I had assumed this dinner would just be the two of us—Manager Han and me—but on the two-lane road leading to the restaurant entrance, a white SUV with a sleek, sports car-like design was parked close to the curb with its hazard lights flashing. If my memory served me right, one of the two cars I had seen him in before was this exact model.

The driver who got out to hand over his keys for valet parking was, unsurprisingly, him. The parking attendant who rushed to the driver's side instinctively looked up, startled by his height, before quickly averting his gaze—realizing he had been rude to a guest.

Though it was a quiet stretch of road in a residential neighborhood just off the main thoroughfare, his presence was distinctive enough to instantly draw the attention of everyone nearby—an older woman walking her dog, a foreign man with a baby carrier strapped to his front and a shopping bag in hand, a young couple who looked like they were on a weekend date... It wasn't just his height, which seemed to easily surpass 190 cm—a rarity in Korea.

"Hey, listen, I saw the most incredibly handsome man on the street today." People who saw him would undoubtedly tell their families or friends something like that. Once he entered your field of vision, he was too extraordinary to be casually dismissed—not "ordinary" enough for people not to turn their heads and stare at least once. Seeing him outside the Phantom offices only made that fact clearer.

When Manager Han gave a light tap on the horn, he turned from the back of the car toward the entrance and looked our way. Manager Han waved, and he slowed his pace and smiled.

"Let's really squeeze Director Liu for a meal tonight."

Manager Han laughed like a villain from an anime as she looked out at him standing still on the sidewalk, apparently waiting for us.

"Director Liu is joining us for dinner too?"

"Oh? Did I not mention it? Ah... I just said let's grab a bite to eat, so you probably didn't think of it. Sorry."

"No, not at all," I said, waving my hands and actively denying it—Manager Han looked so apologetic.

"I've been so scattered lately. I just think things in my head and forget to actually say them out loud."

These days, Manager Han was focused on finalizing the list of pieces to take to the Hong Kong Art Fair, as well as deciding on pricing and placement. While Yuni nuna and Juhan hyung were handling the administrative tasks related to the exhibition, the most important core of it all was the artwork itself, so it was understandable that she felt the pressure.

Given the premise that no one truly knows which artist's work—which specific piece—will gain attention and when, the task demanded foresight capable of predicting market trends one step ahead, based on extensive knowledge of the global art market.

Even at the Phantom office, Manager Han was spending most of her working hours in meetings with the Director. Sometimes their opinions aligned; sometimes they did not. The two of them spoke with numerous people on the phone—in Korean, English, Cantonese, and Chinese—sometimes expressing genuine delight and gratitude, and other times putting their hands on their hips and frowning in frustration.

As the fair date approached, a tension permeated the gallery, but I could feel that all the Phantom staff were embracing that tension as excitement, which made even me—someone not directly involved in the trip—feel energized.

Given the situation, it was more than understandable that she had forgotten this was a full company dinner for Phantom. She had been so busy lately that I felt it was a good decision to have moved in nearby, so I could assist her even in the smallest ways, right away.

On the other hand, I was relieved.

As busy as Manager Han was, Liu Weikun probably wasn't free either. That meant he likely wouldn't have the spare time to dwell on the incident where his subordinate had difficulty breathing in his living room—and the subsequent sleeping arrangement that felt like emergency first aid.

But sometimes, everything that happened that night felt like a dream. Specifically, a dream from a brief moment of dozing off on the sofa in the sunlight. Even though the clock showed only five minutes had passed, it felt like I had dreamed a very long story over a very long time.

He exchanged warm greetings with Manager Han, then gave me a short nod in return for my greeting. As we walked past the entrance following the restaurant staff toward the building, the two of them discussed the art fair, and as I quietly followed behind, I felt as though my relationship with him had reverted to how it was at the very beginning.

I wasn't trying to complain that he wasn't paying attention to me.

Just as he had once effortlessly isolated me within his sphere of influence with only a change in his expression and demeanor, he seemed to be treating me with a complete absence of the familiarity—however superficial—that we had built up between us. He felt like a completely different person compared to the man who had given me porridge that night, lent me his sweatshirt, and willingly granted my insistence that he stay with me, despite it being out of character for him.

A first sexual experience must be an intense memory for anyone. Not just for me. Not solely because I had a crush on him.

Whenever I recalled the sensation of his breath warming my ear with his hot lips, I would involuntarily flinch and touch my ear. I wondered if he—my partner that night—ever had similar moments. Did he ever pause, mid-scroll through documents or while brushing his teeth or handling his phone, because a memory of my reaction that night suddenly surfaced during his daily routine? While returning to our original dynamic was much better than acting awkwardly after sleeping together, I was simply curious.

The back of him exchanging pleasantries with the restaurant owner—who had come out to the entrance to greet him, as if this wasn't their first visit—seemed to answer that curiosity with a resounding no.

It was just curiosity; it didn't mean I hoped or expected him to share the same lingering effects as I did. There was nothing to be disappointed about.

The room we were led to was a private space marked with a sign reading 'Samcheolli' above the door. The restaurant had been converted from an old family home, and since they had barely altered the overall structure, the interior felt humble and cozy, like stepping into the sitting room of a family house. From our room on the second floor, a small but well-kept garden was visible below. The thought that it contrasted with his garden made me smile silently to myself.

"Director Liu said you were sick, so he suggested we come here for you to get your strength back," Manager Han said, sitting beside me across from him, while flipping through the menu.

He didn't particularly deny it. He simply gazed out the window at the garden, as if he hadn't heard her speak.

"I'm all better now... Thank you for taking such good care of me."

"I don't know if you're stronger than you look, but you're quite thin. Kwon Juhan and Baek Yuni are both like scarecrows. Are they all dieting on purpose?"

He frowned as if genuinely puzzled and said this seriously, and Manager Han laughed, leaning back against the high back of the floor chair.

"Do you really think that when you know how much Juhan eats? He eats like a starving child. Yuni is a bit picky, but she usually eats a normal amount. What can we do if they all eat but never gain weight?"

It was surprising that they had arranged this meal specifically keeping in mind that I had collapsed, but this probably wasn't a special kindness just for me. It was likely just an extension of the kindness they showed Juhan hyung and Yuni nuna, with me incidentally included. I wanted to hide the part of myself that felt disappointed by that fact. Wanting to be special compared to others... that wasn't who I was.

"Juhan hyung and Yuni nuna are running late... Should I try contacting them?"

"......"

In the brittle silence that momentarily filled the room, the hand that had been pulling my phone out of my jeans pocket froze awkwardly.

"I didn't invite them today. This is meant to help you regain your strength, so eat up without worrying. If Kwon Juhan had been here, you wouldn't have even gotten a taste of the eel."

Saying that with a hint of playfulness, Manager Han quickly called someone over to order the food. Judging by how easily they navigated the menu, this was clearly a place they frequented.

While waiting for the food, the two of them had to discuss work, leaving me feeling like an elementary school kid stuck among adults during a holiday gathering, with none of my peers around.

Manager Han argued that Shushu's work resonated more strongly domestically than internationally, so they should promote a different artist for this art fair. He didn't directly object, but he didn't seem ready to agree easily either.

Meanwhile, grilled eel with garlic and braised short ribs were placed in the center for everyone to share, and bowls of nourishing soup filled with abalone and octopus were served individually in front of each person. The soup, served in thick earthenware pots with wide openings that looked easy to eat from, emitted a subtle, medicinal scent, suggesting the presence of jujubes and ginseng.

"Whatever else you skip, you have to finish that. Think of it as medicine, not food."

He said that to me, pointing at the earthenware pot in front of me with a slightly stern tone—yet he barely touched his own portion.

The conversation between the two resumed, and I focused on eating. Or rather, I tried to focus. But this was the first time I had eaten alone with the two of them without nuna or hyung present, so I couldn't really appreciate the flavors. It was essentially a meal between top executives and an entry-level intern.

As he kept glancing into my pot between sentences, as if monitoring whether I was eating well, I had no choice but to diligently empty my bowl.

"Look at this one—no matter how mature he seems, he's still a kid."

Just as I set my spoon down, thinking I had done my best, Manager Han chuckled and pointed into my pot. Floating amidst the remains of the abalone and octopus I had diligently eaten were the jujubes and ginseng. He was smiling as he looked at me, too.

Although his expression was no longer as indifferent as it had seemed at first, the heat rose to my face over my "childish behavior"—words that had slipped out without me even realizing it.

"Do you really want to do that with someone ten years younger than you?" The words he had once said to Inwu hyung suddenly flashed into my mind. That statement implied that he didn't view someone ten years younger as "that kind of person." That meant either I was an exception to him, or... the incident that night amounted to nothing more than emergency first aid—it had to be one or the other.

How had my thoughts drifted all the way here from the embarrassment of leaving behind the jujubes and ginseng? There was no logical thread to my train of thought.

All the empty and partially empty bowls were cleared away, and soon simple refreshments were set out in their place: a few types of beautifully colored hangwa and warm tea. The tea, which smelled like a mix of flowers and fruit, was the perfect temperature for drinking indoors while the air conditioner hummed softly.

"I discussed Seo Ihyeon-ssi... a bit with Manager Han."

I couldn't detect any caution or hesitation in his voice. It was as if he had been quietly waiting for me to finish eating, and now there was no reason to delay any longer.

I pulled my lips from the teacup and looked at him. His eyes, meeting mine, seemed to warn me of the weight of the story he was about to tell, and my mouth went dry. I tried to swallow, but it was no use.

"How about painting again?"

"......"

The grip on my hand loosened, and the cup slipped slightly. I caught it just before dropping it and set it down on the table. Unconsciously, my eyes sought out Manager Han—no, Teacher. Teacher grasped my hand firmly with a gentle smile. She had known this topic would come up; more than that, she had known this entire meeting had been arranged for this very conversation. I suddenly understood why nuna and hyung hadn't been invited.

To be told to paint again.

He, who had brought up something I hadn't considered at all, waited without any apparent agitation, his pale, hazy eyes simply fixed on me, waiting for me to be ready to hear the rest.

His hands, which had been lightly laced together on the table, extended until his fingertips met, forming a triangle.

His hands were large, proportional to his height, yet his long, well-shaped fingers gave them an elegant and neat impression. The slightly pronounced, firm knuckles and the consistent thickness down to his fingertips, along with the dark blue veins bulging on the back of his hands, seemed to subtly hint at the aggression lurking beneath that elegance—the cold, sharp decisiveness that would not hesitate to take any risk to achieve his goals if he deemed it necessary.

But a hand is just a hand. Just as a scent is just a scent. It implies nothing.

"I won't bother trying to beautify or soften my intentions."

Declaring this in a voice that was unremarkable and relaxed, he immediately continued.

"Phantom has about twenty affiliated artists, but to be frank, only three or four of them are actually keeping the gallery afloat and nurturing its growth. If we—a small gallery—are to maintain our current position amidst competition with the major galleries, we must continuously discover fresh, new talent. While it's certainly important for our established artists to keep producing good work, you can't guarantee a consistent output just by sitting there for a few hours... You never know when a slump might hit or when an artwork's value might drop. It is equally vital to consistently introduce newcomers who can shock the public and create buzz. Many people consider fine art to be lofty and refined, and while we try to provide the kind of working environment the artists want—and some may create work based on conviction, separate from money or fame—we dealers aren't artists. We can't pay our staff by making them feel like they've become artists."

He raised one eyebrow slightly toward me, as if seeking my agreement, but he gave me no time to consent or object.

"Who becomes a well-regarded artist, who becomes a top-selling artist—unfortunately, that isn't determined purely by the value of the work. Since the value of the work itself relies heavily on subjective interpretation, an objective evaluation that everyone agrees on is even harder to come by. To be completely honest, the power held by major galleries and giant dealers who drive today's global art market is that they can actually create the value of artwork through marketing and business. The current art market isn't all that different from show business."

He wasn't speaking particularly fast, but it was difficult to keep up with the speed and direction of his narrative. I still felt like I was standing at the starting line, without even properly confirming our destination, while he was already pulling me along ahead of him.

"It's true that Phantom's finances have become much stronger over the last one or two years, but... well, that's thanks to the success of our flagship artists, like Shushu. We haven't managed to discover any newcomers expected to follow in their footsteps or surpass them. That's a big problem. We've scoured everything—university graduation shows, small cafe-style galleries in the provinces, even social media... Manager Han and I have been tracking them down like maniacs, but it's just not easy to find interesting artists."

Tap, tap. He paused as if marking a comma by tapping his index fingers together, then looked at me with a gaze that felt like he was pressing me against the wall behind me.

"I've gone on at length, but what I mean is: I expect you, Seo Ihyeon, to become that kind of artist."

Without me having asked any questions, he stared persistently at my face, as if waiting for my answer. Or perhaps he was just gauging my reaction. Still, this was all so sudden.

I used to paint a long time ago, and there was a time when painting was my language, but even then, I never once considered or imagined what position my work would occupy in the "art market" he was talking about now.

Having observed me for as long as he pleased, he unfolded the triangle he had formed with his fingers, leaned back against the chair, and settled in.

"Now, Manager Han will rephrase that in a way that sounds better to you."

Teacher sighed and shook her head at him, but he just shrugged, as if he didn't understand what the problem was, or perhaps as if this was the best he could do within his limitations.

There was no malice in his words. It was just a difference in perspective. He was simply explaining things from the standpoint of a gallery owner and dealer who needed to sell paintings; it wasn't immoral or a crime. Realistically, if he couldn't sell the art, some artists might not be able to paint anymore.

Teacher's cautious and gentle voice continued, lightly patting the back of my hand, which I held clenched.

"It might sound like Director Liu is speaking only from a business perspective, but please take it as a sign that he feels you have potential. Even if he speaks that way, he's the kind of person who would never engage in reckless behavior, throwing himself headfirst into barren ground."

I glanced down at my hand resting awkwardly near the rim of the teacup and nodded unconsciously.

Teacher's words were exactly right. He wasn't the type of person to invest in something that seemed like a lost cause. But no matter how perfect someone seemed—even a top-tier Golden Alpha—they were still only human. It seemed his judgment this time had gone astray. Why me?

"Director Liu has the painting you did a while back, doesn't he? The one that won the contest."

"......"

I slowly raised my head and turned to look at Teacher beside me.

By then, Teacher was no longer in Korea. She must have heard the news of my award from her sister, who was my mother's friend. She couldn't possibly know what that painting meant to me—not that deeply. Still, I felt tense. My throat was so dry it burned.

How much had he told Teacher? After confessing the painting was mine, I had stopped breathing as if I'd seen a ghost, then passed out—had he asked her if she knew anything about that?

I looked at him with eyes that clearly betrayed that curiosity, or perhaps anxiety. It was a bold move for me, but he stood there with his arms crossed, looking my way, offering no hint whatsoever.

"It's a piece that Director Liu has held in his collection for a long time. I found it very impressive myself, though I didn't know it was yours."

"That... I painted that a long time ago... It's been over five years since I last painted. And you haven't seen any other work of mine besides that one..."

I had barely managed to collect myself enough to utter those difficult words, only to be met with a light scoff from across the table.

"If your standard for judging an artist's capability or potential requires a portfolio of twenty or more pieces... then you should quit thinking about making a living as an art dealer."

"......"

"I know I said that in a somewhat obnoxious way, but that single piece was enough. Especially if it was something you painted when you were sixteen."

As if to erase the slightly cynical tone of his previous statement, he added his explanation in a more serious manner.

His praise regarding Alienation was unexpected, and since he wasn't the type to offer empty compliments or exaggerate his feelings, I didn't feel any particular dislike... but there was no way someone who could have a hyperventilation episode just from facing a past painting could ever paint again. That was different from scribbling on a notepad occasionally.

"I haven't worked for five years."

Though spoken as if muttered under his breath, everyone in the small room heard it.

Teacher moved a little closer to me and lightly placed her free hand on my back.

"I agree with Director Liu's opinion as well. I told you last time that you have absolutely nothing to apologize for regarding not painting right now, and while I meant that sincerely, it is also true that if the chance arises, and if you desire it, I truly hope you paint again. Because I know your talent."

"Teacher... I am truly grateful that you think so... but that's all... ancient history."

"Ah, ancient history. How old is Seo Ihyeon now? Fifty? Forty? No, was it twenty-five?"

Just as he had seemed to be showing a bit of patience, he spoke again in a prickly tone and drew a sharp look from Teacher.

His words might be a general point. Far from forty or fifty, I wasn't even twenty-five yet, so perhaps it was too early for me to use the word "ancient history." If people knew about me—living after cutting away a part of myself that had rotted because it was shackled to the past—they might click their tongues, calling me weak-willed or saying I had lost my passion far too soon.

In fact, many people around me were severing ties with a past they wanted to destroy, moving forward even while sacrificing something or shedding blood.

I want to muster the courage like them. I, too, wished to live in the light of the present. But everyone has their own pace. From where I stand now, I wanted to move forward according to my own speed as a person; I wasn't trying to imitate them just to appear the same.

"Ihyeon, I want you to focus only on this: whether or not you have the desire to paint again. It's not that you no longer want to paint—but if you decided not to paint, couldn't your mind change? You can take your time to think about it."

It wasn't that I no longer wanted to paint, nor was it that I had decided not to. At first, it was neither. I simply became incapable of painting.

Looking down at Teacher's hand resting over mine, I parted my lips several times before finally speaking.

"I probably won't be able to paint."

Both of them waited for me to finish.

"I rested for too long, and while I was letting go of painting, my affection and passion for it... all that naturally disappeared. I've spent my time just thinking that I would probably never paint again... I can't even picture myself actually painting."

I had never told Teacher or him in detail about my present circumstances or the journey that had led me here. This was the most honest form of explanation possible in my current state. To add anything more would require lying or making a confession, and right now, I wanted neither lies nor confessions.

"Thank you for being so honest. We weren't expecting a positive answer from you right here today, either. It's a sudden proposal, so your mind wouldn't change right here, right? Especially if you've already processed your thoughts about painting in your own way."

Teacher, who had been gently patting the back of my hand she was holding, now gripped both my hands tightly.

"But Ihyeon, what if you started painting again? When Director Liu brought that up... truth be told, I was thankful to Director Liu."

A flicker of emotion crossed Teacher's face as she looked at me.

Although Teacher and I hadn't maintained a continuous connection since childhood, I recognized that what was wavering and unsettled in her eyes now was not sentimental pity for an old student's terrible past after meeting again after so long.

In my childhood, Teacher and I shared a secret garden, and she was the perfect interpreter of the world as I saw it. Unable to affirm myself relying only on my own strength when I was young, I was able to expand my world and feel at ease within it because of Teacher.

I didn't need to hear the details of why Teacher felt grateful to him. As much as she felt grateful to him, I just felt apologetic toward Teacher.

I could no longer offer a negative comment. However, expressing approval was equally difficult. I bit my lower lip, keeping my gaze fixed on the hand I was holding with Teacher, afraid that even the slightest nod might give her unintended hope.

A faint sound of rain began to mix with the whir of the air conditioner in the room. As if on cue, all three of us looked out the window almost simultaneously. Rain streaked down the glass against the backdrop of the late evening, which had already grown dark.

It was he who broke the heavy silence.

"Seo Ihyeon, try this."

He pushed the plate of refreshments, untouched by anyone until then, toward me. Neither Teacher nor I could keep up with his sudden change of subject.

When I didn't respond, he pierced a yakgwa—cut into small squares, perfect for a single bite—with a fork and offered it to me.

"Try it. It's a type of Korean confection with layers, like a pastry. It was made by a master craftsman. It's rare."

"How on earth do you even know a word like 'master craftsman'? You weren't even raised in Korea."

Manager Han took the fork from him on my behalf and passed it to me.

"When you're apart, it only makes you cling harder. Everyone becomes a patriot when they're abroad, you know."

Piercing another yakgwa onto a fork and handing it to Teacher, he arched an eyebrow and responded smoothly.

"Even though your nationality isn't Korean."

"Nationality is just a legal and administrative status. I'm a mixed-race quarter, but half of my blood is Korean. I only got half from my father."

As I put the yakgwa in my mouth and chewed, the honey soaked between the layered sheets oozed out, sweetly staining my mouth. It wasn't an overly sweet flavor that made my brow furrow, but a sweetness that made my eyelids droop.

"How is it? You would have regretted it if you hadn't eaten it, right?"

He leaned his upper body toward me, his expression serious as he asked, as if his thoughts on the yakgwa were now more important than any painting.

It was difficult to find any distinctly Eastern features in his light grayish-blue eyes or in his prominent facial structure, which suggested clear three-dimensionality. Only his black hair seemed to silently, yet stubbornly, assert the fact that he was, as he himself put it, half Korean.

To his question—"You would have regretted it, right?"—I nodded.

He gave the most intense smile I had ever seen from him, one that pulled the muscles in his jaw taut vertically, creating a deep dimple-like crease on the side of his cheek.

· · · · ·

Rainwater, running down the umbrella borrowed from the restaurant, dripped to my feet, splashing onto my sneakers and the cuffs of my jeans.

It wasn't a downpour, but it wasn't a drizzle light enough to ignore without an umbrella either—yet one foreign man, with the hood of his windbreaker pulled up, was walking toward us with a Golden Retriever leading the way.

"Hi."

"Hi."

When the man, whose jaw was covered in a golden beard, approached close enough for me to make out his expression, we exchanged brief greetings.

"Your dog is handsome," he said.

"He's the one who throws a fit to go outside whenever it rains, which is why I'm going through this trouble," the man replied and laughed.

"Bye-bye." As the man brushed past us and smiled at me, I offered a faint smile that was barely visible and shifted aside to give him and the dog enough room to pass.

His SUV, which had been in the external parking lot, was approaching the restaurant entrance. Teacher's car had left first, and since she had another appointment related to work afterward, she had asked him to drive me home and had left about three minutes earlier.

"Thank you for dinner today."

He tilted his umbrella slightly to avoid the light from the car pulling up close to the curb as he said his goodbyes to Manager Han.

"I'm just going to walk for a bit to clear my head, then I can take the bus home, so please don't worry about what Manager Han said. Well then..."

His expression wasn't entirely clear because the umbrella obscured his view. It wasn't entirely unintentional that he avoided looking directly at Manager Han. He turned away from her black dress shoes—which suited her more casual Saturday evening attire—and started walking toward the incline where the foreign man had just descended.

"I was thinking of having a drink while I clear my head, too."

I stopped in my tracks and turned around at the sound of his voice, which was mimicking my exact words. Holding the umbrella with his other hand tucked into his pocket, he watched me. In the rain, every scent becomes stronger. I seemed to recall hearing somewhere that one should wear less perfume on a rainy day. Like a wave that approaches slightly only to soak my toes before retreating, his scent lingered at the tip of my nose, then vanished without penetrating deep into my sense of smell.

"Would you care to join me?"

The inertia from how I've lived up to this point urged me to refuse the offer, turn tail, and run home, but this new stimulus—sweetly paralyzing that inertia—made me want to inhale his fragrance and taste it. I don't know where this impulse and greed came from within me. Even if it had existed before, I thought it would have all died out by now. His eyes, which had seemed pale as if they would fade quickly, looked unusually blue.

· · · · ·

Perhaps he had been holding back a craving to smoke for a long time, because as soon as we settled at the bar, he lit a cigarette. Flipping through the long, vertical pages of the menu—one given to each of us—indifferently, he spoke.

"It's raining, how about something strong?"

I fidgeted with the bag I had set down next to me, awkwardness stemming from being in a place I'd never been before, and nodded in agreement. In truth, the awkwardness of being in a place like this alone with him was greater than the awkwardness of the location itself.

The bar was about a ten-minute drive from the restaurant where we had dinner, situated on the uphill road leading toward Namsan. The building itself wasn't tall, but being halfway up Namsan gave it a good view. Apparently, this was also a place he frequented, as the manager—who introduced himself to me—came out personally to greet us warmly.

The seat we were shown to was almost like a semi-private room. One edge of the partition wall was open to allow people to pass through, but from where we sat on the sofa, we couldn't see the main hall, and the structure was such that the interior wasn't visible from the hall unless one deliberately tried to look.

The cozy room was furnished with a deep, high-backed, plush sofa, and in front of the sofa was a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the night view. It was a suitable spot for two or three people to drink privately and talk.

It wasn't far from where Morae nuna and Yeehan hyung lived. The view outside the window was also similar to what I used to see from the outdoor platform on the rooftop—although there was about as much difference between this space and that one as between Morae nuna's old place and Grandpa's house.

Rain was falling over the Seoul nightscape, which brought to mind squid fishing boats. Suddenly, a laugh escaped me as I realized I was living it up way beyond my means. The only bars I had ever visited in that port town were shabby raw fish restaurants or grilled clam joints. I hid the grin spreading across my face by pretending to pore over the unfamiliar menu so he wouldn't notice.

After calling a waiter and finishing our order, I kept flipping through the menu even though we were done, because his gaze felt fixed on my profile.

He and I were sitting at the corner where the L-shaped sofa bent, so technically we weren't sitting right next to each other, but we were close enough that I had to be mindful of our legs potentially touching. If we had been side-by-side, it would have been easier to avoid his gaze, but our position forced us to look at each other while talking.

A slightly muffled voice followed a deep drag of his cigarette.

"Looks like you had fun yesterday."

He must have been talking about meeting Inwu hyung. I looked up from scanning the cocktail list meaninglessly and stared at him. Just as I expected, we were seated too close for either of us to easily look away.

Even if he mentioned meeting me, Inwu hyung wasn't the type to go around broadcasting the details of our conversation. I didn't know what basis I had for thinking this, but I was sure of it. If it were some trivial chat, fine, but I doubted he would know I had asked him specific questions about Alphas and Omegas.

I hadn't reacted strongly, nor had he said anything particularly funny, yet he suddenly ground out the cigarette butt in the ashtray and let out a short laugh.

"Gay people, honestly."

He muttered it almost to himself.

It was unclear who the "gay people" in his laughter referred to. Judging by the conversations we'd had over hamburgers and beer during the shooting of Old Future, he himself was gay, or at least bi, and Inwu hyung—who had shown no hesitation in expressing interest in me, a man, from the start—couldn't be much different. Because of that impulsive declaration where I'd said, "I'm like men," he categorized me as gay too. There was no need to piece things together; we had already... slept together.

Was that self-deprecation, a repeated evaluation of Inwu hyung as not being a great romantic prospect, or an accusation directed at me? The information gleaned from that brief mutter and subtle smile was too sparse to figure it out.

After smoking the entire cigarette, he shifted slightly toward me, relaxing his posture.

"I heard you initially refused, saying you had a prior engagement, but then you called back and asked to meet."

There was a faintly negative nuance in his tone. I still couldn't tell if Inwu hyung had expressed it that way, or if this was a new interpretation he had layered onto hyung's words.

He didn't look angry or displeased. In fact, he held back a smile by lightly biting his lower lip, then released it and chuckled once more. I couldn't figure out what he found so amusing by himself, as he had been doing all this time.

"Right... People can't all be the same, can they?"

He was talking to himself frequently today. He would toss out a remark directed at me, only to immediately conclude it with his own private monologue. Faced with his stubborn behavior, a rebellious spirit stirred within me for the first time in a long while.

"What do you mean by that..."

It was frustrating. He clearly had something he wanted to say, but unlike his usual self, he just danced around the subject, occasionally bumping into me.

He rolled the cold, metallic lighter in his palm, then looked up at me with a smile.

"It's a compliment. Hmm... it's probably a compliment. You're twenty-two, a grown adult after all, so it would be strange not to know anything in that area, right? I assumed that because you usually seem so demure, you'd be reserved about those things too, but I judged Seo Ihyeon unfairly. Actually, being that way is more natural."

There was no hint of sarcasm on his face as he spoke, but it was also true that a shadow, less refreshing than the lightness of his tone, lingered around him.

It was as if I had deliberately used some kind of "technique" to seduce Inwu hyung more effectively. He was steering the conversation.

It was a strange feeling. Misunderstandings were certainly unpleasant, and while that discomfort wasn't entirely absent, it wasn't the only thing there either. There was also a slight, buoyant excitement, as if both body and mind were lifting off.

Were the reactions he was showing now perhaps jealousy?

The thought struck me as absurdly fanciful. It was a thought I'd kept entirely to myself, but my face flushed hot, wanting to scribble over the trace of that thought with a pen. So much so that I almost laughed at myself.

To think my thoughts were leaning toward jealousy. Did I really have such an optimistic side to me?

"That kind... what kind is that?"

In my fluster, I might have unknowingly turned the arrow back on him, spilling out the rebelliousness that had been stirring inside me. Still, I didn't adopt a challenging expression or use that kind of tone. I simply asked a question.

Yet he looked at me as if blindsided by a sudden ambush, his eyebrows twitching and his gaze weighted with intensity.

It was strange that I knew nothing about "that kind," but it wasn't that I was indifferent to "that kind" either. I wanted him to erase those vague boundaries and just get straight to the point.

"I'm not sure what you're trying to say."

The silence stretched on. He pulled out a new cigarette, lit it, and seemed to be peering into the very depths of his own mind, searching for an answer to my question. All I had wanted was to see him flustered, just a little.

After a long moment, as if he had finally found his answer, his dry lips moved.

"You're right. I was speaking vaguely. What I want to say is..."

Footsteps approached from the entrance of the partition wall. It was a deliberate sound, meant to let us know he was coming closer so we could prepare and pause the conversation appropriately.

The manager who had guided us brought the liquor himself. Dark amber whiskey in a bluish bottle, several types of crystal glasses that looked elaborately cut but felt sturdy rather than delicate, and a basket of ice were quietly served onto the table.

"Straight for me. And something easy to drink for this one."

The manager, who had poured two drinks into different glasses in different ways according to his order, vanished as silently as if he were a person floating on a cloud, unlike when he had entered the room.

He held and fiddled with the slender glass, smoothly emptied the liquor inside, and then continued the conversation where he had left off.

"What I want to say is... that every human being has an unexpected side to them."

It felt as if the tension drained right out of my shoulders. I strongly felt that he was running away, and I could clearly see my own disappointment in that realization.

I felt unfamiliar with myself for expecting something in this manner.

It was also true that I didn't feel repulsed by him when he sought my attention and asked me to get into bed with him. I had genuinely believed his words that being with him would numb my pain. At that time, if someone else—say, Inwu hyung—had said the same thing to me, I probably would have refused.

But that was all. At least for now.

Though I had never dated, or even had a crush, the combination of wanting someone's attention, wanting to draw that attention, and not minding physical contact—that whole spectrum of feelings wasn't necessarily love. The intimacy that night felt like emergency first aid from him.

To borrow his expression, I wasn't so much of a novice as to not know the difference.

"That day, why did you do it?"

Again, his question came with no prelude or knock. He opened the door and looked around the room first. This was much more his style than beating around the bush.

What was the subject of the "why" he was asking about? As I slowly turned the gears in my head, I brought my own glass of liquor to my lips. I had braced myself for the harsh burn of strong alcohol since it was whiskey, but the unexpectedly smooth swallow made my preparation feel pointless.

"I'm asking why you reacted the way you did to your own painting."

He clarified his question further.

I realized the meeting at the restaurant with Manager Han had only been a preview, or perhaps a light warm-up for him. He hadn't brought me here to probe about my time with Inwu hyung last night, nor to have a drinking buddy on a rainy evening.

"You said you wouldn't ask anything..."

"And that's why I didn't actually ask anything that day."

That was true.

"I'm the one who took care of Ihyeon-ssi the entire day; don't I deserve that much of an explanation?"

His gaze, fixed directly on me without any sign of backing down, looked ready to bring up even more direct topics.

I felt like he was about to corner me and force me to speak by saying things like, I'm the one who brought Seo Ihyeon to the boiling point that day and stayed with him until he was completely exhausted and could fall asleep. Remember? Every part of your body I touched and kissed with such care. Even though I didn't even get to finish.

"It wasn't because of the painting... I just suddenly felt unwell..."

"I see. So it wasn't because of the painting..."

He slowly rubbed his chin, nodding as if savoring my words.

"Then it seems the internal obstacle isn't related to wanting to paint again."

"......"

"She told you to just focus on whether or not you want to paint again and think about it slowly. Although Manager Han said she would respect Seo Ihyeon-ssi's decision, frankly, I won't."

Fiddling with the empty glass, he didn't take his eyes off me. I couldn't believe this was the same person who, that night, had preemptively understood my feelings, telling me not to strain myself making excuses because he wouldn't ask anything. Yet this felt somehow different from being coercive. Perhaps it was a delusion, but I sensed something like anxiety at the edge of his gaze.

"I strongly hope you will paint again."

I hope you will paint.

Though at first glance it sounded like he was expressing a hope or a wish, the intensity in his gaze and the stubbornly set line of his mouth suggested something else entirely: that he would make sure I painted, no matter what.

Whether it was my imagination or the lighting, his pale eyes—which I often felt might shatter and vanish—looked deeper than usual. It was as if a blue flame were burning within the transparency of his eyes, just like the liquor bottle set before him. Having grown accustomed to black eyes, his eyes sometimes seemed utterly inorganic to me. The emotions reflected in his bluish eyes were like a foreign language I couldn't quite grasp.

"Accompany me on the next business trip to Hong Kong."

The conversation had suddenly surged in an unexpected direction. The man who had been with me when I was with Teacher was a facade. He must have planned all along to pull me onto his boat and drive me forward relentlessly.

"After encountering works by artists with diverse nationalities, styles, and thematic concerns at the Art Fair and feeling the energy of the art market, you might receive good stimulation and your perspective could change. It will help you make up your mind."

I recalled Yuni nuna's post I had seen on the Old Future website. The curiosity about that unfamiliar city I felt after reading that article. The excitement for sunlight I had felt for the first time in a long while concerning the future. It was also true that I faintly sensed the scent of that sunshine in his proposal.

But could I really paint again? Was it truly that hopeful? This wasn't a matter of feeling.

"Director... I appreciate what you're saying, but..."

"Suki Kim."

"......"

The boat, which had been about to lose its balance and capsize against the rocks, suddenly stopped. The current ceased, the boat halted with its front end lifted, and the water droplets that had splashed everywhere froze in mid-air. I was immobilized, as if trapped in a photograph.

"Foreigners who found the Korean pronunciation difficult started calling her that, and now 'Suki Kim' has become its own proper noun, almost a nickname. But even though she was born and raised in America as a Korean American, she used her Korean name, Kim Suki, from the very beginning of her career. Well... asking foreigners to pronounce Kim Suki clearly is an unreasonable request, of course."

It was natural that he, the gallery owner, knew the internationally famous artist Suki Kim—or rather, Teacher Suki Kim. Moreover, if he owned the piece titled Alienation, he would likely know that Teacher had been a judge in the contest where that painting became known to the world. He might have even purchased the painting directly from Teacher. It wasn't an impossible scenario. However, the proposal he made immediately afterward was something I absolutely had not anticipated.

He pulled a fresh cigarette from the pack, placed the white stick between his lips, and flipped open his lighter.

"I'll arrange a meeting with Suki Kim."

And then he played his trump card—one I simply couldn't refuse.

Swept away by a dizzying current, the boat carrying me was already drifting downstream at an unstoppable speed.