Chapter Title: Genius on the Brink
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He attached the hemp cloth to the inner bottom of the hexagonal wooden bowl.
In one smooth motion, without creating the slightest wrinkle.
His skill alone made the gap with the other participants glaringly obvious.
'Impressive. Who on earth was his master...'
And at last, the cloth reached the sharp corners.
The very spot where every participant had struggled.
The cloth would wrinkle there.
What would he do with the wrinkled section?
Cut it away? Fold it over and lacquer on top?
But he did neither.
"!!!"
He began adjusting the warp and weft threads of the cloth, one by one.
Incredibly, the cloth started to curve on its own.
Gulp.
'Impossible. An amateur wielding that technique? Hemp cloth is a loosely woven fabric. Most amateurs slap it on carelessly as instructed, but using it in Wood Core Cloth Lacquering is exactly for this—to adjust the warp and weft, shape it three-dimensionally, and fit it to the bowl.'
But that was just the theory.
Actually pulling it off was a whole different level.
Even experts knew it was no easy feat to attempt within the time limit.
Right. Time was the real issue.
'Two coats to finish: the initial base lacquer after attaching the cloth and filling imperfections with soil-ash mix, then the black topcoat once the base dries fully. To let the base dry, it has to be done before lunch. One hour till lunch. Can he make it?'
But Yi Song-ui's concern proved unfounded.
He manipulated the warp and weft with machine-like precision, and soon the cloth fit the bowl perfectly.
By then, even Yi Song-ui was at a loss for words, inwardly or otherwise.
He simply couldn't believe his eyes.
He spread the soil-ash mixture evenly over the contoured cloth.
Then, at last, he picked up the human-hair brush.
Thirty minutes remaining.
The base coat used raw lacquer—clear sap straight from the lacquer tree.
The hair brush drank it up fully,
and with a smooth swish—
he lacquered the bowl in fluid strokes.
Thrillingly bold brushwork.
The tip kissed each angled corner perfectly before lifting away.
No thick pooling at the edges—none at all.
Inner bottom: one surface.
Inner sides: six.
Outer sides: six.
Upper rims: six.
Nineteen surfaces in total, all coated to perfect even thickness.
In mere minutes, flawless, without a single brush mark.
"Hmm."
Astonishingly, he wore an expression of merely passable satisfaction.
With his task complete, he finally looked up.
"?"
As if to say, 'Who are you, standing there?'
Yi Song-ui brushed aside the cockiness and burned with one question.
'Who is your master? Whoever shaped you like this—please be beneath my level, beneath, beneath.'
It was the first talent in his life that sparked such raw envy.
He'd steal him away, even if from some no-name disciple mill.
Then.
"Huh? Got some on me."
A single drop of raw lacquer had fallen on the back of his hand.
He wiped it off roughly with a towel.
Yi Song-ui was profoundly moved.
'That reaction—his skin's tough against lacquer too. The ultimate gift.'
Then.
"Cease work. Lunch break begins. All participants, stop immediately!"
Lunchtime arrived.
Yi Song-ui tried to approach him.
But.
"Ugh, starving. C'mon, Du-sik. Let's grab food."
Stomach first, he whisked away with the pudgy guy next to him.
"..."
Yi Song-ui stared blankly at their retreating backs.
Moments later, the professor approached.
"Teacher, shall we eat together?"
"Kuk, kukuk..."
"Teacher? Why the sudden laughter...?"
"Kukukukukukuk!!! Ah, hahahaha, kukukukuk!!"
"W-Why are you like this? It's creepy."
"Found a monster. A real monster! Kukukukuk!"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
So this is the student cafeteria.
If I'd been an average joe, I'd have been in and out a million times, bored of it—but sadly, first visit.
We sat facing each other by the sunlit window and dug in.
But people kept glancing my way.
"Something on my face? Why's everyone staring?"
"Hyung, your face is super red. Kinda swollen too. Lacquer rash?"
"Nah. Lacquer just makes me itchy at worst—"
That must've been my past life's body.
No way.
No, couldn't be. My skin can't be weak to lacquer.
Even if it was, so what? Quit the contest?
Just four hours left till the end.
Endure four hours.
I ignored the stinging, burning sensation creeping over the back of my hand.
"...You sure you're okay? It's getting redder."
"Fine. This is nothing."
"Hmm, ah, but hyung, you must've killed it. That judge was hovering right by you."
"That uncle was a judge?"
"...Hyung really doesn't give a damn about anyone, huh?"
Du-sik shook his head with a hopeless grin.
"That's why everyone around us was staring. You're the only one who ignored the judge."
"Too swamped to notice who's lurking."
Gam Elder had said it.
-Lacquering demands tough skin first, focus second. Never forget—every single bristle dances at your fingertips.
"Dude, lacquering's all about focus, cough! Cough!"
Trying to sound cool, but coughs hit.
Throat burning, swelling in real time.
I barely choked down some food and bolted from the cafeteria.
Breathing grew ragged, body heating up.
No. No. Gotta hold on.
Collapse here, and five million won flies away.
Ah... crap.
Thud.
I collapsed right outside the cafeteria.
In my hazy mind, Gam Elder's face flickered.
That mischievous, warm-hearted mug.
Old man.
That's why you showed up in my dream last night.
To warn me about lacquer.
Reminding me of that first meeting, when I checked for rashes.
Damn it.
If you're gonna tell me, spit it out straight.
Don't make me learn the hard way after it bites me.
Always so cryptic, that old coot.
-Kukukukukuk...
Ah, quit laughing.
What's so funny?
"Kukukukukuk..."
Huh?
Something felt off.
That laugh sounded way too real.
I blinked and scanned around.
Clearing vision revealed a white ceiling, fluorescents, Du-sik, and that judge uncle.
"Hyung, you good? College infirmary. Scared the hell outta me when you dropped."
I shot Du-sik a look.
Why's this uncle here too?
"Ran into him right outside the cafeteria. He helped carry you here. You nearly bought it, hyung!"
Got it.
Throat still stung, but I turned to the judge.
"...Thanks."
"Kukuk..."
"Why do you keep laughing?"
And that weird cackle.
Makes my skin crawl.
"Can't help it. Thought you were a genius, but world's biggest fool. Too ridiculous not to crack up."
"Pardon?"
"Skin that flares up bad from lacquer? You shouldn't touch the stuff."
...Think I didn't know?
He pulled some ointment from his pocket.
Squeezed it out and started rubbing it on my hand.
Brought rash cream just in case—looks like it came in handy.
His gentle touch felt kind.
Different looks, but this uncle really reminded me of Gam Elder.
"Withdraw. And lacquering? Best quit while you can."
I'd agree with the last part. Not the first.
"I'll see the contest through."
"Hey now. You'll drop dead. Young folks don't fear lacquer enough. No real cure either."
If I don't win that prize money, I'll starve to death anyway.
"Hate to see your talent wasted, but... life comes before art."
"Fair point, but no withdrawing. I absolutely can't quit."
Not with my five million on the line.
"I have to finish what I started."
For a split second, the uncle's eyes wavered.
"...Who the hell's your master? Who turns a kid with skin like that into a lacquer maniac?"
"Someone like you, teacher. But he's gone from this world now."
I groaned and sat up.
Body responded, and time... luckily, some left.
"C'mon, Du-sik."
"Hyung, you sure? Maybe listen to the judge—"
I whispered to him.
"Wanna stay Byeong-geo trash forever?"
"...I'll help you walk."
With that, we left the infirmary and headed back to the auditorium.
Soon, the contest resumed.
From then on, I dove into the black lacquer.
"Huu... huu..."
Breath scorching hot, skin ablaze, but my hands stayed steady.
This wasn't enough to rattle my grit or focus.
Swish—swish—
Why me, with this skin? No resentment.
Why at the end? No despair.
Compared to my temple days as a kid, this was nothing.
That discrimination, that abuse—this didn't even register.
And right at 4 p.m.
"Contest over. Place your works in the drying room and exit."
Vision blurring.
Black-lacquered bowl on the table, but why's it floating?
Bzzz—bzzz—
Tinnitus ringing in my ears now.
Ah, right.
Willpower and grit can't fend off rashes and fever forever.
I clutched Du-sik's arm and forced my clogged throat open.
"...Hey, me, hospital..."
After that, memory blanks.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
"My god..."
Professor Kim couldn't tear his eyes away.
The hexagonal bowl labeled [Participant No. 32. Lee Hee-so].
It gleamed like a smooth black stone sculpted by nature itself.
No matter the angle or light, no clumped lacquer, no raised cloth fibers anywhere.
Base coat, cloth application, black topcoat—all flawless.
The rest didn't even compare.
To a pro's eye—or any layman's—this lacquer work radiated mastery.
Another professor chimed in from nearby.
"Grad students couldn't pull this off. Where'd he learn? Intangibles can't enter... what a prodigy."
"Not a prodigy. A genius."
At Yi Song-ui's words, the professors' faces lit up.
"Ah, knew it!"
"Lacquer world's future—!"
"Not ours, though."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
"Severe lacquer allergy. Collapsed and carted to the hospital."
"My god. Poor kid... such a tragedy."
Lacquering was a fading traditional craft.
A genius with a brutal allergy was a curse on both the man and the field.
Yi Song-ui said flatly,
"Told him to withdraw after he collapsed at lunch. But he insisted on finishing what he started and came back."
The professors fell silent for a long stretch.
Professor Kim, deeply moved, murmured,
"...An artist's soul."
"A tragic one."
"So that's why he lacquered on, even with you standing right there."
"Yes... that's the artist's soul."
"...Makes me reflect. Reminds me of my younger days."
One by one, they caressed Hee-so's piece.
As if hoping to reclaim the spark of their own lost artistic souls, dulled by life's grind.
"Then, this work..."
"Yes, obviously this one..."
"No contest."
And so, the [8th President's Cup Lacquer Skills Competition] drew to a close.
The grand prize went to Lee Hee-so's creation.
Even then, the judges lingered before it, reluctant to leave.
Their wistful, lingering gazes sparkled back from the hexagonal bowl's glossy surface.