Paradigm

Chapter I

Paris, France, February 1998.

It was already nine in the morning when Seonghwa pushed the door of his office located in Montmartre. The weather was damp, the usual at this time of the year. His clothes had already suffered from the downpour ; a car splashed him as it passed by.

"What a nice day to be alive !" he said bitterly.

The young man always had the inconvenient habit of making every blunder you could imagine.

He scurried away in the toilets in order to get a glimpse of the mess he caused. Difficult to look any worse, honestly. When Seonghwa crossed his own gaze in the greasy, partially shattered mirror, he found himself with a horrendous look. His hair untidy, his eyes circled by dark bags caused by his consecutive sleepless nights and ashen complexion... Nevertheless, he ended up persuading himself that the low quality neon lights were the cause of this physical downfall (actually, it dated back to his teenage days, when he transformed into an unglamorous goblin against his will).

His appearance would never be presentable for tomorrow morning's interview. Indeed, a week ago, his boss had announced him over the phone that he would meet with a highly interesting Korean author who was about to get published in their publishing house.

Usually, emerging Korean-speaking authors prefer getting translated in big British or American companies so they get unbelievable sales scores that are absolutely unreachable in France. This one probably had French origins that he wished to honor by translating his works himself in the language of his ancestors ?

He sat at his desk and looked for a file he quickly found in a squeaking drawer.

"Paul Jung, Seoul, South Korea."

Those were the only personal information he found. No age, no address, no education, no past. Nothing. This author was nothing but a ghost.

Afterwards, he laid a hand on the Korean version of the novel. It had already been published once. The book did not bear the title nor the name of the author, only the name of the publishing house in white, calligraphed characters on the side. The cover wasn't eye-catching : only simple traditional patterns in different shades of black. That must have been a scam. He examined the references attentively : it wasn't even an authentic exemplary.

Irked that his boss made him lose so much time on stupidities, he grabbed the raw manuscript written in French. This one had a title, a strange one at that : "Paradigm".

On the first page where the authors usually write their thanks or a short "for my beloved children", Paul Jung wrote :

"To silence,

To oblivion,

To immobility."

Those were very random words, but they hit Seonghwa's core unprecedentedly. Silence, oblivion, immobility.

***

Seoul, South Korea. March 1993.

Hongjoong was twenty-one years old, a student in the most prestigious university of the city, everyone's favorite and had outstanding scientific skills.

He used to be a very pleasant person to hang out with for San at a certain time, when they were in the same faculty. Everyone would have described them as close friends ; and they had been, indeed, even though they rather felt attracted to each other by an undeniable rivalry. However, their friendship never went beyond the walls of the auditorium, as if they had been afraid that the outside world might change them.