The next time Lina found herself in the City, the streets were empty.
Arrows hung on the walls of the houses.
THIS WAY.
They all pointed in the same direction.
She followed them.
The path led to an enormous building.
It was neither a palace nor a temple.
It looked more like an academy.
An inscription was carved above the entrance.
MASTERY IN ONE DAY
Lina smiled without meaning to.
– Shame it doesn’t work that way.
– And who says it doesn’t?
A voice sounded from inside.
The hall was enormous.
Hundreds of tables stood in it.
People sat at each one.
Some were painting.
Others were playing music.
Others were writing.
Others still were giving lectures.
All of them looked extraordinarily professional.
A man stood at the far end of the hall.
Neat.
Elegant.
His hands were clean.
Too clean.
The kind that had never done real work.
– Hello, Lina.
– You know me?
– Of course.
Everyone searching for truth ends up coming to me sooner or later.
– Who are you?
– I save time.
– How?
– I take away what’s unnecessary.
– What?
– Ten years of mistakes.
He smiled.
– Why bother with all that?
He waved his hand.
A young man walked up to them.
He held a painting in his hands.
It was beautiful.
The colors.
The composition.
The light.
Everything was flawless.
– Beautiful.
Lina said.
– Yes.
The man answered.
– Now ask him…
Why he painted it.
Lina turned to the young man.
– Why?
The young man said nothing.
After a long pause he answered.
– Because…
That’s how paintings are made now.
Further on stood a woman.
She was giving a lecture on the human psyche.
She spoke fluently.
Quoted authors.
Used complex terms.
When she finished she smiled.
Then a crying girl approached her.
– It’s very hard for me…
The woman was briefly thrown off.
Then asked quietly.
– So… what’s the diagnosis?
Lina felt something tighten in her chest.
She knew the theory.
But didn’t know how to be with a person.
In another corner, a teacher was explaining something to children.
He knew every answer.
Only…
There wasn’t a single child in the hall.
He kept teaching anyway.
Because he was used to talking.
Not listening.
Further on stood a leader.
A crowd gathered around him.
He spoke about courage.
About responsibility.
About sacrifice.
Suddenly the lights went out in the hall.
People panicked.
The leader was the first to run for the door.
Leaving everyone else behind.
A moment later the light returned.
He came back.
As if nothing had happened.
The crowd kept applauding.
– They seem real.
Lina said quietly.
– They are.
The man answered.
– They know how to perform.
They just don’t know how to be.
He led her further on.
A huge machine stood at the far end of the hall.
People entered through one door.
Came out through another.
Fast.
Within seconds.
One went in as an ordinary person.
Came out in a white doctor’s coat.
Another went in shy.
Came out charismatic.
A third went in knowing nothing.
Came out holding a diploma.
– What is this?
Lina asked.
– The shortest path.
– And it works?
– Perfectly.
– Then why doesn’t everyone do this?
The man laughed.
– Almost everyone does choose it.
He picked up two violins from a shelf.
One was old.
Scratched.
Worn.
The other – brand new.
Gleaming.
– Which is better?
He asked.
– I don’t know.
He handed the old one to Lina.
– Try it.
She drew the bow across it.
A deep, rich sound rang out.
Then she picked up the new one.
The sound was perfect.
But empty.
Lifeless.
– Why?
She asked.
– This one.
The man touched the old violin.
– Spent twenty years in a musician’s hands.
And this one…
He pointed at the new one.
– Spent twenty years sitting in a display case.
– But they both look almost the same.
– Yes.
– How do you tell them apart?
The man smiled.
– As long as you’re just looking…
You can’t.
Only once you start listening.
Lina fell silent for a long time.
Suddenly she remembered the people.
The ones she had met.
The psychologist who quoted books.
The painter who painted trends.
The spiritual teacher repeating other people’s thoughts.
The businessman who talked about freedom but couldn’t stand being alone.
She understood.
They weren’t liars.
They genuinely believed in what they were doing.
They just never walked the path.
They only put on its ending.
– Why do people choose imitation?
Lina asked.
The man didn’t hesitate for a moment.
– Because real competence is slow.
It demands humiliation.
Mistakes.
Patience.
Boredom.
Repetition.
Whereas imitation…
He gestured toward the hall.
– Lets you look like a master before you ever become one.
– And what’s the worst part?
– The worst part?
The man thought for a moment.
– It’s not that they deceive others.
He looked Lina in the eye.
– The worst part is that after a while, they deceive themselves.
And no longer remember…
That they were once beginners.
Lina turned around.
She wanted to leave.
But stopped at the door.
There was a small inscription above it.
It hadn’t been there before.
THE SHORT PATH ALWAYS BYPASSES THE PERSON.
She woke before dawn.
She sat by the window for a long time.
She remembered her first years of work.
How many times she had been wrong.
How many times she hadn’t known the answer.
How many times she’d come home thinking she’d chosen the wrong profession.
Then she understood.
It was exactly those days that had taught her.
Not books.
Not diplomas.
Not praise.
Mistakes.
She opened the black notebook.
And wrote:
Imitation wants to look like mastery.
After a long pause she added:
Mastery isn’t afraid to look like a beginner.
A moment later a final line appeared.
Real competence isn’t born when a person learns to answer correctly. It’s born when they stop being afraid of being wrong.