me and asked,
"And what's your name?"
"Park Ji-hoon."
"Alright, Ji-hoon. While Olivia gathers her thoughts, how about you go ahead and share your opinion first?"
That was no problem for me. I readily opened my mouth.
"I believe the author and the work should be considered separately."
Once again, a senior jumped in, as if waiting for this moment.
"Can you respond to the counterargument Peter mentioned earlier?"
"…?"
"If a murderer creates something beautiful, should we still praise the beauty of their creation, despite the moral depravity of the author?"
The senior, now even more emphasizing his British accent, spoke much faster, making it difficult for anyone who wasn't a native speaker to fully comprehend.
It seemed to be some kind of debating tactic. Perhaps he was trying to highlight the difference in language proficiency and discourage me from speaking further.
Is that so? Does he think my English is subpar?
Fine, then. I'll just speak even more slowly.
"Before I answer, may I ask you one thing?"
"…?"
"Do you know Isaac Newton?"
He wore an expression that asked, "Is that even a question?"
Newton, the pride of Britain who established classical physics. How could anyone born in Britain not know him?
Keeping my gaze fixed on the senior, I spoke even more slowly and clearly, enunciating every word.
"Let's assume that Newton had some personal secrets he'd rather keep hidden. Even if those came to light later, would you deny the existence of gravity because of his moral shortcomings?"
"That's a flawed example."
"How so?"
"Gravity is a clear scientific fact, but we're discussing the realm of art here…"
"So, are you suggesting that scientific achievements and aesthetic achievements should be strictly separated in judgment?"
Perhaps it was a question he hadn't anticipated. For the first time today, the senior seemed at a loss for words. Understandably so, given that Professor Middleton was not only a literary critic but also one of the greatest aestheticians of his time.
To argue that scientific achievements are superior to aesthetic ones in front of him?
'You'd need a solid and convincing argument that could sway Middleton.'
However, none of the seniors seemed willing to venture down that treacherous path.
Indeed.
"Shall we hear a counterargument?" Professor Middleton asked.
"…"
The lecture hall was filled with an awkward silence.
Taking advantage of the moment, the professor playfully called on Julian.
"Julian, what are your thoughts?"
"Uh… the author and their work cannot be separated…"
"So, the exact opposite of Ji-hoon's opinion."
"…"
"Would you care to present a rebuttal?"
"…"
"It doesn't have to be the correct answer. Just calmly express your thoughts."
Despite the Principal's encouragement, Julian could only muster an awkward smile, clearly wishing for the moment to pass quickly.
"Hmm, I see. I'll take it that you've changed your mind and now agree with Ji-hoon's perspective," Middleton concluded after seeing Julian's hesitation.
Immediately after, he turned back to me and asked,
"Scientific achievements and aesthetic achievements cannot be separated. That's your stance, correct?"
"Yes."
At my clear response, he smiled broadly, like a kindly grandfather.
"Very well. How about we take a break here?"
As soon as he made the suggestion, the host hurriedly grabbed the microphone.
"Please return to the lecture hall after a 20-minute break."
Whew. I thought I had been through quite a bit before, but…
'Debating in English is no easy task.'
Casual conversations are fine. Especially since people usually adjust and accommodate me knowing I'm not a native English speaker.
But today was different. Since my opponent was determined to pour out words, I had to focus intensely. Now that the tension had finally subsided—
"…"
I felt the exhaustion I had pushed aside suddenly hit me all at once.
Sigh.
Looks like I'll need to study English much harder from now on.
As these thoughts ran through my head—
Step, step.
The sound of old shoes approaching caught my attention. Startled, I looked up to find that Professor Middleton had come right up to me.
As I moved to stand and greet him—
Thud.
He quickly plopped down beside me and spoke.
"That's a very fine suit you're wearing."
"Sorry?"
"Whoever made it has some serious skill."
His words were like some sort of cryptic code.
"…?"
A big question mark hovered over my head.
TL/n -
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