Superstar From Age 0

Chapter 584

The letter that arrived two days ago must have brought bad news.

The young master locked himself in his room again, and Mr. Lee and Mrs. Ko briefly showed a despairing expression before they resumed their bitter smiles and told me to clean the other rooms.

“Phew.”

I laid down the blanket on the bed and stretched my sore back.

“Are we expecting more guests?”

If so, we might need more hands.

I thought maybe I could work here a little longer.

I finished tidying up the bed and went downstairs. It was almost lunchtime, so I had to bring lunch to the young master who was holed up in his room.

“I’m here.”

“Wait a moment. I’ll prepare it soon.”

“Take your time.”

I sat on a chair in one corner of the kitchen.

Mrs. Ko, who was teary-eyed while reading the letter, seemed to have returned to her usual self. Maybe she was used to receiving such letters.

Was I not supposed to know what it was?

Before I came here, the Western-style mansion that I saw from afar was only mysterious and beautiful, but now I had no idea what was going on here.

I was waiting for the young master’s meal, when Mr. Lee came in. And he told me the news of ‘him’, the one who gave me my name.

“…He passed away two years ago.”

…Ah.

It felt like I was hit by a hammer on the head. No, not just the head, but the heart as well.

He was the person who might have been my biggest goal in life, along with having a family.

The person who I thought I would meet someday and say, ‘You’re that kid from back then! You’ve grown up so well!’ and praise me with a hearty laugh.

The person who I imagined might become my father when I was very, very young.

He was dead.

“Wha… wha…”

My heart dropped to the floor with a thud. I heard a ringing sound in my ears and my vision turned black.

I was sorry to Mr. Lee, but I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. But looking at Mr. Lee and Mrs. Ko’s faces, I had no choice but to believe it.

It was true.

It was the truth.

“Why… why… how… did he pass away?”

“…He was ill. He was recuperating abroad… and he passed away around this time two years ago.”

They say that when you’re too sad, you can’t even cry.

I just listened to Mr. Lee’s story with a blank expression. Mrs. Ko, who was watching the two of them, made a bitter face and picked up the tray with the lunch.

I didn’t look like I could work, so she was going to take it instead.

“I’ll, I’ll go.”

“…Are you sure?”

I stopped her.

I looked at Mrs. Ko with a dull face. She looked at me with a worried eye. I nodded stiffly, as if I was about to make a cracking sound.

“Yes. I’m, I’m fine.”

I took the tray and walked. To the second floor, where the young master was.

I had to tell him.

That he was abroad, that he was sick, and that he was gone.

Two years ago… if only I had found him a little earlier, I could have been his strength.

The young master would listen to me quietly if I told him. He was a kind person, so he would comfort me too.

I knew.

I didn’t know why, but I knew that the young master was not in a good state either.

So let’s talk. I’ll tell him my story and listen to his.

We had different sorrows, but we could console each other.

That’s what I thought as I held back the tears that threatened to fall and knocked on the door.

There was no answer, so I opened the door and saw the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

And the empty bed.

…And the torn canvas.

Crash!

The tray I was holding fell to the floor.

The young master.

He was gone.

***

The unknown painter felt like his chest was going to explode.

The heat in his chest spread throughout his body, making him suffocate, dizzy, and melting his mind.

He felt suffocated even in the cool wind, and he felt no relief even when he stepped on the cold snow with his bare feet. Rather, it seemed to fuel the fire even more.

In such a state of madness, he walked and walked until he reached the place that remained deep in his heart, the hill that died nine years ago. The hill where no flowers bloomed.

Looking at the trees standing on both sides, he felt more pitiful, sad, regretful, and miserable than anything else.

The prosperous neighboring countries and the dead country.

Were they not just like us?

Haha.

The nameless painter let out a dry laugh as he looked at the hill covered with pure white snow. But his expression was twisted, as if he was about to cry at any moment.

“Why is it so hard to make a single flower bloom…”

The nameless painter buried his face in his trembling hands. He felt like he was going to burst into tears, but nothing came out. Maybe he had cried too much already.

Ah.

He wanted to paint.

A small desire of his own sprouted in the corner of his noble mind. He wanted to paint a proper picture with this broken hand.

Broken hand.

He choked, and as always, he unknowingly blamed his past, and once again, he was disappointed in himself, and once again, he thought of Minhan.

He thought of Mr. Lee. He thought of Lady Goseong. He thought of the villagers. He thought of the people in Hanyang. He thought of people.

His messed up head.

The nameless painter’s gaze suddenly fell down. And he turned his head back. There were footsteps following the nameless painter. They were red. Like petals, like paint, they were red.

The nameless painter turned his head again and looked at the pure white hill.

The hill where no flowers bloomed.

The country where spring never came.

The nameless painter wanted to paint flowers.

***

The young master.

He disappeared.

Minhan ran out of the mansion after searching the empty room and even the whole mansion.

Where, where did he go?

His eyes were anxious as he looked around.

Minhan’s body shivered as he heard the news of his precious person’s death.

He remembered the day he first saw the young master, the way he was hurting himself. The hot blood that flowed out and the trembling arm.

He had gotten better, but then he got worse again after two letters. Maybe… maybe he had some extreme thoughts… No, no.

He was the young master who tried to save people. He was the young master who worked hard to paint again.

He was so strong… he wouldn’t have such thoughts…

Minhan clenched his teeth.

…Strong my ass.

He was just a kid younger than him.

No, regardless of age, no one could always be strong. That’s why he had to help him.

“Young master! Where are you! Young master!”

Minhan swallowed his tears and raised his voice, afraid of losing another important person.

“Young master! Young master! …Hey! Where are you!”

He realized he didn’t even know his name.

“Hey! Young master!”

He shouted and ran around, and his eyes caught sight of footsteps. They were the exact shape of a person’s foot.

“Did you go without shoes…”

But there was hope.

Minhan bit his lip and followed the footsteps. They faded and darkened in turns.

And at some point. There was something bright red on top of the footsteps. Something like red petals.

It was blood.

It looked like he had been pricked by a branch or something, and there were bloodstains on every footstep.

Minhan cursed and ran again. He instinctively knew that he was getting closer to the destination. It was there. The hill that had been dead for nine years.

[Minhan ran as fast as he could in the cold weather, his sweat dripping down his face. He slowed down when he reached a hill that should have been covered with white snow. Instead, he saw red flowers blooming on it.

At the foot of the hill.

He stopped and looked up blankly. There was his lord, standing among the white snow and the red flowers.

The audience also stared at the scene in silence.

The music that had been storming like a tempest suddenly stopped, as if reflecting the confusion of Minhan and the unknown painter.

Only the sounds of the unknown painter stepping on the snow, crushing the branches to draw more blood, breathing heavily, and his clothes rubbing against each other could be heard.

It felt as if they were standing there with Minhan.

The unknown painter moved his feet. His white and red feet pressed down the cold snow. He ignored the wind that felt like cutting his skin and walked again. His face was pale from being here for so long.

Flutter, his white cloak fluttered in the wind. He staggered along with it. He seemed to be about to fall, but he kept his balance as if he didn’t want to ruin his painting. He left red footprints on the snow, sometimes strong, sometimes weak.

Haah, his breath rose like smoke.

A red petal was engraved on the snow again. The unknown painter’s eyes shone like flames.

Was it because he was painting, or because he was pouring out his emotions that filled his throat, Minhan couldn’t tell.

Thump. Thump.

His feet that pressed down the snow felt numb as if they were frostbitten. But the unknown painter didn’t care. Rather, he pressed his feet harder on the ground, as if to make more wounds. His hot and red blood dyed the snow again.

He completed one flower.

The hill looked like a canvas.

Using the irregular wooden poles that lay around as branches, he slowly drew large and small red flowers from the bottom to the left end of the hill. They looked like camellias in shape. But they could have been something else.

The audience didn’t blink their eyes. They didn’t know much about art, but they could feel the force.

The painter’s desire to paint and the independence fighter’s wish for spring to come to his country.

The huge and heavy feelings that couldn’t be fully expressed in words were being expressed in the painting.

The painting that was drawn on the snow was so beautiful that it didn’t remind them of the blood that was used. No, maybe it was beautiful because it contained blood, life, and soul. That’s why… it was as tragic as it was beautiful.

[It was a painting that looked like a flower () and a firework () at the same time.]

[It seemed like he spat out the anger () in his chest.]

At the narration, the audience who felt the unknown painter’s heart clenched their fists or shed tears with a choked feeling. Their vision blurred, they quickly wiped their eyes.

They didn’t want to miss a single moment.

He was running out of breath. His muscles spasmed. His lips were dry and his hands and feet were numb. But his mind was clear. His heart beat fast as he painted for the first time in a long time. He even chuckled.

Flowers.

There were flowers here too.

The unknown painter who moved around and drew the images that came to his mind made his last brush stroke, or rather, footprint.

The painting was finished.

He gasped for air.

“…My lord! My lord!”

And then he heard a voice. It was Minhan.

…Minhan, who said that there were no flowers here anymore.

The unknown painter who stood on the red petals smiled faintly with his pale face.

“…Brother.”

“Please come down, my lord!”

His vision turned white, as if he was blinded by the snow. He couldn’t see Minhan. But the unknown painter wanted to say this to him.

“…Brother. The flowers…”]

“Hey! Get down… no, I’ll come up!”

He said he wouldn’t bleed.

“There are flowers here too…”

So we too…

Someday…

The eyes of the unknown painter closed slowly. And he collapsed, as if he had poured all his life into the painting.

His face fell on the white snow. Tears rolled down his eyes. He was pitiful and sad and regretful, but… he had a faint smile.

The wind blew.

The white cloak he was wearing fluttered and spread.

He looked like a white butterfly on a red flower.

***

A quiet theater with no sound.

The unknown painter who fell on the red flower slowly faded away. Minhan ran desperately to him.

And slowly, as if sinking into the darkness, the screen turned black.

…Is it over?

…Just like that?

The audience who had been staring at the unknown painter’s painting without breathing or blinking could not take their eyes off the dark screen that had no light. They were filled with regret and frustration.

The aftertaste was more than enough.

‘But…’

Of course, they knew how much hardship and pain and loss and frustration he would face in the future, but they still hoped he would endure and make it to the end. They wished for a happy ending in this movie, even if only in this movie.

But they say it’s a broadcast accident if there’s a three-second silence on a live broadcast, and the darkness seemed to last longer than three seconds.

It’s over… I guess.

In the end, this movie ended with the death of the unknown painter.

Someone sobbed. There must have been more than one or two.

‘I originally intended to end it like this…’

Director Hwang Ji-yoon looked at the black screen. The first draft of [Flower] ended with the death of the unknown painter.

The unknown painter who represented the independence fighters.

Like them, who had more people who died sadly than those who survived and welcomed the liberation.

‘But…’

Hwang Ji-yoon smiled.

‘Seo-jun’s unknown painter didn’t seem to die like that.’

Seo-jun’s unknown painter didn’t seem to die like that.

Looking at his shining eyes and will, he seemed to endure and overcome any difficulty and hardship and frustration, and eventually achieve his goal.

So he changed it.

The ending.

The light came back on the screen.

The audience held their breath at the gentle music.

***

The unknown painter was lying in bed. His face was pale without a trace of blood, but he didn’t look dead. And next to him, Minhan and Mr. Lee, who were nursing the unknown painter, and Go Seong-deok were there.

Mr. Lee seemed to be telling Minhan something, but only the calm music was heard by the audience. But they seemed to know what he was saying. He was revealing the truth of everything.

And a little later.

The unknown painter opened his eyes.

His eyes were empty, as if he had poured everything out.

Minhan rubbed the trembling arms of the unknown painter. His arms and legs, which had been frozen for a long time, were wrapped in bandages again.

“Sir.”

“…”

“You heard everything.”

The empty gaze of the unknown painter met Minhan’s. Minhan smiled with a tearful expression, but he smiled.

“Sir… no, why you were called sir instead of your name, why you were hurt, why you couldn’t paint… why you cried and laughed in the letter… why you painted that picture…”

His words became slower as his vision blurred with tears.

“You said it was Hanyang, not Gyeongseong?”

The unknown painter also choked up and couldn’t hold back his tears.

“I didn’t know at all…”

[I didn’t know that Hanyang was called Gyeongseong. That my country Joseon, this land, was taken over by Japan.]

[I only found out then.]

“Thank you…”

Minhan curled up and rested his forehead on the unknown painter’s arm.

[I knew how much he loved painting.]

[And how much his arms were wounded.]

[And his sorrow for not being able to paint anymore.]

[I witnessed it myself on the night when the moonlight shone.]

Tears poured out of Minhan’s eyes like a river.

“…Thank you very much. Really… thank you very much…”

[That was all I could say.]

Along with the gentle music, a narration was heard.

[How hard it must have been for him, with his young body.]

[How scared he must have been.]

[How fearful he must have been.]

[It was something I could not even imagine.]

Even as he cried, Minhan’s hand did not stop clutching the arm of the unknown painter. As if he was transferring his warmth and life to him, Minhan put his heart into every squeeze.

Perhaps his feelings reached him.

The unknown painter’s hand moved and held Minhan’s hand. Minhan lifted his head and looked at the unknown painter.

[He was younger than me, and he smiled brightly with his tear-stained face.]

[As if, that was enough for him.]

Minhan burst into tears again, worried that the unknown painter would die like this, with his eyes shining again.

The unknown painter also started to cry, no less than him. He felt the courage, the will, and the heart to try again, with Minhan’s gratitude alone.

The two of them cried out, as if they were shaking off all the emotions that had been in their hearts with their tears and sobs.

Along with them, cries were heard from the audience seats.

Idajin, Park Dohoon, Lee Jiseok, and Kim Jongho, who knew of Seojun’s appearance but did not know what kind of work it was, also had tears in their eyes.

The screen darkened and brightened.

“I’ll load the luggage in the car first.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The man with the luggage left the room, and the unknown painter, dressed in a neat suit, looked around the room he had stayed in. The room was tidy, as if he was leaving.

The audience’s eyes naturally followed the unknown painter’s arms. They still trembled, but they seemed less than before.

With the gentle music, a voice narrated.

[How hard it must have been for him, with his young body.]

[How scared he must have been.]

[How fearful he must have been.]

[I could not even imagine it.]

Minhan’s hand did not stop clutching the arm of the unknown painter, even as he cried. He put his heart into every squeeze, as if he was transferring his warmth and life to him.

Maybe his feelings reached him.

The unknown painter’s hand moved and held Minhan’s hand. Minhan lifted his head and looked at him.

[He was younger than me, and he smiled brightly with his tear-stained face.]

[As if, that was enough for him.]

Minhan burst into tears again, worried that the unknown painter would die like this, with his eyes shining again.

The unknown painter also started to cry, no less than him. He felt the courage, the will, and the heart to try again, with Minhan’s gratitude alone.

They cried out, as if they were shaking off all the emotions that had been in their hearts with their tears and sobs.

Along with them, cries were heard from the audience seats.

Idajin, Park Dohoon, Lee Jiseok, and Kim Jongho, who knew of Seojun’s appearance but did not know what kind of work it was, also had tears in their eyes.

The screen darkened and brightened.

“I’ll load the luggage in the car first.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

The man with the luggage left the room, and the unknown painter, dressed in a neat suit, looked around the room he had stayed in. It was tidy, as if he was leaving.

The audience’s eyes naturally followed his arms. They still trembled, but they seemed less than before.

“What will you do when you go back to Hanyang?”

The unknown painter smiled at Minhan, who stubbornly called it Hanyang. His brightened expression made the audience feel relieved.

“I have to continue what I was doing. Until that day comes.”

He smiled with sparkling eyes. And he fiddled with his hands.

“And paint.”

“I knew you would.”

Minhan said with a smile.

“Sir. I also got to work here.”

The unknown painter looked at Minhan with a surprised expression. Minhan said with a shy but determined look.

“This is the only thing I can do… but I want to help too.”

“Thank you. Brother. Then I’ll come again next time.”

“You can’t come again.”

This was a place for the wounded.

If the unknown painter came again, it meant he was hurt again.

Minhan said with a hardened expression.

“That day. When that day comes, please send me a letter. I’ll go to Hanyang.”

“…Okay. I will.”

He didn’t know when it would be, what danger would come… or if someone would die.

The unknown painter and Minhan made a promise and smiled brightly.

Then Minhan rolled his eyes and opened his mouth.

“There’s something I want to ask you, sir.”

“Yes.”

“Um… what’s your surname?”

The unknown painter blinked at the sudden question. Minhan scratched his neck.

“No, you can’t live without a surname forever. You might have to hide your name like Mr. Lee now…”

He avoided eye contact as he spoke, as if he was embarrassed. He felt sorry for the person who gave him his name, but

“You are the person I respect the most, sir.”

“…Haha.”

The unknown painter laughed after being briefly surprised by Minhan’s words.

“Really? I feel both happy and shy. Hmm. My name is…”

“Not your name, your surname. What if I blurt it out?”

“Brother? You wouldn’t do that.”

The unknown painter said with a face full of trust.

“My name is…”

The screen slowly darkened. And a heavy and slow music flowed out, as if expressing the long passage of time and the heavy events that had happened.

[There were many things.]

[There were more difficulties than the sir expected.]

[It took much longer than I expected.]

The music that made the chest tight stopped and the screen slowly brightened.

[But]

[Finally]

[That day came.]

Two wrinkled hands that showed the passage of time appeared. There seemed to be scars from wounds here and there.

The hands that showed the hardships he had gone through carefully touched a white paper. There seemed to be traces of tears on the letter.

[August.]

[A letter arrived from Hanyang.]

[It was the sir’s letter.]

The wrinkled hands carefully put the letter in. The hands moved skillfully and closed the mansion’s gate firmly. The screen showed the scene.

But unlike usual, he was closing it from outside the mansion, not inside.

[This mansion’s gate will never open again.]

With a firm voice, the wrinkled right hand clutched the closed gate of the mansion. It was a gesture full of emotions.

[And I hope]

[It never does.]