Dear readers,

Another semester. Another edition complete.

To speak candidly, it would be dishonest to gloss over the trepidation I felt in stepping into the role of Editor-in-Chief. The weight of stewardship loomed large: I wanted to do well and to carry on the good work of those who had come before me. As anticipated, the first few months were marked by nervous jitters. Yet wading past that initial flurry, the unease softened. From then on, the latter half of my term has been nothing short of wondrous. I have tried to savor each present moment, though time—as it so characteristically does—has insisted on slipping through my fingers.

In many ways, my own journey mirrors The SNU Quill’s over the past year. The challenges that grazed our 83rd edition did not end with the printing of its crisp pages. Some carried into the 84th; others arose unexpectedly, beyond our control. At times, that uncertainty manifested as overt friction, with direct tests to our autonomy as a publication. The obstacles were not insignificant, yet, dear readers, we did not shrink. If anything, they sharpened our resolve and reminded us of what we too easily take for granted. So, what began in uncertainty gradually gave way to steadier footing, reaffirming our commitment to journalistic integrity and to serving as the voice of—and for—the SNU community.

With a renewed clarity, it feels most fitting, then, that this edition turns to the theme of projection. If resonance implored us to look inward, to dwell and reflect, projection urges us to reach outward. It asks how our beliefs are cast onto the world around us, how aspirations take shape beyond ourselves, and how a single guiding thought can illuminate uncertain paths, a beam cutting through the haze of precarity.

With the 83rd edition, we sought counsel from the past. Projection now turns that gaze ahead—toward the future Quill aspires to inhabit and the voices that will carry it forward.

Thus, as you move through this edition, you will encounter projection in its varied forms. Against the backdrop of campus life, SNU Society probes the values extended upon the spaces we inhabit daily. We trace how the architectural traditions of each college subtly mold student identity; yet it is ultimately students themselves who breathe life into those stoic planes of concrete and glass. We linger over our lackluster campus dining, questioning what its shortcomings reveal about institutional priorities. And we confront SNU’s fiercely competitive, at times gladiatorial, club culture—a restless striving for belonging beneath the shadow of prestige and the palpable fear of exclusion.

In Features, our scope broadens to encompass Korea and the world beyond. Closer to home, we examine the country’s politicized pulpit, where conservative ideology is draped in the robes of sacred authority, and the adoption of stablecoin, riding the swelling tide of digital currencies. Amidst a world in turmoil, we turn to the fragile standing of international law, questioning how Korea is implicated in crises that may seem distant, but are anything but.

And finally, Arts & Culture precisely renders projections sweeping across culture at large: the juggernaut of K-baseball and its attunement to the sensibilities of the Korean people; the insidious grip of pseudo-gambling, swiftly dismissed yet no less potent in its pull; and the rise of AI psychosis, a compulsion to seek intimacy where none can truly exist.

In the end, projection is both a lens and a mirror. It casts our beliefs and aspirations into the world, while reflecting the truths we carry within. As you turn these pages, dear readers, remember: looking outward is only part of the act. In shaping what we project, we carve the world around us, in ways both big and small. So as you explore this edition, ponder the questions posed and the ideas laid bare—and I trust you will enjoy the view.