By Zephyria 
It was music that grabbed the ears with its catchy melody and singing style. It wasn’t a song with a fast tempo and stimulating beat, but its funky rhythm was so charming that even someone as bored as me found their toes tapping inside their sneakers.
It was a famous song, famous enough that I knew it. Prince’s
Yooni Noona, sitting in the passenger seat, and Juhan Hyung, sitting behind her next to me, were singing along, almost screaming.
Smooch, smooch, smooch, smooch! Kiss!
The two, belting out the rather direct lyrics, mimicked kissing sounds into the air at the end of the first verse, in time with the sound effects in the music. I laughed at their perfectly synchronized actions, as if they had planned it. It was a rhythm that could only come from people who had shared tastes for a long time.
He, visible through the rearview mirror in the driver’s seat, was also laughing, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe it. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I felt like our eyes met in the rearview mirror. I couldn’t be sure because he was wearing sunglasses, but it felt awkward somehow. I turned my gaze away, pretending to push back my windblown hair.
Leaving the airport, we passed through Tsim Sha Tsui’s glamorous luxury street and underground tunnels, entering Hong Kong Island. We were driving on an elevated road, with the city, where modern skyscrapers and old buildings coexisted, on our right, and Victoria Harbour, with Tsim Sha Tsui visible across it, on our left.
The deep blue car, reminiscent of the color of a deep lake, was a convertible, or more popularly known as an open-top car. We didn’t know who had left the car waiting at the arrival gate, but it was definitely not a rental. He had taken out the key himself from his key wallet.
Upon spotting the waiting car, Yooni Noona and Juhan Hyung had screamed and run towards it. Their reactions were so dramatic, as if they had met long-lost blood relatives. Whether the car was specially prepared for them or not, an undeniable smile flickered across the CEO’s face as he watched them.
He was a kind boss to his employees. I could tell that much even in the beginning when he was hostile towards me. He wasn’t someone who lacked kindness and a gentle demeanor, not someone who was merely cold to others.
However, that kindness wasn’t universally open. To be included, one had to invest time and prove oneself worthy of his kindness.
I don’t know what kind of person I am becoming in his eyes. His attitude, which had softened from the beginning, and his unexpected decision to let me join Phantom. The kindness he showed by giving me his jacket and taking off his sweatshirt. And the occasional gaze filled with warmth and affection directed at me, leading me to speculate that he no longer regarded me with the same wariness as before.
Pretending to watch the Hong Kong scenery approaching the car’s windshield, I stole glances at his back as he drove, lost in thought, as
“Ah, this is why I work for Phantom!”
Yooni Noona, lowering the volume, exclaimed with a relieved expression, like someone who had just relieved stress at a karaoke bar after a long time.
“Hey… that makes the boss sad to hear?”
“Why sad? It’s a compliment. Do you think bosses who can give you rides in cars like this are common? Even if they were, other bosses wouldn’t give you rides.”
“Well, does it matter if the boss bought the car with inherited money?”
“It’s enough if the car I drive and the house I live in are earned with my own money. This is the CEO’s car. So, I just need to enjoy it, and the worries about inherited wealth are the CEO’s burden.”
Saying that, Yooni Noona clapped her hands as if teasing him and laughed. He shook his head.
“Wow… ruthless, Baek Yuni.”
“The CEO is too uptight about those things. Just enjoy it. It’s great that you can give the babies joy like this. Inheriting a lot isn’t all advantages, so it’s a loss if you don’t enjoy the advantages.”
Juhan Hyung leaned forward between the driver’s and passenger’s seats, joining their conversation.
“I completely agree with Baek Yuni on this. If you’re still uncomfortable, you can just hand it all over to me. You’re the CEO’s baby, after all.”
In the rearview mirror, he scowled this time.
“Did you catch it from Choi In-woo? Why are you guys suddenly talking about babies? Why are you my babies? You’re all grown up, it’s creepy.”
“Anyway, the CEO would call his lover ‘honey’ or ‘baby,’ right? Aren’t his lovers all grown up too? They’d probably be big, muscular guys. Ugh…”
Juhan Hyung still took the conversation from his garden as a foregone conclusion. Because he hadn’t explicitly denied or confirmed it, it was unclear if muscular men were truly his type, but he had slept with me, who wasn’t muscular. Of course, it didn’t go all the way, and if my faint memory serves me right… I had passed out before he could even finish.
“Lovers are lovers, what do you mean ‘lovers’? And have you ever even seen my babies or honey? Talk after you’ve seen them, please.”
As he smoothly descended the elevated road and slowed down for a straight signal, he pinched Juhan Hyung’s cheek, who had leaned his head between the seats.
Although the Phantom members seemed to have a closeness beyond a simple workplace relationship, they didn’t seem to know much about his private life. In-woo Hyung, his long-time friend, seemed to be the same. He appeared to be habitually open and kind to those close to him, but he kept his private matters as his own domain. This likely applied to his entire private life, not just what happened in bed.
I wondered if someone had entered his inner world, which he didn’t easily allow access to, in the past, or if someone was there now. With such curiosity, I unconsciously glanced at his face in the rearview mirror.
I know I’m not very adept at these things. Conversely, for him, detecting the clumsy gaze of a ten-years-younger person glancing at him would be child’s play. Feeling like our eyes met again in the rearview mirror, I quickly turned my direction to look out at the exotic street.
We were delving deeper into the chaotic Hong Kong streets, a mix of red signs covered in calligraphy-like Chinese characters and dazzling electronic billboards and neon signs.
The car started with the signal, and at the next signal, we slid straight onto the road without waiting.
“Huh? What is it, CEO? Why aren’t we going towards the apartment?”
Yooni Noona asked with a puzzled voice, glancing back at the uphill road on the right.
“Did I not tell you? We’re staying at a hotel this time.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“Hmm… I thought I told you.”
He scratched under his chin with his index finger and said nonchalantly. For reasons unknown, judging by his reaction, it seemed highly probable that he had deliberately not mentioned it.
“Even if we’re staying at a hotel, since when have you been handling such practical matters, CEO? Huh?”
The Noona, appearing slightly flustered by the change in plans, pointed her phone at him with a stern expression.
“Yooni Baek looked so busy, I thought if I asked her to book a hotel, she might grab me by the collar, so I took care of it myself.”
At his playfully affectionate voice, the Noona sank back into her seat and adjusted her sunglasses.
“Even so, I wouldn’t grab you by the collar. I might glare at you so hard your head would fall off.”
He laughed and reached out to lightly tousle her hair.
“You need to rest well at night during the fair. My apartment can’t accommodate five people each having their own room.”
“The master room is like a stadium. If we sleep at opposite ends of that bed, it’s practically like having separate rooms. Lee Hyun won’t take up much space. And unlike Kwon Juhan, he won’t complain about this or that.”
“Why are you bringing me up when I’m just sitting here quietly?”
Juhan Hyung grumbled, but the Noona didn’t react to him.
“Hmm… So, you want me and Seo Yi-hyun to share a room?”
This time, I was certain he was looking at me in the rearview mirror. His expression seemed to be imagining what it would be like to share a room with me.
“Why? You can’t even share a room with a man you’re not into?”
Yooni Noona retorted indignantly, but he just laughed. Then he changed the subject.
“Even at Hotel F, you won’t forgive me?”
Upon hearing the hotel’s name, the Noona’s expression changed. Juhan Hyung also perked up, his eyes widening as he looked at me, but I couldn’t join their reaction as I had no information about that hotel.
“No, it’s not about forgiving or not… It’s just that you should inform us in advance if there are any changes.”
Rubbing the dashboard with her finger, the Noona couldn’t hide her smile.
“Even with a harbor view and a single room for each person?”
“Whether you tell us in advance or not, does it really matter that much?”
The Noona, changing her tune as if nothing had happened, turned around to face Juhan Hyung, and they shared their joy. That hotel seemed to excite them quite a bit. Perhaps this was also part of the surprise gift he had prepared for them.
“Honestly, I don’t feel like it’s a waste for the CEO to spend money in Hong Kong.”
“You guys don’t feel it’s a waste for me to spend money in Seoul either.”
“You’re rich!”
The Noona and Hyung shouted in unison. He was smiling even as he shook his head.
He turned the steering wheel to the left, leaving a large, old-looking beige building on his right. Soon, the elegantly decorated hotel driveway appeared. The car’s speed decreased, but my heart seemed to race ahead of it.
My first impression of Hong Kong was the passionate humidity and heat, the blend of past and present, the subtle balance created by disorder, and the gazes exploring each other through the rearview mirror.
■ ■ ■
Phantom was exhibiting about 120 pieces at this art fair.
Without time to admire the luxurious view and interior decor of the hotel room overlooking Victoria Harbour and Tsim Sha Tsui, we headed straight to the exhibition hall and began unwrapping the bubble wrap that encased the 120 artworks.
Since we would have to re-wrap the pieces with the same bubble wrap after the exhibition, we couldn’t just tear it off haphazardly. The task of carefully unwrapping the layers of bubble wrap that the five of us had applied overnight could have been tedious, but perhaps due to a slight excitement, we felt neither boredom nor physical fatigue. The unwrapping process was also simpler compared to the wrapping.
He left us after dropping us off to meet with gallery representatives from other cities with whom we had collaborated, and the manager was scheduled to arrive three to four hours later after finishing Phantom’s work in Seoul. Therefore, the display was up to the three of us.
The VIP preview opening event was scheduled to begin in five hours. Before that, we had to finish the display, return to the hotel to prepare, and then come back. It wasn’t a generous schedule, but we were confident in our work rhythm by now.
Yooni Noona was in charge of unwrapping, and Juhan Hyung was responsible for displaying the unwrapped pieces. I moved back and forth, helping out wherever needed.
“Those guys are so annoying, I could just die.”
As I handed the thirty-second piece, received from the Noona, to Juhan Hyung, he muttered, glancing at the booth opposite us over my shoulder. I subtly looked back, and well… their situation was quite different from ours.
Unlike our booth, which was cluttered with separated bubble wrap and pieces still wrapped, the staff at the booth opposite were leisurely arranging their display while chatting. At first glance, they had brought only about thirty pieces, so there was no need to rush.
“They can sell their work at a good price in their own country, so there’s no need to bear the cost of airfare, shipping, and staff travel expenses to bring so many pieces all the way here. And they probably brought expensive pieces that would quickly recoup their costs even if only a few sold.”
Yooni Noona said, her hands moving with technical skill as she unwrapped. Her explanation continued.
“Compared to domestic small and medium-sized galleries, we are relatively lucky to participate in overseas art fairs. We’ll have to work hard like this, bringing over a hundred pieces for a few more years. Just watch. One day, I’ll definitely bring only twenty pieces, quickly hang them up, and go out for noodles at ‘Kauki’.”
Despite appearing calm, the Noona also felt competitive towards them, pausing her unwrapping to make a fist in the air. If the Noona said she would do it, it felt like she really would.
“Even so, they’ll have to stay in tiny business hotels and be bothered by tourist noise. Who else at this venue, besides us, will arrive by Phantom from the airport and stay in single rooms at Hotel F? Even large galleries like Perrotin or Gagosian wouldn’t do this much for you. In a way, we are the victors.”
Carefully lifting the next piece, fresh out of its bubble wrap, I moved it towards Hyung. Juhan Hyung, hanging the painting in the spot marked on the pre-prepared diagram, crossed out item number 33 on the list.
“Was the name of that car earlier… Phantom?”
I asked casually while helping the Noona peel off the bubble wrap tape. The Noona didn’t stop her hands but glanced up at me with a smirk.
“Yeah, it’s fun, right? I don’t know if the car Phantom came first or the gallery Phantom, but it seems to be the CEO’s preference. He seems to own about three or four Phantom models. The one in Seoul is called Ghost, a baby Phantom model, but calling it a baby… it’s bigger than most full-size luxury sedans. Although cheaper than a Phantom, it still costs over 400 million won, so if you had to say, it’s like a giant baby?”
Handing me the thirty-fourth piece, the Noona added.
“From what I see, what’s important to the CEO isn’t the price or fame of those cars. It’s the name. Phantom, Ghost… in the end, they’re all ghosts.”
Gallery Phantom.
It was a fitting name, considering his pale blue eyes that seemed as fragile as sea foam and his indifferent, detached aura. I had never thought about why, but his obsession with the meaning of ‘ghost,’ even collecting expensive cars named Phantom and Ghost, didn’t seem like mere collector’s mania.
However, since neither the Noona nor Hyung knew the full story, it was clear that even if I asked, he would just shrug and change the subject.
“So, it seems like you used to stay at the CEO’s apartment when you came on business trips to Hong Kong.”
It felt like a good moment to ask the question that had been on my mind since we were on our way to the hotel.
Juhan Hyung, who had been holding the pen in his mouth, put the cap back on and replied, crossing out item number 34.
“Yeah, that’s right. This is the first time staying at a hotel. His apartment is below Victoria Peak. It’s on a hill, and since it’s high up, the view is killer. He also owns a mansion with a pool not far from there. That house is probably rented out, though. I heard a famous bank rented it for their employees or something.”
Hyung looked down at the Noona as if asking for further explanation, and she continued.
“It’s used as company-provided housing for high-level foreign staff. The monthly rent is something like 20 million won, and the company pays for it. I wonder how much profit that one person generates to be employed at such a cost. Well, it’s a different world, completely unrelated to us.”
The mention of a high-level employee whose monthly rent was paid by the company in the tens of millions of won, as well as the CEO earning tens of millions of won in rental income as the owner of that house, were both worlds apart for me. They felt even more distant precisely because they were people I knew, people within my sphere of life.
Lau Wikun.
From his name alone, I could guess from the start that his nationality was Hong Kong. Through conversations with the manager, Hyung, and Noona, I vaguely knew he was a quarter-blooded mixed-race individual with one Korean parent. I knew he wasn’t born and raised in Seoul, but the information that he was a magnate who owned such wealth in Hong Kong was new.
According to what he said in the car on the way to the hotel, most of his wealth in Hong Kong seemed to be inherited. He was clearly not from an ordinary family.
“It doesn’t belong to the CEO, but it seems to be owned by the CEO’s family. They have a house in Repulse Bay, a very wealthy neighborhood by the sea. It’s a vacation home, and last year, we all spent about three days there together after the art fair, as a sort of vacation. Ah… it was really great.”
Juhan Hyung’s eyes traced the air with a wistful gaze, like an elderly person reminiscing about bygone golden days.
The wealthiest person I had actually known was Morae’s father, Mr. Im. The billions he reportedly earned in a year were numbers that didn’t register with me. It was unreasonable for me to realistically grasp the scale of his wealth.
“What does all this mean?”
Noona suddenly stopped her hands and drew my attention to herself. She answered her own question.
“It means Phantom isn’t a matter of survival for the CEO, but a matter of self-affirmation.”
“……”
“The real estate the CEO owns isn’t all of it. The house and gallery in Seoul are also the CEO’s, but they’re not even considered major assets. To our knowledge, he owns mansions in London’s South Kensington and New York’s Upper East Side, and there might be even more properties owned for investment purposes. So, he didn’t start Phantom just to make a living.”
Noona, who had handed me the thirty-fifth piece, stood up briefly, patting her legs and back as if her body was stiff from crouching for so long.
“In Seoul, he’s a self-made Golden Alpha who rose from the bottom on his own, but in Hong Kong….”
“He’s just a prince, really.”
While Noona searched for the right words, Juhan Hyung delivered the conclusion. Noona frowned slightly, perhaps not liking the expression, but she couldn’t seem to find a more fitting one.
“That’s right, a prince. Though I prefer the CEO in Seoul.”
Juhan Hyung didn’t reply to Noona’s words. Instead, he hung the thirty-fifth piece on the wall with a faint smile, a rare sight. It was an expression of agreement, undoubtedly indicating that Hyung also preferred the CEO in Seoul.
They were two people who were unashamedly honest about their enjoyment of worldly pleasures, like being enthusiastic about luxury cars and not hiding their joy at the chance to stay in luxury hotels, but despite that, they preferred him in Seoul.
While this might seem contradictory at first glance, from my perspective, having spent only a few months with them, I could dare to say that such clashes didn’t feel uncomfortable.
The two were certainly worldly, but in some ways, they were also the ones who most fiercely challenged that worldliness. It seemed contradictory, but undeniably, that was the identity of Baek Yuni and Kwon Juhan.
“Wow, it must be raining heavily in Korea right now. Seoul’s rainfall today is over 60 millimeters?”
Hyung, who had been looking at his phone while waiting for the next piece, spoke with a raised voice. It was news that was hard to imagine given the current, very clear weather in Hong Kong.
“Hey, if you have time to look at your phone, come help me take one off.”
“I wasn’t slacking off, I was checking if the Director could make it onto the plane safely?”
“If only you could keep quiet.”
As they removed the cover of the thirty-sixth large piece, which measured over 7 meters in both width and height, Juhan Hyung grinned and nudged Yooni Noona’s shoulder.
“It’ll still be rainy for a few days after we go back to Korea, but at least we’re avoiding it for a few days, right? Here, the air conditioners are blasting everywhere.”
The two had now returned from discussing real estate in various cities around the world to talking about the joy of being able to avoid the humid monsoon for a few days on this business trip. It was an astonishing sense of balance.
There were about four hours left until the VIP preview event.
■ ■ ■
Our booth wasn’t very large relative to the number of pieces, as we couldn’t pour as much budget into it as the ‘rich galleries’ (in Noona and Hyung’s words).
It also wouldn’t have been feasible to have too large a booth, as Noona and Hyung would have to be almost solely responsible for it, excluding the CEO and the Director who had to be away frequently.
However, the location was quite good. It wasn’t far from the large, experimental sculpture installed in the center, and the distance to the booth opposite was ample.
The Director and he were walking side-by-side down that aisle. They were such a captivating pair that my gaze was drawn to follow their movements, even knowing it might look foolish.
I recalled Juhan Hyung’s exaggerated expression from some time ago, saying he ‘almost prostrated himself upon seeing Shushu the artist in person.’ It wasn’t that level of shock, but it was certainly not an everyday kind of beauty. Even if not enough to prostrate myself, I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the magnetic pull.
As it was a VIP preview, the venue was filled with stylish people in what I perceived as party attire, unfamiliar to me. Hyung, Noona, and I were also wearing neat black outfits prepared in advance and had styled our hair, unlike our usual selves, but we couldn’t compare to the presence of those two.
They were alphas belonging to high society, something I had no contact with during my time in a small fishing village. They were alphas, in the truest sense.
“Director, you look amazing! You’re really exuding your alpha aura after so long!”
It seemed I wasn’t the only one thinking that, as Juhan Hyung, who had rushed to the front of the booth, hugged the Director and made a commotion.
“What’s he like usually? Huh?”
The Director laughed and shook Hyung by the back of his neck. Despite wearing a sharp, knife-cut black two-piece suit, unlike his comfortable everyday attire, his tone and actions were still his usual self.
“You’re stylish even in jeans and a t-shirt, but the coolness of dressing up is something else entirely.”
“Well, that’s true. You do look a bit cool when you occasionally put on a suit, after always wearing ripped jeans and t-shirts.”
With the hand that had been shaking his neck, the Director slung an arm over Hyung’s shoulder and scanned the completed display behind us, his eyes widening.
“Wow… look how capable our kids are. I really didn’t expect you to finish in three hours. We might be able to increase the number of pieces for the next fair?”
“Sigh… I love Phantom, but at this point, I’ll tender my resignation.”
Everyone burst into laughter at Juhan Hyung’s serious jest.
All five of us were pre-dinner, each for their own scheduling reasons. We began to lightly stave off our hunger with food brought over from the buffet tables set up around the venue.
Though I said ‘lightly,’ considering the event’s ticket price of about 4,000 Hong Kong dollars per person, the variety and quality of the food were excellent. To me, the food looked so beautiful it was almost a shame to eat it.
“It’s your first art fair, so it must be overwhelming, right?”
Having only picked at the chicken dish from the in-flight meal, which was all I’d eaten today, I was certainly hungry, but the excitement and tension made me not feel it. I poked at a daintily shaped dim sum with my chopsticks, but he approached me and started a conversation.
He had said he was starving, having not eaten and plastered on a business smile all day, yet he also wasn’t touching much of the food. He just ate a few nuts that Juhan Hyung had brought over and drank champagne.
“It’s a bit overwhelming… but it’s still fun.”
He looked accustomed to such events, and he suited them. Wearing a navy suit made of a material that flowed flexibly along the lines of the body rather than being stiff and angular, he boldly revealed the contours of his firm, well-proportioned body, yet his suit remained dignified and elegant.
Visitors of various ethnicities browsing the booths would pause their gaze on him at least once, and this in turn acted as a draw, pulling them towards our booth.
“The main event starts tomorrow, so it’ll be even more hectic. There will be far more visitors than now, incomparably so. Would you like to look around at some of the pieces beforehand?”
With approximately 200 galleries from 26 countries participating, the venue’s interior area was substantial. That vast space was divided into hundreds of booths, forming a complex maze. Although I had received a floor plan pamphlet, I hesitated to venture out. It wasn’t solely due to the complex layout; I felt a bit intimidated by the entirely new environment – a foreign country, an unfamiliar city, language barriers, everything was a first.
“If it’s because it’s unfamiliar, I can go with you.”
As if sensing my hesitation, he said with a slightly crooked smile. He sometimes smiled like a villain in an anime, and this was one of those times. ‘You don’t want me to go? You want me to stay, get into bed, and sleep with you?’ – It was the same when we slept together.
I nodded without refusing. His eyes, which had been fixed on me while he drank champagne, paused for a moment, then crinkled at the corners as he smiled. This time, it was a smile that seemed to lightly regret his own teasing.
He said I could take as much time as I wanted if I found a piece I liked while browsing like we were taking a stroll, and he walked beside me, matching my pace.
“Do you like the room?”
As we passed by the booth of a gallery from Beijing, which featured primarily East Asian paintings, he asked casually.
“It was my first time in a place like that… I was surprised by how nice the room was. The view was great too. If it weren’t for the CEO’s hospitality, I wouldn’t have had this experience… Thank you for everything.”
“Hmm, it wasn’t out of hospitality.”
I turned back to him, his words a playful murmur to himself. His light blue eyes sparkled.
“It’s full of ulterior motives.”
“……”
“To make Seo Yi-hyun pick up a brush.”
I don’t know what I had expected with the word ‘ulterior motives.’ I quickly lowered my gaze, afraid he might see my disappointment in the seasoned man. But even if he wasn’t in my sight, just him being in my sight felt like it exposed everything I wanted to keep hidden.
Even if it was just my defensive delusion, being relatively much younger than him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was at a disadvantage in front of him.
He rolled up the pamphlet with the floor plan and tapped it on his palm, then changed its direction and tapped it on my shoulder.
“For Seo Yi-hyun, who has to hide, it seems like the best condition. I don’t know who you’re being chased by or why, but if you become an exclusive artist for Phantom, I’ll protect you with all my might. I’m good at that.”
I gave an awkward laugh at his tone, like a child boasting about being able to read and write the alphabet. Although he was deliberately lightening the weight of his words with a casual tone, his words were likely true. Given his methods and shrewdness in running Phantom, he was not someone who would stand by and let his assets be taken.
However, the matter of being chased wasn’t a simple one involving only me, and even if he protected me, it would only be… because I was a valuable artist for investment. Or, at best, it would be a business measure as a handling dealer for a talented artist (as he seemed to think of me).
I don’t expect anything more than that. If there was anything I wanted, it would be for Morae and Hyung’s safety to be guaranteed, not my own safety, which would be merely an appendix to Morae’s father.
I was simply contemplating the true meaning behind his words, ‘I’ll protect you.’ It was dangerous rhetoric.
He was further appealing the benefits of becoming a Phantom artist by stimulating my psychology, which was concerned about safety in my chased situation, but he didn’t force an answer at this point. We had agreed to make the decision after the business trip anyway.
While Shushu, the flagship artist, was a photographer, and there were a few sculptors affiliated, Phantom was fundamentally a gallery focused on painting. However, even I, who had lived in ignorance of art world news, vaguely knew that contemporary art had long since expanded its scope to include installation art, sculptures, and performance art that encouraged audience participation.
Thanks to that, the atmosphere of the venue was quite dynamic and vibrant, rather than being stuffy and authoritarian. Works with humor and individuality predominated over classical and dark pieces. At a glance, that’s how it seemed.
However, I found myself not particularly interested in works other than paintings.
“You don’t seem very interested in recent artists.”
He spoke to me with interest as I stopped in front of a piece depicting a close-up of a woman lying on her side on the floor. Checking the caption, it was a work from 2002.
We had many art books at home, but like a child who only looked at the illustrations when given a book and didn’t read the text, I always just took in the artwork itself, never paying much attention to the artist’s name or the title. Neither my mother nor my father, nor my teacher, had ever tried to teach me about the lineage of artists or art history.
“I… don’t know much about artists.”
“It seems you stop at works by older artists. Artists who were actively working at least in the 1990s. This piece is relatively recent, though.”
“Is that so?”
I turned my head back towards the artwork.
The woman in the painting seemed to be in a painful situation, but strangely, instead of despair, helplessness, or being consumed, I felt a vibrant life force, like a beating heart. However, it was different from hope or dreams, or romantic optimism. It was closer to a warning—that even if someone harmed her, even if it led to her death, they could never dominate her spirit… What I felt there was rather a fanatical struggle. A humanity that bled and was hot-blooded, never abandoning its own self even at the extremes.
Even if I didn’t know the artist’s actual intentions or what drove them to paint it, this was the sentiment I received through the artwork at this moment.
The more I looked, the more it captivated me. I wished I could touch the texture of the hardened paint and vaguely feel the artist’s breath and energy.
“For recent artists to be evaluated solely on their pure artistic value, beyond marketing or gallery power, ten years isn’t even enough these days. The works Seo Yi-hyun is currently interested in are all… works whose value continues to rise even now, more than 20 years later, up to 100 years.”
Feeling his gaze, I looked at him. He was looking at me with eyes that explored an interesting subject. His eyes, looking at me, were shining. They sparkled like waves breaking into tiny pieces under the sunlight. Undeniably beautiful.
“And you seem to prefer quite wild works. Though your personality doesn’t seem like that. Or… maybe it is?”
His low, drawn-out voice, talking about my personality, was drawing private sentiments inward at this moment. His gaze, fixed on me from beneath lowered eyelids as he rubbed his chin with his arms crossed, instantly changed the color of the air between us.
I didn’t know how to respond to his last remark, whether it was asking for an answer or just a monologue.
But his observation that I seemed to prefer wild works might not be wrong. I liked works that revealed themselves as they were, whatever they were. It had always been that way.
The reason was simple. Simply put… because the language they used was similar to my language. Because it was a language I could understand.
As we lingered in front of the paintings, a gallery staff member approached and asked if we wanted more detailed information about the artwork. He politely declined with a smile, and we moved on.
He, who had been following me at my pace, stopped first in front of a piece displayed at the entrance of a gallery from New York. More precisely, it was in front of a piece displayed at the entrance of that booth.
His gaze maintained its usual composure, but it was different in parts. It was closer to a chilling cynicism than objective detachment.
“What do you think of this piece?”
As he asked, he turned to me and quickly changed his expression, smiling playfully. He pointed at the artwork as if knocking on the air and tilted his head, looking at me. His cheerful tone seemed to reveal his twisted psychology in contrast.
I looked at the painting calmly once more.
The canvas, about 4 meters wide and 4 meters high, was an abstract painting with complex curves of various colors intertwined against a deep, blood-red background. However, no matter how hard I tried to concentrate, I could only vaguely sense the colors and atmosphere, rather than a consistent energy or emotion.
Despite using intense colors and arranging large curves that could be quite interesting, it somehow didn’t seem bold.
Because it was trying not to show anything.
It was completely different from what I felt in In-woo Hyung’s paintings, the honest revelation of his own dishonesty. It was trying to hide its dishonesty, and furthermore, to create a fake self with various techniques and devices, presenting it as if it were real.
I checked the caption, wondering if it might offer a hint for appreciating the work. The title was
“I… don’t really understand.”
“……”
His gaze, demanding a more specific explanation, was like that of a teacher hoping his favored disciple would surprise the world by offering a wise answer to a foolish question. Since I couldn’t discern what kind of answer he wanted, I had no choice but to be honest.
“I can see techniques like the color palette and composition… but nothing connects to a message or an impression. I’m not good at explaining things with words… but you can’t really get to know someone just by exchanging greetings, pleasantries, or business-like conversations, right? It feels… like that.”
“You can be more honest.”
He was convinced that I was hiding harsher feelings about this painting. He was urging me to pour out my honest thoughts, all the way to the bottom, without any pretense. Looking at him, his eyes sparkling and a smile on his lips, I hesitated and then spoke.
“It feels like… all form and no substance… like a beautiful bowl and table setting, but with no food to taste and savor… that’s how it feels to me.”
I didn’t want to speak about someone else’s work that way. Even if it was purely my personal impression, having never properly studied painting, and even if the artist wasn’t listening somewhere.
Whether it was a work that revealed the self honestly or not, it was a piece torn from an individual, and if it wasn’t praise, I didn’t particularly want to talk about it.
But contrary to my feelings, he turned completely away from the painting with a very satisfied expression and faced me. His movements were even cheerful. His smile seemed about to overflow. It was the richest smile he had shown, and it was directed at me, not someone else.
What could be making him so happy?
“This makes me feel like I’m treating Seo Yi-hyun like a fortune teller. What do you see in this painting, what do you see in that one?”
Then, he bent his back slightly to match my eye level.
“But. That fortune teller is truly remarkable.”
He was still smiling, but for a moment, I felt a chilling coldness from him. His eyes seemed to intensify with a blue light, as if ice flowers were scattering. The chill wasn’t directed at me, but still, the back of my neck prickled.
My being remarkable meant, in other words, that he completely agreed with my impression of the painting. He was sending a very cold, cynical message towards that painting, towards
“Are you interested in the artwork? Can I help you?”
He and I turned our heads towards the source of the sound. A middle-aged Caucasian man of medium height, with a protruding belly and a receding hairline, spoke to us with a gentle smile.
He was generally kind to everyone. While his beautiful appearance might have played a part, anyone would naturally be friendly to a ‘customer’ who seemed to possess the wealth to purchase whatever they liked on the spot, regardless of what was being sold.
“I personally scouted the artist, so I can confidently recommend them. They are one of the young artists making waves in the New York art scene recently. Mr. would have heard of their name. They are gaining attention for their sensual colors and confident expression. They are a Korean artist in their twenties, and with the current trend of artists of East Asian descent gaining global traction, they are a highly valuable investment. Their style seems like it would suit Mr. very well. Besides this piece, there are two more works by the same artist; would you like to see them?”
The Caucasian man, who initially had a round and friendly impression, had an unusual glint in his eyes upon closer inspection. Despite his relaxed demeanor, the man’s ceaseless stream of words gave us, or rather him, no room to interject. My English skills, learned up to high school, struggled just to keep up with his speech.
Upon seeing the ID card hanging around the man’s neck, which stated he had personally scouted the artist, I noticed the title ‘Director’ attached to a name that seemed ordinary, like those often seen in English-language dramas or movies. He appeared to be someone in a managerial position at the gallery, not just a regular staff member.
“Sensual and confident…”
He turned his body sideways, looking back at the painting, and murmured the man’s words as if savoring them. With his arms crossed, he tapped his cheek with the end of a rolled-up pamphlet. Then, he turned his face back to me.
“Do I suit that painting?”
He asked me in Korean. His face was smiling, but he didn’t hide the impression that he felt considerable insult from what he had heard.
I answered his question by shaking my head.
He smiled and placed his hand on my shoulder. The hand that had gripped my shoulder firmly, as if massaging it, moved to my head, lightly ruffled my hair, and then withdrew.
“……”
The physical contact was completely unexpected. While I was often physically affectionate with Juhan Hyung or Yooni Noona, it had never extended to me before.
Even though we had been ‘Lovers on the Bed’ once, this kind of everyday physical contact felt more awkward than the spontaneous encounter in bed. Until now.
My face flushed as if he had just showered me with passionate kisses in the middle of this event hall. When he turned his upper body towards the Director, I raised my arm and rubbed my face as if to wipe away sweat. However, the air conditioner was running strongly inside, making it slightly cool.
He tilted his head slowly, as if regarding something highly questionable, and cast his gaze back towards the painting.
“Hmm… I’m also in the same industry. Exaggerating and packaging works beyond their actual value is a sales technique I use too, but, well… buying a piece that is clearly going to lose half its value within one to two years for $15,000 would only make the gallery’s judgment questionable.”
The content of his words was almost brutal, but to speak coldly, his tone and expression showed no trace of mockery towards the work, the artist, or the Director who discovered them. He was simply conveying what he felt, ‘without any packaging.’
Within a few months, I had come to understand his way of speaking to some extent. He was particularly direct and never beat around the bush when it came to work. He would sometimes issue instructions to Yooni Noona and Juhan Hyung, excluding emotional considerations, just as he did with me.
He probably considered it inefficient to package and deliver information if the content itself was true.
However, of course, without knowing him well, it was difficult to accept that way of speaking. In the ordinary world, a certain amount of packaging was considered politeness.
The Director was also trying to maintain his composure, but his round, oily face was inevitably contorting.
Unfortunately, I too had to agree with the content of his words.
$15,000, and not in Hong Kong dollars, but US dollars. No matter how much of an amateur I was, there was no doubt that this painting was not worth that much.
The Director, who had approached with a pleasant smile and acted like a snake in the grass, left the front of the painting without a second thought and headed to the next booth, not even offering a simple farewell. He also paid no attention to the man’s sudden change in demeanor.
Hurrying to leave the booth behind him, I glanced back one more time.
Although I had unintentionally criticized someone else’s work harshly, if I were to pick up a brush now, I felt I would end up painting something like that. A painting that couldn’t reveal itself naturally, that denied and fabricated itself.
I was scared. But I didn’t tell him that.
That wasn’t the only residue
Was it a coincidence that he asked for my impression in front of that particular painting, not any other? The bluish chill that burned in his eyes lingered in my mind.
■ ■ ■
“Mr. Rau.”
Just as we were about to turn into the next booth, crossing a hall where an experimental installation piece, using translucent sculptures suspended in the air to show airflow, was exhibited, someone called his name in a very cheerful tone.
It was an East Asian man, about a head and a half shorter than him, with a sharp and capable impression. He immediately responded to the handshake with a business smile.
“It’s someone I worked with in Hong Kong before. I’ll just say hello briefly, so you look around this booth. There will be quite a few works you might be interested in.”
After emphasizing once more that he should stay in this booth and not move elsewhere, he disappeared around the corner with his former colleague. The East Asian man, elegantly dressed in a well-fitting tuxedo suit with a glossy finish, seemed to be leading him to a group of other people who would be happy to see him.
In any case, this was the city where he was born and raised, and where he had worked before moving to Seoul, so it was not strange to meet an acquaintance anywhere.
I hesitated to go into the booth alone and look at the paintings without him, but a staff member inside the booth gave me courage with a slight smile and a greeting, telling me to look around comfortably.
It was a large gallery, and the booth was quite substantial. There were also many visitors. Fortunately, this meant the staff didn’t have the leisure to pay attention to me.
Before I had even looked at a few works, I understood why he had said there would be pieces I might be interested in.
Intensely or palely, overtly or coldly. While the methods of expression differed, the space was filled with works that spoke in a language I could understand.
“It’s a shame it’s already sold for $35 million, isn’t it? If only we had been a little faster, we could have owned it.”
I glanced to the side and saw an unfamiliar face. I gave an awkward smile to the man who spoke to me in a joking tone.
“Ah… I guess he’s a staff member from one of the galleries participating in the fair.”
“Yes.”
“Let’s see… Seoul. Gallery… Phantom.”
The man leaned his upper body back, looked at the ID card hanging around my neck, and read out my affiliation. Then he offered his hand for a handshake. His eye level was similar to mine, but his hand was much larger. I looked down at his hand for a moment before hesitantly shaking it. The sound of a chuckle seemed to see through all my surprise and awkwardness. It wasn’t a mocking laugh.
“This is who I am. I’m affiliated with a gallery in New York, and since I’m from Hong Kong, I know this side well too.”
Holding a champagne glass in one hand, the man took a case out of his jacket pocket with some difficulty and handed me a business card. The simple rectangular card introduced the man’s affiliation in English.
The man looked like he was of mixed East Asian and Western heritage. His facial features and hair had a strong East Asian feel, but his eyes were a deep blue. As I faced that incongruity, the shock of seeing him for the first time came back to me. I thought, perhaps this is what a Golden Alpha is like…
While the man was talking about the painting hanging in front of me, standing there blankly, I didn’t feel any sense of intimidation or unique aura from him, but there was a broad commonality in being of mixed East Asian and Western heritage and having blue eyes.
“We’re having a party hosted by our gallery in SoHo on Sunday. If you’re free, would you like to come with some other staff members? It would be fun if you could come. We can network with other galleries, and if we’re lucky, there might be an opportunity to create some private travel memories…”
As he said this, lowering his voice slightly, a somewhat boisterous group, guided by a staff member, was moving towards the paintings in another section, directly behind him. To avoid them, the man turned and moved closer to me, slightly tilting his chin and looking at me strangely from under his lowered eyelids. Because we were of similar height, the distance was so narrow that I felt my body shrink, as if our noses might brush if I turned my head the wrong way.
“Alpha? Beta?”
Up close, his eyes were completely different. His eyes weren’t this distinct, mineral-like blue, but more precarious and delicate, as if about to disappear… like sea foam, or… yes, like a ghost…
“Seo Yi-hyun.”
The voice calling me from behind made me snap my head up, and I immediately turned around.
He was walking towards me with quick strides from the booth entrance. His eyes, which usually seemed so delicate they might vanish, were now… burning intensely. It was completely different from the coldness he had shown in front of
“Wow… he’s a Golden Alpha just by looking. If I knew you were hanging out with someone like that, I wouldn’t have touched you.”
The man muttered this to himself, shaking his head, and then quickly left, offering a brief greeting that he was glad to have met me.
“What is that?”
Before I could even reply, he stopped in front of me, as if swapping places with the man who had just left, and snatched the business card from my hand.
“It seems to be someone from a gallery in New York… inviting me to a party on Sunday, asking me to come with other staff members…”
I don’t know why I was making excuses, but his stern expression felt like it demanded an explanation.
He examined the business card and then glanced in the direction the man had disappeared. He followed the man’s movements, and I followed his gaze, and suddenly the vanished man’s question came to mind.
The man had asked me if I was an Alpha or a Beta. Omega wasn’t even an option.
“I’ve already been invited to another party on Sunday. So, this won’t be necessary, will it?”
Before I could even lift my head after nodding to say ‘understood,’ he had already crumpled the business card in his hand.
He was the only one who suspected me of being an Omega.
“My schedule with Suki Kim is set for Friday.”
“……”
He said quickly, putting the crumpled business card into his inner jacket pocket without discarding it.
“It would have been nice to meet leisurely on the last day, but it was a last-minute arrangement, so this was the only time I could get.”
“No, it’s fine. Even for 10 minutes… thank you.”
He looked down at me for a moment, then ran a hand down his face from his forehead, sighing.
“Keep it a secret from the kids. If they hear I’m meeting Suki Kim, they’ll all want to come along.”
As I nodded, his gaze towards me became a little calmer. He scanned my face, as if checking my safety, then let out a low curse, the object of which was unclear, and averted his eyes.
The works I saw afterward didn’t register well. My mind was entirely occupied with the thought of meeting Teacher Suki Kim.
I had decided to come here after he said he would arrange a meeting with Teacher Suki Kim, but it hadn’t felt real until now. Now, the excitement felt somewhat tangible, as if my feet were hovering an inch off the ground.
He seemed amazing all over again. Not just his ability to arrange a meeting with Teacher Suki Kim, but his persistence in making me paint, willingly enduring such troublesome processes… that unwavering determination itself was astonishing.
He had confidence in me, an outsider, but it was different in nature from the confidence Grandfather had in Hyung’s life, or Mr. Im had in Morae’s life.
Did he trust his intuition to that extent? Even though what I could paint now would only be a decorated fake, like something painted by the artist ‘SEONEW’?
After circling the venue, he returned to our booth and, seeming quite thirsty, downed a glass of champagne. Then, he picked up a few nuts and tossed them into his mouth like popcorn before pushing the plate away.
“Ah, someone get this out of here. I don’t even like this stuff, but when it’s in front of me, I keep eating it.”
“I put them here to snack on when I get sleepy. Unlike other booths, that booth spent three hours doing heavy labor unwrapping bubble wrap.”
“Hmm, as far as I know, that particular booth, unlike all the others, is staying at the F Hotel.”
“Damn it. I have nothing to say.”
He was back to his usual self, exchanging jokes with Juhan Hyung.
■ ■ ■
I looked down at the phone in my hand, for what felt like the hundredth time, let out a long sigh, and set the phone down beside me. To distract myself even a little from the call, I got up from the bed and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window.
From Tsim Sha Tsui at the western tip of the peninsula to Kowloon Bay in the east, it all unfolded before me without obstruction.
When people talk about Hong Kong’s night view, the most famous is usually the panorama overlooking the entire city from Victoria Peak, followed by the view of the main island, densely packed with high-rise buildings, seen from the peninsula. My sister and brother told me so, but for me, the scenery before my eyes was enough.
The buildings that extended almost to the harbor, and the lights illuminating the edge of the port, were different from the harbor view I used to see from the slope of Grandfather’s house, and different from the Seoul night view I looked down upon from the rooftop deck.
It felt like proof that I had come to a place so far away, a place completely unplanned in my life, and was exposed to a completely unfamiliar situation.
This room was the same. Even after staying here for two nights, it still felt strange and awkward, as if I had been invited into someone else’s dream.
In just a few months, my environment had changed multiple times, the people I associated with had changed, and unexpected events and experiences had piled up… and now I had drifted all the way to this unfamiliar city. It was hard to believe that all that journey was actually my past. It felt as unreal as the Hong Kong night view seen through thick glass.
―♬
I turned around.
Unlike usual, the phone, set to my ringtone, was emitting light from the bed, playing a monotonous tune. My heart vibrated in response, and I knew this was not someone else’s dream. Goosebumps spread across my entire body, from my back down to my armpits and sides. The body’s reaction was perhaps the most vivid sense of reality.
At least for this moment, even if it were a dream, it was my dream.
“…Yes.”
[Come down. I’m at the main entrance.]
His voice was no different than usual.
That was all the call entailed.
Taking a deep breath, I left the room.
I quickly crossed the elegant hallway decorated with beige marble, the elevator hall, and the grand lobby where elegantly dressed people came and went, and I ran my hand down my arm, exposed below my short sleeves.
Stopping at the main entrance, I scanned left and right to find him or his car, when one of the doormen approached and guided me, saying, ‘Mr. Rau is waiting.’
Waiting in front of the hotel entrance was a different car than the one I had taken from the airport to the hotel. It was much smaller, but it was also a luxury vehicle.
He was in the back seat, which the doorman opened for me. He, seated further inside, tilted his head slightly as if to say, ‘Get in.’ I awkwardly climbed into the back seat, the doorman closed the door, and the car, waiting with its hazard lights on, began to move smoothly. Unlike the ‘Phantom’ he had driven himself last time, this car had the steering wheel on the right side, suited for Hong Kong’s road conditions, and a unfamiliar middle-aged man was at the wheel.
“You’ll end up drinking when you meet those guys anyway. He’s the one who’ll be driving today.”
“Yes…”
As if sensing my unfamiliarity, he introduced the driver. I greeted him briefly in English, and the driver, with a gentle expression, glanced back and nodded in response.
Yooni Noona and Juhan Hyung had gone out to enjoy Hong Kong’s Friday night, getting ready as soon as they returned to the hotel. I had told them I would rest a bit longer at the hotel and contact them later. His plan was for me to join them after meeting the Teacher.
“Did you eat anything in the room?”
He chuckled, perhaps amused by my hesitant demeanor as I greeted the driver, and asked. He was fiddling with a camera. It was a small camera, fitting snugly in his hand.
He had told us to use room service for anything we needed during our stay, but I wasn’t in a state to swallow food. I didn’t feel hungry either. I fiddled with the zipper of the bag I had placed beside my thigh and shook my head.
“There’s no need to be so nervous. They’ll be very welcoming.”
His words, which offered some reassurance, were appreciated. I slowly nodded. His gaze lingered on my hand fiddling with the zipper. It was a look that seemed to say, ‘Don’t be nervous,’ as if he might even hold my hand tight… but that didn’t happen.
Leaving the hotel entrance, the car passed in front of a large shopping mall and began to ascend a narrow slope into the SoHo area. It was a street I had wanted to visit for so long, but it didn’t register with me now.
“When you meet them… what do you want to do?”
“Ah…”
I turned my gaze, which had been aimlessly fixed on the window, back to him. After a dazed, low exclamation, what I said was unconvincing.
“Should I have thought about what I wanted to say in advance?”
He, who had been leaning his elbow on the window and resting his head, looking towards me, shook his head and sat up straight.
“No, it won’t matter. As I said before, he’s someone who makes people feel comfortable. Unlike me. Regardless of any prejudice, it’s true that he’s quite a rare personality for an artist.”
As he spoke, he took out a pack of cigarettes from the drawer in the armrest between us. Then, he glanced out the window, put the cigarette back in its place, and instead, hung the long strap of the camera around his neck.
The car slowed down on the bustling streets of SoHo.
SoHo on a Friday night, a mix of people of various ethnicities, was alive with music spilling from numerous pubs and the already excited laughter and shouts of people.
We got out in front of a building located on a corner, with a steep slope between it and the building opposite. A cafe with a small terrace was on the first floor, and at the terrace tables, a group of about five people, a mix of Westerners and Asians, were cheerfully chatting while drinking bottled beer.
“This way.”
As I wondered if I was really going to meet the Teacher in a place like this, he led the way towards the stairs leading to the second floor. Instead of calling someone, he unlocked the door lock installed at the entrance of the stairs himself. Like most buildings in SoHo, the exterior was old and worn, but the interior was quite modern and minimalist.
Climbing the stairs, which I was hesitant to even step on, I reached a white door. Entering the interior, following him, the entire space was white. White tiled floor, white ceiling, white walls. In the center, a white table and chairs were placed quietly.
It reminded me of the first time I stepped into Phantom. But it was far from the strictness that demanded cleanliness and purity, as if not a speck of dust should dare to settle.
Just a few steps away, the entire street was buzzing, but this space was filled with the light of midday. It was a white that evoked the warm, bright light that illuminated the living room of the old apartment where I lived with my mother and father.
“This is…”
“Suki Kim’s studio.”
“……”
“Sit down and wait for a moment. He’ll be out soon.”
I had expected to meet him at an external venue he had prepared, like a restaurant, but I had never imagined he would grant access to the studio of someone like me, an outsider.
Just the realization that I was in the Teacher’s studio made my palms sweat, and he, having dropped a bomb on me, calmly disappeared down the hallway behind.
He told me to sit, but I only placed my bag on the table and stood frozen, facing the direction he had disappeared.
The sound of a door opening and closing, the footsteps of two people, the sound of everyday conversation, lightly complaining and making excuses about something, grew closer. And then, from the end of the hallway, he and the Teacher appeared.
“Welcome. It’s nice to meet you.”
He was taller than I had expected from his photos… I couldn’t think of anything else. I was so disbelieving of the situation that I couldn’t take my eyes off him until the Teacher approached and offered his hand for a handshake. Worried that it might seem rude, I quickly lowered my gaze and clasped the hand the Teacher extended.
It was a thin, gaunt, neat, and warm hand.
“I’ve been waiting, having heard from Awi.”
The Teacher, pointing to him standing a step behind me, said this, then turned his upper body to look at him.
“Ah, in Korea, you’re called Kun, aren’t you?”
As if it didn’t matter much what he was called, he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and shrugged. They seemed to have a much friendlier relationship than I had anticipated.
“In Hong Kong, they take one character from a name and add ‘A’ to the front to create a nickname.”
The Teacher explained, turning back to me.
A small curiosity was unexpectedly satisfied.
Although most people called him ‘Kun,’ I remembered Shushu calling him a different name on the VIP event day. It was definitely ‘Awi.’
If they had spent their student days together in Hong Kong, it wouldn’t be strange for him to be called by a Hong Kong-style nickname. It might not be a nickname used by lovers or similar partners, as if to flaunt a special relationship…
“The art fair must be tough, right? So hectic. You must be working hard.”
The Teacher lightly touched my arm as if to encourage me. The atmosphere was friendly, as if they had always chatted like this. I felt no wariness, no sensitivity, none of the peculiar eccentricities sometimes seen in masters.
“By the way, Shushu’s work is getting better and better, isn’t it? I saw the article in one of the art magazines here about the ‘Body to Soul’ exhibition, and I really enjoyed it.”
“Today, I signed an exhibition contract with a gallery in Chicago. I’ll be taking all of Shushu’s Phantom-owned works that were brought to the fair to Chicago. Once they’re hung in Chicago, sales will follow in no time.”
He, who had been fiddling with the camera around his neck and staying somewhat out of the conversation until then, said this, leaning back against the table. His tone wasn’t excited, but he didn’t try to hide the faint smile at the corner of his lips.
Dressed in a collared t-shirt, jeans, and loafers, he looked much more casual and younger than usual today. His relaxed posture compared to when he wore a suit, and the small camera around his neck, which looked like a toy compared to his build, contributed to this.
“Quite confident, aren’t we.”
The Teacher playfully made a mischievous face towards me, teasing him.
“The works are increasingly incorporating Eastern elements, so they’ll probably be a sensation there. If I make a brief appearance at the opening event, it’ll create even more buzz. It would be even better if a few interviews were conducted.”
His statement was unexpected.
I knew he was a dealer who couldn’t judge works solely on aesthetic value, and an owner with a sometimes ruthlessly pragmatic business acumen when it came to marketing, but for some reason, I had thought Shushu would be an exception.
The way he created buzz through the artist’s attractive appearance or non-work-related elements was merely a tactic to boost Shushu’s reputation and the value of his work, not a sign that he treated Shushu’s work as a means rather than an end. There was no doubt that he cherished Shushu’s work. Nevertheless, his statement surprised me.
“Oh my, your marketing is still aggressive.”
The Teacher, this time, widened his eyes and slightly shook his head towards me, as if seeking my agreement. I could sense that he didn’t fully agree with his method, but he didn’t show any more serious opposition.
“We can’t just stand here forever… I’m not very good with words, so… I don’t have anything particularly good to say. If you don’t mind, would you like to look around the studio slowly?”
Clapping his hands together, the Teacher shifted the attention. At the unexpected suggestion, I unconsciously looked for him with my eyes. He nodded, indicating it was fine.
“…It would be an honor.”
“An honor, you say.”
The Teacher laughed, patting my shoulder.
Leaving him in the hall, where no potted plants or paintings were displayed, the Teacher and I headed towards the hallway from which he and the Teacher had appeared earlier. My heart was numb with tension and trembling, but the Teacher opened the studio door without hesitation, as if opening it for a long-lost friend.
The studio, like the hall, was entirely white, but as expected of a space for painting, traces of handprints and ink were naturally left in every corner.
I might not know much about art history or the lineage of painters, but I did about the Teacher.
Having gone through various styles during his long career, the Teacher had been focusing solely on traditional Eastern painting using only ink for about three years. As a result, the studio was filled with the heavy scent of ink.
I couldn’t fathom the meaning of a professional artist, especially a recognized master, revealing their studio. However, I still remembered the jealous sense of Alienation that my parents’ shared studio had evoked in me when I was young.
That space, where my mother drew comics and my father painted in oils, felt like a secret realm that only they could share and fully understand each other.
In the living room or at the dining table, my parents were my parents, and I felt them very close, but the moment they entered the studio, I felt excluded from their world, which made me anxious as a child.
It was their space, and it meant more than just a space.
While the meaning of a studio varies for each artist, for painters who pour themselves into their work, it is at least a space to confront themselves. The fact that I had stepped into such a private, even secret, inner sanctum of the Teacher felt special in itself.
The geographical sense of being in Hong Kong also became meaningless. Come to think of it, the clamor of the bustling street was completely blocked out.
“There’s not much to see, is there? I don’t really work with a wide variety of materials, so, well… I just work like this.”
“Coffee, is that okay?” — I thanked the Teacher, who asked and offered me a mug, and accepted the cup.
“Should I have given it to you iced? When you drink iced at this temperature, your body temperature drops, so I always drink it warm.”
“No, thank you. I’ll enjoy it.”
The scent of coffee mingled with the scent of ink in the room where the ceiling-mounted air conditioner was running softly. Sipping the coffee, I carefully continued to look around the room.
Perhaps the finished works were stored in another room, as the only paintings in the room were a large landscape painting that appeared to be currently in progress and a portrait hanging on the opposite wall.
Even if you hide your head in Mount Tai, a dragon is still a dragon.
Despite being unfinished, the Teacher’s landscape painting was overwhelming. It possessed a bold spirit and a magnanimous tolerance that could embrace the world, something only a master who had poured their very bones and flesh into their paintings throughout their life could display without pretension or boasting. It was so powerful that I got goosebumps the moment I entered the room.
However, strangely, what captured my attention more was the painting on the sofa opposite.
The portrait, painted with colored ink like a watercolor, had blurred lines, making it appear innocent, as if drawn by a child. But it was clearly the Teacher’s work.
“Do you like it?”
As if sensing my gaze, the Teacher turned and asked, looking at the painting. Holding the mug with both hands, feeling the warmth of the coffee, I nodded.
“I thought I knew almost all of your works… but I’ve never seen this one before.”
My lips trembled slightly as I answered.
The Teacher placed the mug on the table in front of the sofa and took the painting down from the wall. It was about an 8-k size, not very large.
“Take this painting.”
“……”
I was so surprised that I couldn’t react. My eyes widened as I fixed my gaze on the Teacher.
“Ah, no. Really, no. I can’t do that.”
My senses finally returned, I placed the mug on the table and actively waved my hands. The monetary value of the Teacher’s work inevitably came to mind. I didn’t want to think of it this way, but I couldn’t accept such an expensive gift.
The Teacher approached the shelf by the window with the artwork and said.
“Seo Yi-hyun, you’re not good with words either, are you?”
“…….”
My steps, which had been following, halted at the question that came from an unexpected direction. The Teacher wasn’t talking about what people commonly call eloquence or social skills. It was about what language was most comfortable for me, something a person meeting me for the first time wouldn’t know.
“I’m not either. So, please accept this as a letter or a card I’m giving to Seo Yi-hyun.”
My open mouth just kept agape.
“But, I can’t….”
I mumbled, my arms hanging limply. Now, when I wasn’t painting, I felt even less deserving of receiving that artwork.
The Teacher, having placed the painting on the shelf, turned towards me.
“That painting.”
“…….”
“For Awi,
“…….”
Once, at the fact that the Teacher remembered
And again, at the fact that the painting held meaning as comfort for him.
The Teacher’s brief sentence made me falter.
Did he like that painting,
“‘Shall I make you forget everything?’ he asked, climbing onto the bed.”
I didn’t refuse him, and after the pleasure that felt like my hazy mind was being stirred, I was able to forget everything, just as he said, and sink into a deep sleep.
If that deep rest was the answer he wanted to give me, then it could be interpreted as him liking the painting. But that was merely my conjecture.
I hadn’t expected to hear a direct answer through words here, from the Teacher.
“Awi grew up seeing many excellent artworks, and as a gallery owner and a private collector, he owns valuable pieces, but the work that has shaken him the most until now is probably
Leaning against the shelf behind him, the Teacher crossed his arms as if to embrace himself.
“When
These were unbelievable stories. For me, who had to endure considerable tension just by meeting the Teacher… these were stories beyond what I could handle. Yet, I couldn’t stop listening.
“Seo Yi-hyun, you appealed your emotions to the world, and people who speak the same language understood and responded. Awi isn’t a painter, but he is more sensitive to the language within paintings than anyone else. That’s probably why he’s working in the gallery business now. Even though he sometimes pretends to look at art solely based on its economic value.”
At that point, the Teacher let out a soft chuckle. That loose smile seemed to overlap with someone’s lips.
The Teacher’s gaze, which had been looking down at the floor diagonally, turned back to me.
“Seo Yi-hyun’s painting functioned as an understandable language for at least one person. It gave them empathy, the feeling that they weren’t alone in feeling alienated for reasons that weren’t universal… reasons that even family or… parents couldn’t provide… empathy for ‘alienation’.”
Empathy for ‘alienation’.
That was the feeling I had experienced from Suki Kim’s review.
Under two parents who were a couple maintaining a good relationship and were understanding, I was supposed to be a perfectly happy child. Many people around me, even my friends, would say it as if it were my duty.
It’s not that I didn’t love them. Rather, they were more precious than anything, I loved them, and for me, who wasn’t very outgoing, they were like my closest friends even before that accident happened.
I was happy. But it just wasn’t the perfect happiness that people imposed on me. I don’t know if perfect happiness even exists, or what form it would take if it did.
For my mother, my father was first priority; for my father, my mother was. They needed each other to live as themselves. Sometimes, I envied friends who had parents living for their children. Very occasionally.
There was a bond between them that I could never wedge myself into. And that was probably… the most important element in their lives. They were people who spoke the same language, and they were the only two people in the world who spoke that language.
Alienation felt for such non-universal reasons is something no one understands. So I painted it.
Through that painting, someone other than the Teacher shared the same emotion… and the fact that it was Lau Wikun, of all people, felt, suddenly, like the final destination that had been waiting at the end of all my journeys.
For reasons I couldn’t explain precisely, a warm dampness welled up behind my eyes. I didn’t know. I could only call it an unknown reason for now. I tightened my grip on my arms, clenching my fists, holding back tears firmly. Revealing emotions isn’t necessarily weakness, but I didn’t want to be sentimental at this moment.
The Teacher released his arms, straightened up from the shelf, and approached me. Then, placing his hands on my shoulders, he smiled and looked deeply into my face.
“Please accept this as an expression of gratitude for that.”
Wasn’t the Teacher his mother?
There had been a suspicion, based on the atmosphere between them, and as I listened to the Teacher’s story, that suspicion grew closer to certainty. It seemed unlikely that someone other than family or parents would know about his alienation, which even family or parents couldn’t fully empathize with. He wasn’t the type to share his solitude with others.
Like a childhood mentor, the Teacher gently cupped my cheek once before letting go and returned to the shelf to begin wrapping the painting.
“A long time ago… when I thought there was something more important than painting, and that I had to give up painting for a while for that, I stopped painting for about two years. Naturally, a slump followed when I wasn’t painting. This is a painting I made at the end of that slump, a kind of diary I never intended to show the world.”
As he wrapped the painting in paper with a texture similar to hanji and tied it with twine, the Teacher’s hands slowed for a moment. Then he looked up at the window, which framed the Hong Kong landscape horizontally like a long picture frame along the wall.
“I thought something had died inside me, and that’s why I couldn’t paint anymore… but one day, I thought maybe I had died because I wasn’t painting anymore…”
The Teacher, having tied the twine in a tight knot, stood before me again with the painting. He handed it to me and smiled.
“Not being able to be myself without painting… that’s probably what it means.”
He apologized for not being able to give me more time, but it was unbelievable that after only about 30 minutes of shared time, the experience I had seen, heard, and felt within it had already overflowed far beyond what I had expected or prepared for.
After a brief hug and bidding farewell to the Teacher, as I descended the stairs with him and stepped back out into the noisy street, I felt dazed, as if I had passed through a boundary separating dimensions. My senses couldn’t keep up with the speed of the experience. It was a state similar to when I woke up in his bed after hyperventilating.
“Are you okay?”
I slowly raised my head at his voice. There were eyes looking down at me with concern from a slightly higher position. The fact that he was looking at me with concern felt new.
No, it wasn’t something new.
He was the one who had comforted me when I was unable to regain my senses, hyperventilating, in a moment I didn’t even remember. When I finally regained my composure and returned to the living room from his bedroom, the painting was already gone. He had deliberately removed it, thinking it might be the cause of the episode. According to the Teacher, that painting, which he cherished to the point of obsession.
I had already known long ago that the initial hostile wariness wasn’t his only consistent and stubborn way of dealing with others. Even when he treated Phantom members or In-woo Hyung coldly, that wasn’t all of him.
How did I cling to him? How did he soothe, manage, change my clothes, and lay me in bed, facing someone who desperately clung to him as if dying, even while knowing they wouldn’t die?
What was his alienation? What kind of alienation made him empathize with
After meeting the Teacher, I thought I would only think of the Teacher, but unexpectedly, I only thought of him.
“You seem to have expended a lot of energy… I’ll take you to a hotel if you want to rest. I’ll make up a reasonable excuse to them.”
It was as he said. I hadn’t physically struggled with the Teacher, but I felt like all the moisture in my body had drained away, leaving me limp.
But, why? I didn’t want to be separated from him.
Although I felt weak, excitement also surged. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep easily even if I returned to the hotel. I met his gaze and shook my head.
Why? A hint of bewilderment flashed in his eyes as he looked at me. It wasn’t bewilderment that I was inconvenienced by not going to the hotel, or that I should go to the hotel. It was eyes that revealed emotions without self-control, like when he crumpled the business card he took from me. But it didn’t last long.
“Alright, then. Get in the car.”
He didn’t try to persuade me further.
He quickly averted his gaze, as if shattering himself for a moment, and brushed past me. Then, opening the rear door, he gestured with his eyes for me to get in. I got into the car, following the faint scent that momentarily bloomed from his shoulder.
■ ■ ■
It was a local restaurant with a sign in bold, golden Hanja characters.
As he and I entered, several people were having a late meal at tables lined up along a narrow corridor to the right. Unlike the grandeur of the sign, the interior was simple and friendly. It was a popular Hong Kong eatery, good for a casual meal.
Going deeper inside, my Noona and Hyung were at a corner table, placed diagonally in a diamond shape, as if they had made an effort to look nice. My face brightened reflexively. I wasn’t wandering alone in an unfamiliar place, but these were faces I was glad to see again after being separated for only a few hours in a strange city.
“Oh? What is it? Why are you two coming together?”
Joo-han Hyung, who was sitting facing the corridor, was the first to wave enthusiastically and acknowledge us. Like those who had fully prepared to enjoy Hong Kong’s Friday night, both of them looked more energetic than usual.
“I heard your condition improved, so I stopped by the hotel to pick you up.”
He replied, perching on a worn wooden chair without a backrest. Since Noona and Hyung were sitting facing each other at a square table, he and I took seats opposite each other.
“Right, you were really looking forward to exploring Soho. You can’t miss Soho on a Friday night.”
I smiled back at Hyung, who patted my back and grinned. The mention of looking forward to exploring Soho made me feel a little shy in front of him, but it was true.
“It was so cute how someone who doesn’t express what he wants to do well was looking up various things on his phone.”
Yooni Noona joined in, giggling as she pinched my cheek gently. This time, I felt more conscious of him. I really didn’t want him to know I was so excitedly looking forward to it.
Pretending not to notice his gaze, which flickered over to me with a look that seemed to say, ‘Is that so?’, I rubbed the spot Noona had pinched with my palm, even though it didn’t hurt.
“Let’s eat something too. I haven’t had dinner yet.”
Saying that, he called for someone before I could reply and spoke with the staff (naturally) in fluent Cantonese. It seemed like a familiar restaurant, as the order was placed without looking at the menu.
He seemed like a different person when speaking Cantonese, which was fascinating. I had heard him speak several languages on the phone with Phantom, but seeing him converse with a local in person was entirely different.
“The wontons will be soft and easy to eat.”
Suddenly, his gaze turned to me. Startled, I was blankly staring at him and nervously glanced at Noona next to me.
I still didn’t have much appetite, but thinking he might have been concerned that I hadn’t eaten anything at the hotel, I nodded belatedly.
“Representative, please order one more wonton noodle soup for me.”
Joo-han Hyung called out urgently, picking up the last strand of noodles left.
“I’ll have milk tea.”
This time, it was Yooni Noona’s request. He looked at the two of them alternately, then finally looked down at the empty bowls piled on the table and let out a light sigh.
“Yes, we must treat our staff who work hard day and night. I’ll gladly buy them meals.”
After the staff member who took the order left with the empty bowls, he crossed his legs, adjusted his posture, and suddenly looked at Noona with narrowed eyes.
“Why. Why are you looking at me with such an ominous smile again?”
Noona, with the straw of her nearly finished milk tea in her lips, smiled with a playful face.
“Honestly, I love Hong Kong so much I could live here, but I don’t find Cantonese particularly charming as a language?”
“…….”
“But when Representative speaks Cantonese, it’s a bit sexy. Maybe because it’s a side I don’t usually see.”
My entire impression of Cantonese and Hong Kong was based on a few old Hong Kong movies, but if I remembered correctly, the characters in those movies exchanged noisy conversations with rather strong accents. However, his Cantonese was calm and comfortable. I wanted to hear more of the unfamiliar language spoken by his slightly husky, low voice. Perhaps that was… sexiness. Many people would think so.
“The content is a compliment, but why is the smile so ominous?”
“It’s just funny that I find Representative sexy, out of the blue.”
Gnawing on the end of the straw, Noona kept grinning. Her use of the word ‘sexy’ didn’t carry any sexual connotation. It was the novelty of discovering an attraction as an objective entity in someone she considered family. He also accepted the compliment without assigning any weight to it. Perhaps it was because it was such a familiar compliment.
Shaking his head as if he couldn’t stop her, he raised the camera hanging around his neck and pressed the shutter towards Noona’s mischievous smile. Just like in his garden, Noona wasn’t awkward at all with the camera suddenly pointed at her.
“Why did you buy so much again?”
He said in surprise, lowering his head to check the photo on the LCD screen.
“It’s Old Future’s new arrivals. We swept them up again.”
Though I had glimpsed it when we sat down, looking properly, the shopping bags hidden beneath the colorful floral tablecloth clearly numbered over ten. It seemed that during their precious free time, instead of eating, drinking, or spending personal time, the two of them had been busy working for Old Future.
“You’re amazing. Where does that energy come from? Are you taking tonics?”
Noona and Hyung burst into laughter at his genuinely surprised expression.
Amidst the familiar faces under the bright fluorescent lights, their conversation, and the rich smell of food, my dazed senses were gradually regaining a sense of reality.
“We prepared everything today… to properly set up our Seo Yi-hyun.”
Putting down her milk tea cup, Noona rummaged through one of the shopping bags under the table and pulled out a t-shirt. It was a striped knit t-shirt. She held the t-shirt up to my face, checking if it suited me.
“Noona, this… I, I can’t accept it. I can’t take it.”
“Hey, who said it’s free? You can pay for it when it’s updated on Old Future later,” Joo-han Hyung said, finishing the last bite of his wonton noodles.
“Yeah, we’re forcing you to buy it now. So don’t refuse, Yi-hyun.”
Noona said, pushing my hand away. I knew they were saying this deliberately to make me feel more comfortable. Whether I paid for it or not, the fact that they had thought of me even while being so tired and busy was gratitude enough.
“The moment I saw it, I knew it was yours. I couldn’t not buy it.”
This time, I couldn’t refuse Noona’s hand as she held the t-shirt against my chest again.
The knit, loosely woven with thin threads, was oversized with a loose neckline, giving the overall impression of drooping downwards. It felt too fashionable for me to wear, unless someone like Joo-han Hyung were to put it on, but I had absolute faith in Noona’s taste.
“It’s pretty, but… won’t it be a bit hot?”
He said, raising his camera to eye level. I subtly turned my head towards Noona, wondering if the lens might be pointed this way.
“Wherever we go, the air conditioner is blasting, so it’s fine. And it’s thinner than you think, with a loose weave, so air passes right through. Look at this.”
Noona threaded her fingers between the knots to show me. It wasn’t so sheer that you could see everything, but the weave was loose enough to see through if you tried.
“Hmm… isn’t it a bit risqué?”
“……”
My gaze involuntarily turned towards him, and click, the shutter sounded in an instant. My ears instantly grew hot, perhaps from the shyness of not being used to cameras, or perhaps from his remark about it being risqué.
Hyung, having finished all the bowls of noodles, tossed the last remaining fish ball into his mouth as if he had no interest in the current situation, and Noona stared at him silently.
“Why again this time?”
“Are you thinking that while looking at Hyun-i? You’re a total beast.”
While criticizing him with an expression of injustice, Noona unfolded the knit tee and covered my face. I resented my own immaturity, getting heated so easily even with such a light, meaningless prank. I wanted to handle myself and the situation more… skillfully and calmly, but all I could do was shut my mouth as my best defense.
Just then, the newly ordered dishes were laid out on the table, and thanks to that, the topic naturally shifted.
“Representative, you brought the driver, right? After we eat, could you ask him to call a car for a moment when we leave? We need to load this into the car and move.”
As he cut the newly arrived wonton noodles with his teeth, Joo-han Hyung looked up at him. In Seoul, he always seemed to drive himself, but in Hong Kong, it seemed common for someone else to drive his car.
“Yes, understood. Kwon Joo-han.”
He lightly tapped Hyung’s forehead with the back of his wooden chopsticks and picked up a dim sum from the center, casually placing it onto the plate in front of me. His eyes and mouth were still fixed on Hyung.
“The condition is that we must return to the hotel by 12 o’clock. The fair still has two days left.”
“Hey, of course. Why are you acting like a rookie? We don’t have time, so we need to get drunk first. We’re starting with tequila for the first round!”
■ ■ ■
The intersection where vehicles descending from the park famous for its monkeys, vehicles coming up from the main street of Central via Ice House Street, and vehicles that passed through Soho along Hollywood Road met was overflowing with crowds.
After leaving the restaurant, we had drunk tequila at a bar for about an hour, and now we were lost in the crowd, searching for a suitable pub for our second round, wandering through Soho Street.
While I drank three or four glasses of tequila, and the other three drank about twice that amount, the number of people had increased so rapidly that there wasn’t a single table for four available for us anywhere we went.
However, I didn’t get bored, enjoying the exotic scenery and watching the diverse people.
The signs hanging towards the street in a different language and style than Seoul, the narrow and dilapidated but distinctive buildings that seemed to hold their own history and stories, the luxury cars lined up on roads that were far too narrow compared to the area’s prosperity due to modernization long ago, and the red taxis with their retro, angular designs that stood in contrast and played a significant role in creating Hong Kong’s unique landscape. People drinking beer on the street and chatting with their companions, or swaying to the music spilling out from pubs and clubs in the middle of the road…
Everywhere my gaze landed was filled with unfamiliarity and vibrancy.
Perhaps it was because we had drunk three or four glasses of tequila at a place that was more like a club than just a bar, but the rhythm of my heart was different from usual. I felt excited and couldn’t help but laugh for no reason, giggling whenever I met Hyung or Noona’s eyes.
It wasn’t just us; everyone passing by seemed that way. There were no serious or gloomy faces anywhere. If you peeled back just one layer, everyone would likely be carrying their own worries and burdens about daily life and existence, but in this time and space, it was as if everyone had agreed to numb their awareness of problems.
In truth, such a flashy street, filled with people and noise, didn’t suit me. If I had to live by going to places like this every day, I wouldn’t be confident at all. But here, I was an observer, not a resident. I was someone who would taste a foreign culture briefly and then return to my original place.
My identity as an outsider, with my real life separated elsewhere, was actually providing me with the emotional basis to blend into this space without feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps that was the charm of travel, or the thrill of escapism, that people talked about.
Normally, after leaving Suki Kim Teacher’s studio, I would have tried to process the shock by quietly locking myself in my hotel room and replaying conversations and impressions. But now, I was putting that aside and following my impulses.
I wanted to be where he was.
I wanted to talk to him about
Wherever that led me, at least, it felt like it would be better than when I was afraid of making choices and moving.
It had been like that from the beginning.
When I was with him, my peace would be disturbed, my emotions would fluctuate and twist, and sharp edges would sometimes emerge. Now… I wanted to expose myself to that kind of stimulation more. I wanted change now, and he was someone who drew out unexpected sides of me.
On our third pass by a pub next to a hamburger joint, we managed to snag a table just as one group was getting up to leave.
It was the outermost seat facing the street, with the entire folding door opened wide, allowing us to fully enjoy the street’s atmosphere. We were lucky.
“What, Seo Yi-hyun. Are you really drunk?”
Noona bent her back and laughed at me, as I slowly fumbled, unable to get onto the high stool in one go. Looking at Noona, I burst out laughing too. We were all a little strange right now. Well… except for one person.
“Be careful. The stools are high, and if you fall, you’ll get seriously hurt. I’ve seen many people break their noses drinking in places like this.”
He, who had already taken his seat, firmly gripped my left arm as if to support me. Leaning on his arm to some extent, I managed to settle onto the stool.
Despite drinking much more than me, he was perfectly fine. Although he was matching the energy of Noona and Hyung, there was no sign of intoxication in his face or voice. I had wanted to see him drunk, but now that he and I had started drinking together, it seemed impossible to see him drunk before me.
Noona and Hyung, without even sitting down, were back to dancing by the table. They had joined the people dancing in the hall, each holding a bottle of beer. The foreigners around them burst into laughter and pointed their phone cameras at Joo-han Hyung’s comical gestures mixed with his dancing. Just like at the bar earlier, his sociability was incredible.
Leaving the two who seemed to have no intention of sitting down anytime soon, he ordered drinks for himself and recommended a Brooklyn-brewed beer, saying it would suit me well.
“Representative, you seem to know everything.”
He looked back at me, raising his eyebrows as if asking what I meant.
We sat side-by-side at the high, narrow, round table, with the seats where Noona and Hyung had thrown their bags in front of us. In truth, there was almost no gap between him and me. It was difficult to change our posture slightly without our knees and upper arms brushing.
I chuckled, thinking the remark seemed out of the blue even to myself.
“No, I don’t.”
Shaking my head, I rested my elbows on the table.
Saying he seemed to know everything. It was the kind of thing a five or six-year-old might say looking at a middle schooler. I had no desire to be seen as a child by him, so why did I say that?
The beer in the transparent plastic cup was quickly served to the table, and seeing the beer arrive, Noona and Hyung returned to the table. We clinked glasses again, for the umpteenth time today, and drank the beer. The beer he chose was easy to drink and smooth, with a slight sweetness accompanying its bitterness.
Perhaps because they had sweated from dancing, Noona and Hyung quickly emptied their glasses. Although I was somewhat tipsy due to the high alcohol content of the tequila, I frequently brought my beer glass to my lips, driven by the urge to get drunker.
“You guys are the gallery staff from Seoul, right?”
A group of people passing by the table turned around with friendly expressions and called out to us, recognizing us. They seemed to be staff from another gallery participating in the art fair.
Yooni Noona and Joo-han Hyung, who were sitting at seats facing away from the street, turned around and exchanged loud high-fives with them as if they had met old friends.
“We remember your staff because your styles are so unique. You look amazing even on your day off!”
“Ah… we appreciate the compliment, but aren’t you remembering us because of our boss’s looks, not ours?”
Joo-han Hyung asked playfully, pointing at him.
“I can’t deny that.”
Laughter erupted from both sides.
“Ah, what was it… Gallery… Ghost, was it?”
The man with the most cheerful impression among them scratched his beard with his index finger.
“It’s Phantom, Gallery Phantom.”
“Ah, Phantom! Sorry. I remember it had a similar meaning.”
“That’s pretty close.”
Yooni Noona patted the man with the beard on the back as if to encourage him.
They spoke with a hint of pride, saying they had participated in the fair for the first time with about twenty pieces as an experiment and had fortunately already sold out their works. The three friends, who majored in different art genres and jointly run a small gallery in Amsterdam, seemed to hit it off particularly well with Yooni Noona.
When someone suggested taking a commemorative photo, we took a selfie together with one of their phones, and then another shot with his camera. He got up and moved towards the street, taking a photo of the three of us and their group of three.
After the photo session, while Noona and Hyung exchanged SNS accounts with them, he leaned against the railing between the sidewalk and the road, smoking a cigarette and looking this way. Letting their boisterous conversation drift by, I stole glances at him from between their arms and shoulders.
“Excuse me.”
Suddenly, a face appeared in my field of vision, making me flinch and lean back slightly. The cheerful man with the beard pulled his companion next to him and put his arm around his neck. He was a cute-looking guy with striking freckles. About my age?
“Actually, this guy fell for you at first sight at the event. He spotted you and recognized you when you passed by just now! Could you give us your SNS account if you have one?”
The freckled man seemed shy but didn’t try to stop his companion or deny what he said.
My expression, choosing my words carefully in this sudden situation, stiffened slightly.
In the world I had belonged to until now, where Betas were the majority, most people were uncomfortable not only with same-sex relationships between Betas but also with the existence of Alphas and Omegas. Therefore, this was an unfamiliar situation for me.
Whether it was a characteristic of Hong Kong or a common trait of societies with a high ratio of Alphas and Omegas, the man at the VIP preview and this man now were expressing their interest to me, a man, with a casual attitude that held nothing special. It felt more like an odd behavior to react awkwardly to this situation.
“Ah… I’m sorry. I don’t have SNS…”
It was the truth, not an excuse.
“Well, that’s okay. We kind of figured.”
The man with the beard, instead of the freckled man, shrugged and easily backed off.
As they prepared to leave, they attempted another loud high-five, playfully pushing the freckled man forward and encouraging a high-five between me and the man. Perhaps the man did it with exaggerated playfulness fueled by alcohol, but his joy, as if he had just shaken hands with a favorite celebrity, was impressive.
It was probably because no one, regardless of gender, had ever expressed their interest in me so directly and honestly. In-woo Hyung was somewhat like that, but he was always playful. Probably more than half of it was a joke, in reality.
After they left, Noona and Hyung also got off their stools to have a smoke. Smoking indoors was generally prohibited, but the atmosphere in Hong Kong was such that outdoor smoking was hardly regulated. He, having just finished his cigarette, joined Noona and Hyung and lit a new one. Then, he stepped back a few paces with his camera to photograph them.
It was exactly like the scene I had seen in a post on ‘Old Future’.
The background was different, and Hyung and Noona’s clothes were different, but the situation matched the photo labeled ‘Photo by Kun’.
The two people, blending naturally into Soho Street and enjoying the moment in their own way, and him, naturally capturing those moments of theirs.
Suddenly, all the surrounding noise faded away. There was no boundary between them and me, and it wasn’t like he was putting up an invisible glass wall between us as he had at first, yet the mere few steps between them and me felt like a clear dividing line separating the people who sparkled and myself who did not.
As I reached for my beer with a touch of bitterness, his lens suddenly turned towards me.
And before I could even turn my head away, the shutter clicked. He immediately checked the photo of me he had taken on the screen. Watching him bring the cigarette to his lips with a faint smile, I got off the stool and approached them.
Noona laughed and put her arm around my shoulder.
“Seo Yi-hyun, your popularity is truly international.”
Hyung also laughed at Noona’s words, laced with amusement. But he just looked down at me while smoking, without laughing.
“I… want to try smoking too.”
“……”
All three of them stopped their smoking and focused on me. I looked at their faces in turn, wondering if I had said something I shouldn’t have. Finally, I looked up at his face, and he paused his hand, which had been bringing the cigarette to his lips, and slowly moved it again to inhale. The ash-colored ember glowed red at the tip of his lips.
Noona tilted her head and smiled.
“Can I ask why you want to try?”
“Before… when I saw Noona’s post about Hong Kong on the ‘Old Future’ site. I thought… I wanted to try smoking once if I ever came to Hong Kong.”
I added, stroking my arm.
“Back then, I didn’t think I’d be coming to Hong Kong this soon, though.”
Noona removed her arm from my neck and nodded.
“Well, it wouldn’t make sense for us to tell you it’s bad for you when we’re smoking like this ourselves.”
Then, looking up at him, she asked.
“Can I give it to him?”
“Why are you asking me for permission? Is there anyone here who isn’t an adult?”
Noona chuckled with an expression that said she knew he would say that. Then she rummaged in her back pocket. Handing me a cigarette and a lighter, Noona lightly shook her head.
“Ah, why does this feel like doing something bad? You’re twenty-two, right?”
Noona and Hyung were people who were ambiguous about being smokers. So, I could fully understand their feeling of not wanting to encourage me to smoke. Instead of giving a lengthy explanation that I had no intention of becoming a smoker, I just smiled, and Noona smiled back, ruffling my hair. Then, she and Hyung ran into the pub, where the music had changed.
Watching the two of them get excited and blend into the crowd as if it were a favorite song, I brought the cigarette in my hand to my lips.
Every step of lighting the cigarette with the lighter and inhaling felt clumsy, even to me.
Unlike how he said it would be no big deal, he was watching every step of my clumsy first smoking experience with an embarrassing intensity. And then he picked up his camera.
“Don’t… take pictures.”
I pulled down his wrist, which was adjusting the lens towards me, and turned my head.
“Why?”
His voice, asking that, was tinged with laughter.
“It’s not fun to take.”
“Are you saying the pictures I take aren’t fun? Is that what you mean?”
“……”
Even though I knew his words were a joke, I didn’t want him to misunderstand, and my gaze, looking up at him, wavered. Taking advantage of my hesitation, the lens turned towards me again. The shutter clicked in an instant.
“At least, I think Seo Yi-hyun is fun, the one I’m taking.”
He lowered the camera, seemingly satisfied, and placed his hand on the railing next to me. His chest and shoulder, leaning towards me, were right in front of my eyes. I wanted to lean on him, using the tipsiness from the mix of tequila and beer, and the dizziness from smoking for the first time, as an excuse.
But that was too bold, something I couldn’t act on, couldn’t do, just on impulse. The very thought of it surprised me, and I took another drag from my cigarette as if to extinguish it with its harmful smoke.
The unfamiliar, acrid smoke felt like it was tightening my throat. My tongue stung, and the sensation of injecting harmful substances into my airways and lungs was vivid.
Even at a younger, more foolish age, I had never thought smoking looked cool. Nor was I now experiencing a belated affectation for such things. As my sister had posted, I just wanted to share that feeling of loosening the tension that maintained one’s daily self, of looking around, in a slightly decadent, or perhaps generous, way.
To be more honest, I wanted to get a little closer to the ‘Wonderland’ that included my sister, Hyung, and him. In the end, I wondered if it was just a foolish imitation, like mimicking the movie scenes of an actor I admired, and a hollow laugh escaped me.
“It really feels like I’ve come to Wonderland.”
My voice naturally grew languid with the sensation of my vision spinning.
I focused on him, who was looking down at me without a single furrow of his brow.
“Rabbit.”
“Rabbit?”
This time, one of his eyebrows shot upwards. Rabbit. The word had slipped out before I knew it. I brushed my face with my hand, not holding the cigarette, trying to collect myself, and laughed to myself. Looking back, he was truly my rabbit, guiding me into a ‘Wonderland.’
“I’m sorry. I think I’m drunk. Strange things keep coming out.”
To hide the flush on my heated face, I took another drag from the almost-burnt-out cigarette. His hand reached out, overlapping with mine holding the cigarette, and took the one I had in my lips. It was a very gentle touch.
Looking up, he looked down at me and took a deep drag from the cigarette he’d taken from me. His cheeks caved in as he did. Then, he exhaled the smoke slowly through the gap in his lips, expertly flicking the ash with his index finger.
“Let’s get drunker, then. That’s why we came out.”
As he said that, flicking the butt into the ashtray provided by the pub, I was about to leave the railing when someone gently grabbed my arm.
“Um…”
“……”
It was the man with the freckles. My eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected situation.
The man’s companions were nowhere to be seen. He seemed to have hurried back the way he came, his breathing ragged and his face flushed.
“Excuse me, but could we perhaps exchange email addresses?”
The man smiled, looking me in the eye, though he seemed shy.
I felt a pure energy from the man’s kindness. It was different from the sticky advances he’d made at the VIP preview, talking about travel memories. To feel pure kindness from someone, and to express it so honestly and cleanly… separate from the fact that the kindness was directed at me, it just… seemed wonderful.
“Actually, I’m planning a trip to Korea this winter, and I thought if we exchanged emails, we could meet again in Seoul if it works out… Ah, please forget what that guy said earlier about me being smitten! It’s just, it’s such a long distance anyway, and I thought we could at least be friends…”
The man kept glancing at him between sentences, rubbing the back of his neck. He was certainly not oblivious in these matters, so for some reason, he remained standing there, watching the entire situation unfold.
“Ah… my boyfriend… he’s a bit… particular about that, so I’m sorry.”
The man’s confession was not unpleasant at all, and as he said, I was interested in his profile enough to want to be friends, but I couldn’t deny that my heart was elsewhere.
I wasn’t used to receiving confessions, nor did I know how to elegantly avoid such situations, so I spun a clumsy lie, just as I’d seen and heard others do.
“I see. So, you have a boyfriend.”
As I said that, the man’s gaze, which flickered to his face with a bitter smile, made me realize my mistake. He hadn’t intended to say it like that, but the situation could have been interpreted that way. I realized this belatedly.
“Well then. Have a good trip. It was nice talking to you.”
I felt bad seeing the man’s young face turn away, not hiding his disappointment. I regretted responding insincerely to his pure kindness with a needless lie.
“Hmm… I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
I also felt sorry for him, who had inadvertently become my boyfriend. But contrary to my worries, he didn’t seem bothered by the misunderstanding at all; rather, he seemed in a better mood.
“You know I don’t.”
The embarrassment of having revealed the entire scene of confession and rejection to him washed over me, and I downed beer after beer as soon as I sat down. Hyung and my sister had gone deep into the hall, and I couldn’t even see them.
“I didn’t know. How could I? Did we ever talk about that?”
He was full of playful energy, as if he didn’t know why he was so happy.
Wanting to change the subject somehow, I reached out towards the camera hanging around his neck.
“Can I see the pictures?”
“……”
When my hand touched the camera, he stiffened. It was a bold move for me, but I hadn’t touched his body, so I didn’t expect him to be so surprised. Normally, I would have backed away at this point, but a slightly mischievous stubbornness arose. Even if I weren’t tipsy, I sometimes acted this way around him.
“You won’t let me?”
I asked again, pulling the camera closer to me.
He wasn’t the type to walk around with a camera around his neck in every new city he visited, so it was quite unexpected when he casually put the strap around his neck as he got out of the car. The fact that he looked like an excited tourist with just this compact camera, smaller than my palm, was a little… cute.
“Hmm… I don’t think I should show you.”
He took off the strap, held the camera in his left hand, and extended his arm far away so my hand couldn’t reach it.
“Why?”
I asked with a hint of displeasure. He had taken plenty of pictures of me, even though I was uncomfortable with the camera, yet he wouldn’t show me the results. It seemed unfair.
“Seo Yi-hyun, you’re a fortune teller, aren’t you? If you see my pictures, you’ll read everything out of them.”
“…Read what?”
“……”
Our eyes met. It was a casual remark, but he suddenly closed his mouth as if his core secret had been exposed. By chance, I had taken a posture that looked like I was lunging into his arms to snatch the camera away, and he had put his arm around my back to hold me back.
At such close range, his eyes scanned my face meticulously, as if tracing every feature. He sometimes looked at me like this. Perhaps because we were so close, the scent of his cologne tickled my nose.
“How much did you drink with Choi In-woo that day?”
“Huh? When….”
Just as I was trying to recall, my memory jolted by the unexpected mention of In-woo Hyung’s name, Juhan Hyung suddenly appeared from behind and embraced him in a hug.
“Representative, I’m dying of thirst! Beer, give me beer!”
“Ah… this is really disruptive.”
He grumbled with an obviously annoyed expression, but his attitude was no different from usual, so it all felt like a joke. Hyung and my sister also didn’t seem to care at all.
“You can stay out later, so go play somewhere else. Don’t you want to go to the club? I’ll give you cards.”
“We’d love to play, but there are still two days left of the fair, so we have to go back and sleep by midnight. We can play all we want at Sunday’s party.”
Draining the beer left in his glass, Hyung fanned himself with his hand on his sweat-soaked face.
The tension that had been taut between him and me moments ago vanished as if it were a lie, and our table, like all the surrounding tables, instantly became boisterous.
“Wait. But why are you suddenly trying to send us to the club? We have to be back by midnight before the fair ends.”
My sister shot him a suspicious glance from beneath her narrowed eyelids.
“You’re trying to send us to the club so you can sneak off somewhere nice, aren’t you?”
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand after drinking beer, Hyung jumped up this time. He scowled and re-fastened the strap around his neck, which he had loosened to protect me.
“I told you to go to the club if you weren’t going to sit still. Is this really something to be suspicious about?”
“Hmm… he’s not the type to do that…”
“If you’re not going, then get up. I need to drop you off at your hotel and then go pick up Manager Han.”
He said, glancing at the watch on his left wrist, and stood up.
The manager responsible for Phantom’s sales was attending parties hosted by various galleries today as well. Since he had an obligation to pick up the manager, even if my sister and Hyung went to the club, he wouldn’t have been able to slip away to a ‘nice place.’
We left the pub and waited for a car at a nearby crosswalk. My sister and Hyung, still not having calmed down, swayed to the music drifting from nearby shops, unable to stay still for a moment. It was time for us to return to our accommodation, but Soho’s Friday night was still in full swing.
It was a shame. My emotions, amplified by the alcohol, were clearly more exposed than usual. I knew I shouldn’t look at him if I wanted to hide even a part of my feelings, but my gaze kept searching for him.
In fact, I had a lot I wanted to say. I wasn’t eloquent, so even if given the chance, I wouldn’t be able to carry on a smooth conversation, but there were also many things I wanted to ask.
What was his ‘Alienation’ that made him empathize with
Such… miscellaneous and trivial thoughts.
He, who had been watching me with his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Then, with a tut and a click of his tongue, he strode closer and firmly gripped my arm, as if to lift me.
“You’re a Beta, even in a situation like this?”
After his soliloquy, which demanded no answer from me, he looked straight down at me with eyes that sparked like fire.
“On Sunday, I will not be interrupted.”
Though it was unclear what he meant by interruption, I didn’t care about such things in the face of the sudden onslaught of his scent, which seemed to envelop me. I had once thought his scent was peculiar, but now I found myself wanting it more.