Chapter 25. Yuneungjegang
“Next is Yeongjo Architecture’s proposal.”
Even at the facilities section chief’s words, the president did not leave the front of Mirim Architecture’s panel.
Whether he felt good from the invited architects’ praise, he only kept looking at Mirim Architecture’s panel. Like he was looking at a lovely grandchild.
He was already convinced that the flashy building his son-in-law had planned would change Gwangseong University’s future.
Even if the work had been so-so, he had been willing to choose it for the sake of his son-in-law’s face, but if the proposal was this solid, what need was there for any other plan?
Professor Bong sat in the judges’ seats and drank water, staring at Yeongjo Architecture’s panel that had not yet been revealed.
The invited architects also returned to their seats and began writing something on the evaluation documents.
Inside the room, the mood was as if everything had already been decided.
“All right. Then we will reveal it.”
The facilities section chief flipped Yeongjo Architecture’s panel, which stood side by side with Mirim Architecture’s proposal, and exposed the front.
And silence fell.
“…”
As the room went quiet, the president, who had been standing in front of Mirim Architecture’s panel, turned toward the judges’ seats.
Then he tilted his head because Professor Bong and the invited architects at the judges’ seats looked as if they had stopped moving, staring somewhere with blank faces.
‘What is it? What happened?’
When the president turned his head back again, there was only Yeongjo Architecture’s panel there.
But the president’s eyes sensed something was strange.
‘What the… In the aerial view… there’s no building at all?’
Two days earlier.
“What? Is that still okay? Even if there’s no building in the aerial view?”
Team Leader Seungjin came to find Geonshin, who was in the middle of modeling.
Geonshin, who had almost finished the modeling, said something that would make Team Leader Seungjin flustered.
“Yes. Since we put the sports center underground, the only view worth capturing in the aerial rendering is the athletic field turned into a park. If we vaguely look down at it from the sky, I question whether you can feel that impact through a rendered image.”
Team Leader Seungjin, looking at Geonshin’s modeling screen, nodded as well. Since the plan’s purpose from the start had been to empty out space, it was a stretch to try to showcase a building. But even so, to remove the building from the aerial view entirely.
“It’s all or nothing again. Ha, seriously.”
If they had given that kind of request to a CG company, they would have gotten angry, asking if they were joking, and taken offense.
But Geonshin knew well that before long, worldwide development plans to turn neglected vacant land into parks would boom, and aerial renderings that contained only beautiful park scenery rather than buildings would become common.
It was hard for Team Leader Seungjin, accustomed to the rough, 2002-style aerial renderings, to imagine, but going beyond expectations was sometimes a good way to draw attention.
Anything is hardest the first time.
More than anything, there was another reason Geonshin thought of that strategy.
Hadn’t they said yuneungjegang?
That softness can subdue hardness, Geonshin had already seen Mirim Architecture’s panel through the folder.
And he also knew it was Beta Digital’s work. Beta Digital would later collaborate freely with domestic architecture companies in Geonshin’s pre-regression life, but at this point in time, he predicted their panel would definitely come as a shock.
There was no meaning in trying to respond in kind and focus on a head-on counterfire strategy.
Even if this side was a little better, it would not be a meaningful difference, not enough to overturn Mirim Construction’s proposal with the son-in-law attached.
In this case, the law of opposites was valid. With proposals this incompatible, they would not be able to just check it and move on.
What can move people’s hearts, in the end, is not simply awe and admiration, but the twist that comes from an extreme contrast.
Back in the judging room.
Professor Bong stood up and walked toward the panel. No, it would be more accurate to say he was pulled toward it.
There was no sports center on the panel, and there was no flashiness or temple-like grandeur.
It was the view of the athletic field Professor Bong always looked at through the window. The athletic field he looked at out of habit whenever he felt stifled or had a headache.
But…
The wall was gone, and the scenery of the street across the way could be seen, and an open, even wider blue sky wrapped over the athletic field.
On the bleak athletic field, colorful flowers and grass blended together. People were hanging around on top of it, and there were even images of people lying down comfortably.
He too had always drawn, even in his head, what the athletic field should become if it needed change, but he had not imagined this scenery inside this aerial view even once.
Why didn’t I think of this?
The park on the athletic field was surrounded by a ramp that allowed natural entry from the outside sidewalk, forming a walking path within the city.
The green of the grass lay as the base, and purple, yellow, and blue flowers formed harmony, placed here and there as highlights.
Even people walking along the sidewalk outside were given a selective route, one where they could naturally enter the school grounds, circle the park once, and go back out again.
People who always walked along cold concrete walls would be able to see a small garden in the city during their commute.
On days without classes, like weekends, students would be able to spread out mats and enjoy the leisure of resting in a wide-open park.
Yeongjo Architecture’s proposal expressed well that a landmark did not have to be a seductive mass, and that something that lets people feel healing and room to breathe could also become a symbolic experience for them.
Of course, the aerial view Geonshin pulled out was not something you would see in 2002.
Even if you used the same rendering program, the results varied wildly depending on input values that differed in tiny ways, from materials to the state of the light.
In the future, experts would struggle to find the topmost tier of these rendering input values, but for a while, no one would exist who could follow Geonshin now.
The knowledge and skills obtained through the coupon, around 2020, were not a level this era could easily catch up to.
The flowers in the aerial view looked like they would sway in the wind, and the scenery of the newly planned athletic-field park was a spectacle you would only see in a Spielberg movie.
A panel had to let the information it wanted to communicate be read at a glance, without making the judges’ eyes dizzy. If it was too flashy, you couldn’t see the content, and if it was too bland, you couldn’t see the image.
Following Geonshin’s intent, Professor Bong moved his gaze and was sucked into the panel.
His eyes went first to the aerial view of tremendous quality, and the diagrams that showed the concept well also made the intention of the aerial view unmistakably clear. Nothing stuck out, but nothing was hidden either.
That was enough.
A quality he had never seen even in magazines that covered all sorts of famous foreign architects.
The diagrams and emoticons Geonshin placed along one side were a style even Professor Bong, a serious academic type, was seeing for the first time.
Where on earth had he gotten these kinds of expression methods?
This panel was an artwork in itself, one that did not even need to explain petty intentions.
Professor Bong looked up at the title on one side of the panel.
‘Gwangseong University Underground Campus Project, Landmark of Emotion.’
It was a title created to claim the phrase “underground campus” ahead of the Ewha Womans University Campus Complex project, ECC, which would later be built and become an issue.
And “Landmark of Emotion” pointed out that rather than a huge, grand visual landmark like Mirim Architecture’s proposal, an empty space that stimulates emotion could also become a landmark.
When Professor Bong looked to the side, he saw the invited architects staring blankly, absorbed in the panel. He thought that his expression just moments ago had probably been the same.
The most flustered one was the president. The president came quietly to Professor Bong’s side and said,
“This plan puts the sports center underground and then what, exactly, is it trying to do. Professor Bong, even to me, someone who doesn’t know architecture, this plan looks like it has a lot of problems. Isn’t that right?”
“Ah, yes. Well… you could see it that way.”
“Right, we should go the way we already planned. Yes? Professor Bong.”
Of course, problems might arise. Even Professor Bong had never seen an underground campus like this. The invited architects also found that part questionable. If something went wrong, they might get blamed for choosing it.
Any attempt done for the first time always creates problems. The issue is not the essence, but the choice of whether to carry out something new or not.
That was the weakness of Yeongjo Architecture’s proposal. The judges’ willingness to decide.
The invited architects and Professor Bong looked at Mirim and Yeongjo Architecture’s panels placed side by side. Then, as if they had a rough sense of it, they quietly returned to their seats.
However, Professor Bong opened the design report for additional information.
To directly verify whether Yeongjo Architecture had presented structural solutions suited to the underground plan and a floor plan without issues. That was exactly why judges were needed.
“All right! Then we will look at the last proposal and immediately proceed to the vote.”
“Would the judging be finished by now.”
Before he knew it, it was past 5 p.m. Director Yoo uk sat in the office, staring at the ceiling all day.
“Ah. I can’t focus on work. Work. Damn it.”
“You don’t usually focus anyway.”
At Team Leader Seungjin’s half-joking words, Director Yoo-uk gave a rotten smile.
“Mo Seungjin. I know you’re forcing yourself to act calm.”
“I’m not acting calm, I’m not thinking about it.”
“Ah. Is that why you’ve been staring a hole through your empty desktop wallpaper all day? You think I wouldn’t notice?”
“……”
From across the room, Assistant Manager Soomin let out a sigh. It was so suffocating, knowing that Division 7’s future would be decided within today.
“So why didn’t you all just rest at home today, huh. Why are you here sighing all day?”
“How can we stay home? I was so anxious I couldn’t even sleep last night.”
At Soomin’s near-dead voice, Director Yoo-uk sprang up from his seat.
“Seriously, Lee Soomin. What do you mean you couldn’t sleep. On submission morning you were drooling and sleeping just fine! And Na Geonshin. You too, not confident? You’re not confident in the panel you made?”
Geonshin, who had been hiding behind Soomin’s monitor doing something, stuck his head out and said,
“I did my best. Whether my panel is shabby or not, the result will say it.”
“Th- th- Best, my ass. You said we just need a tie. Can we get a tie or not?”
“We will. No matter what!”
Naturally, Geonshin had his own certainty. The submission he produced was not a result completed only inside his head, but something that referenced architecture that had actually been realized and gained attention.
Even if they lost, it could not be because his output was bad, or because the idea was trash.
Either way, he did not need to blame himself, so Geonshin’s heart was calm.
“Yeah, good! You idiots. Let’s wait with spirit like Geonshin, huh. Doesn’t it look so good?”
That was when it happened.
Riiiiing.
When the phone on Director Yoo uk’s desk rang, his legs went weak and he collapsed to the floor.
“Ugh! Th- the phone. The phone’s ringing!”
Riiiiing!
Clutching his pounding heart, Director Yoo-uk stood back up. He looked at each team member one by one. Everyone was staring at Director Yoo-uk with tense faces.
After swallowing hard, he answered.
“…Yes. This is Director Yoo-uk of Division 7.”
Everyone stared at Director Yoo uk’s mouth. Geonshin was nervous as well. Doing your best did not always bring a good result.
And the next moment, Director Yoo-uk’s face twisted sharply. What kind of news could it be. Assistant Manager Soomin’s face turned white, as if her heart had dropped.
But soon, from Director Yoo uk’s mouth, a line completely different from everyone’s expectation flowed out.
“Honey. Okay. I’ll come in early. I said okay!”
“…”
“And you can just text things like that, huh. Text! Why are you calling the office? I told you today is an important day, huh. What? No, who said I got angry. It’s not that, it’s…”
What a letdown.
Team Leader Seungjin stared at the empty monitor again. Seriously, how did they even end up in a situation like this.
He realized that making deals on projects was truly something you shouldn’t do.
He looked at Soomin and Geonshin across the room. After suffering like hell, if they ended up with no results and couldn’t even meet again as a team…
“Damn it.”
Team Leader Seungjin lowered his head and let out a sigh.
But Geonshin was typing something on his laptop, which was trembling slightly. No matter how much he worried and tensed up, the result would flow according to his fate anyway.
Then the phone on Director Yoo-uk’s desk rang again, and this time he answered curtly.
“Hello. …Yeah, okay. Got it. It’s fine. Hard, it’s… yeah, it can’t be helped.”
After hanging up, Director Yoo-uk stared up at the ceiling again. Then he let out a deep sigh.
“Hm… the result, the result is out.”
At his trembling words, the team members jumped up from their seats in shock. It was like everything stopped, and Assistant Manager Soomin’s lips trembled.
Avoiding the team members’ eyes as best he could, Director Yoo-uk barely opened his heavy mouth.
T/N:
Yuneungjegang (유능제강, 柔能制剛) is a Korean idiomatic expression (사자성어 – four-character idiom) of Chinese origin that means “softness can overcome hardness” or “flexibility controls rigidity”.
It implies that a soft, yielding, or flexible approach is superior to a rigid, hard, or aggressive one, and can ultimately conquer it.
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