The drawings hold two ideas at once: the schematic logic of the hydrological system, and the atmospheric experience of inhabiting it.

The pink is not decoration — it is borrowed from infrastructural codes, the colour of recycled water lines, and re-deployed at architectural scale. Where convention asks pipes to disappear, here they become façade, structure, threshold.

The work was developed without a brief. There is no client. The site is undisclosed. The plates are not proposals — they are positions.

The protocol assumes co-operation. This is itself the speculation. Two military commands, working in pairs, in 4×4m grid cells, advancing 80m per year. At this pace, the strip is cleared in fifty years.

The rat does the seeing. A human pulls the lead. A second human, on the other side of the lead, watches. The triangular yellow signs — written in three languages, 지뢰 / MINE / 地雷 — are removed only after the cell is verified.

Architecture builds. This work proposes that architecture can also unbuild. The protocol designs the choreography of removal — fences, mines, signs — while keeping what the strip itself produced: the forest.

Keep the watchtowers. Keep three of them, well-spaced, as physical citation. Everything else returns to forest, to river, to ground.

The premise is structural and atmospheric at once: replace the wall as the primary spatial element with the column.

Walls divide. Columns gather. A library organised by columns is a library in which the boundaries between rooms are negotiable, and the reader's body — not the architect's plan — defines the space.

The floor bookshelves are not a graphic move. They acknowledge a fact about reading: that the body wants to settle, to lean, to lie down. The architecture provides the surfaces for this.

Columns are densest at the perimeter and along the private reading rooms. They thin out toward the centre, where the public lounge gathers. The plan is a forest with a clearing.