Return of the Genius Photographer - Chapter 102

Woojin slowly walked onto the stage.

He felt dazed, almost in disbelief, but he maintained a perfectly composed expression.

It wouldn’t do for the recipient of the grand prize to appear clumsy—that would be disrespectful to the other participants.

So, Woojin’s steps were calm and confident, exuding quiet dignity.

As he climbed the steps to the stage, murmurs rippled through the audience.

“That’s Kai…”

Among them was Walter, the head of the Australia World Travel branch, who had been eager to reveal Kai’s photos to the world.

“His identity is finally revealed here.”

There was also Edward, who had been shrouded in curiosity about the mysterious Kai and had written an entire column about his photos.

“The Pearl of Arles…”

And Sarah, along with other judges, who had cast their votes upon seeing Kai’s photo.

Everyone in attendance turned their attention to Woojin and erupted into applause.

Clap clap clap clap clap!

The navy-blue suit Woojin wore reflected the stage lights with a soft, elegant sheen.

With his chin slightly raised and his movements poised, Woojin looked every bit as refined and commanding as a nobleman.

Meanwhile, on the screen behind him, his award-winning photograph appeared again.

It depicted an artist, oblivious to the flames engulfing his legs, stepping closer to a pool of bubbling lava as though drawn to it—capturing the shot of a lifetime.

The image seemed to embody the attitude a photographer must have to pursue their craft.

It also revealed the grueling journey that true art demanded.

Almost as if to say that achieving the greatest photograph requires burning oneself in the process.

The photograph, titled Beyond the Lens, flipped and twisted conventional ideas.

True to its name, it urged viewers to consider what lay on the other side of the lens—the photographer themselves.

Though its interpretation was complex, every photographer in the hall understood the message the photo conveyed.

The Arles International Photography Festival was a global celebration of photography.

In a place where the streets were filled with photos and photographers, what could be more fitting for the occasion than a photo about a photographer?

Realizing there was no better answer, some attendees quietly shook their heads in admiration.

Kangsan, the subject of the photo, chuckled warmly.

Those who recognized that the gold medalist, Kangsan, was also the subject of Woojin’s photo smiled faintly in acknowledgment.

The hall was filled with applause, admiration, smiles, and envy—all in equal measure.

A photograph hidden in the dark maze-like alleys, where no human footstep had ventured, had won the grand prize.

Woojin, who had unknowingly received help from strangers he had never met, owed it all to one thing:

The overwhelming beauty of the photograph he had taken.

“Hello, I am Kai, the recipient of this grand prize,” the young Asian man standing on stage introduced himself in fluent French.

“First, I’d like to say it’s an incredible honor to receive this award.”

Holding the attention of everyone in the room, he continued,

“Some of you may have guessed it, but this photo was taken on Mount Etna, just before an eruption, during a trip I took with photographer Kangsan.”

In a composed voice, he shared the story of his work.

“I wanted to show you all that behind every great photograph lies the relentless effort of a photographer, often at the cost of their vitality.”

By now, the audience was utterly silent, hanging on to his every word.

“The lens focuses on its subject, but on the other side of the lens, there is always the photographer.”

And finally…

“It was only after experiencing a great failure that I managed to arrive here. I’d like to end by expressing my gratitude to everyone who helped me along the way.”

Clap clap clap clap clap clap clap!

Thunderous applause echoed throughout the hall, as if it might shake the building.

And with that, the official events of the Arles International Photography Festival came to a close.

***

“Your speech was quite good. Congratulations.”

“Thank you so much, photographer Kang. It’s all thanks to the experiences I gained because of you.”

As I stepped off the stage amidst the applause, Kangsan casually congratulated me.

I bowed my head in response, thanking him sincerely.

After all, it was Kangsan who had suggested I come to Arles in the first place.

Not only had I taken photos during the trip we shared, but most of the pictures I submitted to Arles featured him as the subject.

No amount of gratitude could ever be enough.

“Oh, come on. You did it all on your own,” Kangsan waved off my thanks, though his lips curved into a smile that he couldn’t quite hide.

Honestly, I still felt dazed.

I never imagined I’d win such a prestigious award.

If there had been any signs leading up to it, maybe I’d have been more prepared.

But when I submitted my photos, I was half convinced I’d already lost.

To win something this big felt almost surreal.

The trophy, the plaque—and even the unexpected prize money.

And most importantly, I’d earned the opportunity to return to Arles next year with equal recognition as Kangsan, to hold my own solo exhibition.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Geez, is it really that exciting?” Kangsan asked, clearly amused by my expression.

I responded by flashing a playful V sign with my fingers.

“Heh. Looks like I won again, didn’t I, Photographer Kang?”

“Oh, you little… Now you’re just asking for it!”

We were teasing each other, buoyed by the excitement of the moment, when someone approached us.

“Congratulations on your awards, Mr. Kang and Mr. Kai.”

A staff member dressed in a sleek black suit greeted us politely.

“All official events have concluded, but we’ll soon begin the reception. Are you both able to attend?”

He spoke courteously, waiting for our response.

“Attendance isn’t mandatory, of course, but as award winners, your presence would greatly enhance the event.”

A reception…

I hadn’t been aware of this part of the schedule.

It was probably a casual gathering where people could enjoy light meals, sip wine, and converse.

A good chance to meet prominent figures in the industry or the judging panel.

Now that the official event was over, I didn’t see any reason to decline.

***

The reception was held at the hotel that had been provided as accommodation.

Although they had come straight from the main event, the hall was already bustling with people.

Each guest held a glass of wine, chatting cheerfully amidst the lively, somewhat noisy atmosphere.

In the midst of the crowd, one table stood out, drawing a particularly large gathering.

It was Woojin’s table.

“Kai, your photo was truly extraordinary.”

“Would it be alright if I asked for your contact information?”

“Do you have any plans for future projects?”

“We’re from the French travel magazine Bon Voyage. Would you consider working with us?”

“Here’s my agency’s business card.”

The moment Kangsan and Woojin entered the reception hall, people flocked to them as if they’d been waiting for this very moment.

From simple interview requests to contract offers, the attention was overwhelming.

More specifically, the attention wasn’t on Kangsan, but on Woojin.

Unlike Woojin, Kangsan and the other winners were already renowned figures in their fields, celebrated across various countries.

Whether for their skill, photography, or philosophies, they were well-established, making them an older topic of interest to the industry professionals gathered here.

And these weren’t just any professionals.

Many had likely attended Arles multiple times before. They were individuals whose names carried immense weight in the photography world.

To them, Woojin was the fresh subject of intrigue.

For critics hungry for novelty, he was a new stimulus.

For agencies scouting talent, he was a promising opportunity.

For journalists chasing exclusives, he was headline material.

It was only natural that the crowd gravitated toward him.

*

Kangsan turned to me with a proud, satisfied expression, as if this was exactly what he had expected.

I, too, had been waiting for this moment and made sure to greet everyone warmly and politely.

But then, I saw him.

A man slipped through the crowd and exited the reception hall.

Light brown hair. Striking green eyes. A Caucasian man with an unforgettable presence.

The moment I saw him, I froze. My breath caught in my chest.

‘David?’

David McCurry.

A man I could never forget.

He passed my table, showing me only his back as he left the hall, but I was certain it was him.

That silhouette, etched deeply into my memory, left no room for doubt.

It was David McCurry.

‘David is here!’

He was the person who had opened the door to photography for me when I was barely surviving in the United States.

My benefactor. My mentor. My friend in my previous life.

How could I ever forget?

‘Why didn’t I realize sooner?’

In hindsight, it made sense for him to be here.

While he wouldn’t achieve the level of fame he had in my past life for a few more years, he was already a promising photographer.

His presence at Arles wasn’t surprising at all.

But I had completely overlooked the possibility.

‘No, I can’t dwell on this now.’

Shaking myself out of my thoughts, I quickly stood up from the table.

“David!”

I called his name as I pushed through the crowd and hurried out of the reception hall to find him.

But by the time I reached the hallway, he was gone.

“David…”

I muttered his name softly in frustration, but no answer came.

I stood there, staring blankly at the path where he had disappeared, unable to move.

***

David McCurry sat in a colleague’s car and glanced out the window.

“Huh? Is someone calling me?”

He rubbed his ear, which felt strangely itchy, and scanned the surroundings, but there was no one in sight who seemed to be calling out to him.

“Must’ve imagined it.”

After meeting so many people at Arles, even faint noises made him feel as if someone were addressing him.

Concluding it was all in his head, David tossed his bag onto the back seat and reclined in his seat. He planned to rest in the car until it was time to head to the airport.

“David, must’ve been disappointing not to see better results at this year’s Arles, huh?”

His colleague, who was driving, glanced at him as they made their way to the airport.

“You’d been preparing for this for quite some time.”

“It’s fine. There’s always next year. I’ll just do better then,” David replied nonchalantly, adding with a faint smile, “Besides, I was inspired by some excellent photos this time.”

“Excellent photos?”

Curious, his colleague asked for clarification.

David answered immediately.

“Kai’s photos.”

“Kai? Oh! I know who you mean.”

“Yeah, a young-looking East Asian guy. His photos were so artistic, they left a lasting impression.”

David closed his eyes, recalling Kai’s work.

The images had been nothing short of stunning—photos that conveyed fluid creativity and outstanding talent in an instant.

After reading about Kai’s work in an online column, David had gone out of his way to track down the back alley where the photos had been displayed. Seeing it in person had been even more impressive.

Curious about the artist behind such extraordinary work, David had carved out time in his tight schedule to attend the awards ceremony.

From the moment he saw Kai’s photos, he had a strong feeling they would win something.

“Don’t East Asians usually look younger than their age? Maybe he’s older than he seems,” his colleague remarked.

“Could be,” David said, shrugging.

“Wasn’t he at the reception? You could’ve said hello or introduced yourself.”

But David shook his head.

“No, the place was already packed. I didn’t want to seem like another one of the flies swarming him, so I just left.”

“Fair enough. Well, you’ll probably have another chance to meet him, maybe at next year’s Arles or something.”

“True, there’s always next year,” David replied with a slight chuckle.

While it was rare for widely traveled photographers to cross paths often, David knew that if both of them kept up their work, there was always the chance they’d meet again.

With that thought, David gazed out the window, easing the lingering regret in his heart.