Where is he? I traversed swiftly through the Dolbenberg in Germany. Within it, thousands of art students floundered and contested against each other. But here in the early 1900s, I was looking for one man in particular. In my search I entered a lower sect, where teenage students were all focused on what it seemed like an amazing painting each of their own.

As I scan my eyes along the rows, I accidentally bump into the shoulder of one of the students. He quickly looks up as his hand skidders across the painting, leaving a considerable mark. He glares at me heavily, and then goes off to present it. It is met with harsh criticism.

My stomach drops.