By Zephyria 
The heavy iron door slowly opened, revealing the design lab.
Scattered across the long tables lined up in a row were assignment blueprints and model pieces, with people gathered in a circle near a corner.
Lee So-yul stood at the center, chatting with a few others.
“It’s been a while since I’ve been back to school too…”
Lee So-yul, who was in the middle of a conversation, turned his head at the sound from the door.
And the moment he saw Cha Jeong-won, his expression visibly brightened.
“Jeong-won.”
The corners of his eyes softened as if someone he’d long waited for had finally appeared. A look of delight spread across his entire face.
The moment Haon saw that, his shoulders tensed up for no reason.
Stepping one foot further inside, he kept his gaze on an ambiguous spot, pretending to look around.
In reality, he was busy first trying to gauge how Cha Jeong-won and Lee So-yul’s gazes were interacting.
Lee So-yul wore an expression of wanting to approach Cha Jeong-won, yet he didn’t. He seemed about to take a step or two forward but stopped. Instead, he spoke again to a junior standing nearby.
“You said you went to the lighting studio practice session last time, right?”
“Ah, yes. The lighting class.”
Even as he greeted and joked with the juniors, he kept stealing glances at Cha Jeong-won from time to time.
Though conversing with others, he seemed like someone whose consciousness lingered elsewhere.
Watching Lee So-yul like that, a thought suddenly struck Haon’s mind like lightning.
“I didn’t get a greeting.”
They had exchanged a very brief greeting earlier, but hadn’t shared a single word since. They hadn’t even made eye contact.
‘Could this be… territoriality?’
No. It wasn’t a space Cha Jeong-won could claim and occupy. He hadn’t marked his territory first either. More like checking than territoriality?
…He didn’t mark his territory first, did he?
Since seeing him holding Cha Jeong-won’s hand, he couldn’t help but think that way.
Then how should he interpret this?
Pondering, Haon sat down on a nearby empty chair.
And he watched as Cha Jeong-won moved forward, more precisely, toward Lee So-yul.
Unable to tear his eyes away, someone plopped down in the seat next to him.
“You’re gonna bore a hole through them, I swear.”
At Kim Hyun-gyu’s grumbling, Haon reluctantly turned his head.
“Aren’t you neglecting me too much lately?”
“Oh? Want me to grab you like catching a mouse then?”
When Haon spoke with confidence, Kim Hyun-gyu hugged himself.
“Not to that extent…”
“Of course not.”
He knew it was a joke Haon didn’t even mean from the start. Haon spat it out nonchalantly and looked forward again.
Cha Jeong-won had taken a seat. The spot closest to Lee So-yul.
“Are they that close?”
But when they exchanged greetings earlier, he answered so dryly…
Unable to grasp Cha Jeong-won’s true feelings, it was frustrating.
“Those two…”
Then Kim Hyun-gyu began as if he knew something. Haon found himself focusing on Kim Hyun-gyu’s words without realizing it. He didn’t want any distractions, but part of him was curious what he would say.
“They say they dated.”
“Really?”
At Haon’s question, Kim Hyun-gyu shook his head in surprise.
“That’s the rumor that went around.”
“What do you mean, is a rumor definite or not? Did someone see a confession? See them holding hands? See them with arms around each other’s shoulders?”
“Well, not that…”
At Kim Hyun-gyu’s denial, Haon’s eyes narrowed. Just what did people see to start a rumor about them dating?
“They say there was a time their pheromones were really thickly smeared on each other.”
“Hmm…”
Haon tilted his head, recalling pheromones.
Among those with the trait, the act of exchanging communication through pheromones carried significant meaning.
It couldn’t be definitively concluded, but if it was beyond a certain level, it could be seen as attraction.
Moreover, if it was thickly smeared, it meant openly covering the other person with it…
‘Then is that person Cha Jeong-won’s partner?’
So, the original work’s protagonist?
Haon looked at Lee So-yul again. Hoping that looking longer might trigger some memory.
‘Why won’t anything come to mind?’
There was an unease stemming from not remembering the original work fully. It felt like something burned full of holes, or like a hazy fog had settled.
Trying to retrace, it felt like there might be something, but then it became futile, as if swiping at empty air.
Pondering like that for a while would get frustrating, eventually leading to a headache and giving up.
“There was another time like this.”
Haon even rested his chin on his hand, thinking.
After tumbling down the stairs at the hospital? No. There was a memory from even earlier.
Then it came to him.
—’You were very sick when you were little, remember?’
—’You cried and wailed all night back then. Maybe you don’t remember because you were young?’
His parents had said that.
But whether it was truly from childhood, it didn’t come to mind, as if the memory had been cut out.
Somehow, it felt similar to that time?
＊ ＊ ＊
Not long after, the design lab became quite crowded.
Most were third and fourth years, with almost no freshmen in sight.
It was bustling as if it were a day for some annual project. The chattering voices gradually subsided, and gazes naturally gathered in one place.
Lee So-yul took a step forward in front of the table.
“Thanks, everyone, for coming.”
He smiled playfully.
“It’s been a bit since I graduated, so I might feel almost like a ghost now, but I came as a graduate, in my own way.”
A few people burst out laughing.
“Not a ghost. You’re always popping up on Insta.”
“I saw you sometimes on the Cheongun Museum of Art account too. When exhibition stories were posted.”
“Ah, right. That.”
Lee So-yul smiled shyly. Then he got to the main point.
“Some of you might know, but I’m currently working in the exhibition planning team at the Cheongun Museum of Art.”
The moment the name Cheongun Museum of Art was mentioned, the atmosphere changed ever so slightly. The focus shifted to a different mood than the chatter in the hallway.
“I’ve been put in charge of the Lee Do-hyun teacher retrospective this time.”
The surroundings grew quiet for a moment. Just the name alone carried a weighty presence.
“That’s why I came to school like this.”
He took a short breath in and out before continuing.
“For the teacher’s retrospective, we need to newly decorate the exhibition hall. We have to rework the artwork flow and visitor flow. We need to adjust the overall spatial direction, from graphics and textiles to installations. If we get into the details, it’ll be endless, right?”
The voice of a senior actually working in the field had a different temperature from textbooks or assignment explanations.
The scent of work lingered at the end of every sentence.
“The artist’s work is so delicate that if the lighting is even slightly off, it’s ruined, and if the flow gets unnecessarily tangled, that’s no good either. Internally, we’ve already set the major direction, so we’re looking for staff to work on that task together.”
Lee So-yul quickly scanned the surroundings.
His gaze passed over several juniors, pausing briefly on Cha Jeong-won’s side. Then it spread out toward everyone again.
“There’s no one more suitable for this job than us.”
He took a short breath in and out before continuing.
“It won’t be formal employment but a project-based collaboration. You can directly experience practical work, and when the exhibition opens, you can have your name listed as a participant in your portfolio, and if needed, we can provide a recommendation letter under the director’s name.”
A loud murmur rippled through.
It felt like the word ‘portfolio’ and the name ‘Lee Do-hyun’ were stamped together at once.
Juniors for whom employment was still far off and peers about to graduate soon all pricked up their ears.
“Most importantly, we won’t exploit you as unpaid labor.”
Laughter spread.
“During the work period, training allowance, transportation, and meal expenses will be provided. However, the schedule might be a bit tight. The exhibition opening date is already set.”
Haon looked at Cha Jeong-won’s back.
Though he couldn’t see his face, he felt a calm aura.
‘Lee Do-hyun…’
Cha Jeong-won’s maternal grandfather.
Someone Cha Jeong-won liked immensely. His retrospective…
Before he knew it, Haon focused on Lee So-yul’s voice.
Lee So-yul picked up a tablet and turned on the screen.
A few rough, partially rendered images appeared on the screen.
It was a 3D view reconstructing part of the Cheongun Museum of Art exhibition hall.
The ceiling rails and walls were only roughly outlined, with the spots for hanging artworks and placing seats vaguely marked.
“This is the basic concept we’ve set internally for now. The color scheme, materials—nothing’s completely fixed yet, so we can change things while working together. With me, and with the other designers on the team.”
He said while showing the screen.
“Anyone interested, stay after we finish to hear more. We’ll discuss the specific schedule and role division then.”
The air in the design lab rippled once more.
Some already pulled out notebooks; others subtly grabbed their friends’ arms, whispering that they should do it.
Haon quietly swallowed.
This was clearly a good opportunity.
Practical experience, portfolio, Cheongun Museum of Art, and the name Lee Do-hyun.
Not a single one was a keyword to be taken lightly.
But separate from it being a good opportunity, his heart felt heavy.
‘Why is this happening?’
Every time the Cheongun Museum of Art was mentioned, he felt his neck stiffen.
Even though nothing had happened yet.
70 – NOT 70