Chaebol

The next day.

Having taken care of my brother Yoo Geon's mental state!

It was now time to tackle the pending tasks.

I hurried to Seoul National University.

Thanks to the staff who assist with commuting, getting there was not a big issue.

'I've already seen the painting.'

To inquire about purchasing it… I should head to the Western Painting Department's office, right?

Murmurs.

Perhaps it was because a child was wandering around a university building.

The students in the hallway were directing their gazes at me.

It might sound boastful, but I do have a rather cute appearance.

Wearing overalls and a checkered shirt, I must have looked quite adorable.

So much so that it exceeded the limit of cuteness.

"Oh my, what brings you here?"

Several female students approached and spoke to me.

In reality, I'm thirty-five… 

Anyway.

"Where is the office?"

"The office?"

"The Western Painting Department. I'm here to buy a painting."

"You?"

I nodded.

"Is it for your mom's birthday… or something like that?"

"Something like that."

The female student looked me up and down.

My outfit was ordinary, not something you'd expect from a wealthy family.

Except for one thing, my shoes.

They were high-end because my feet needed to be comfortable… but it seemed the student didn't recognize them.

"If you go straight down this hallway, you'll find it."

"Thank you."

"Wait a moment."

"…?"

"Don't be too shocked by the price, okay?"

Sorry, but.

If you knew my bank balance, you'd be more shocked… ahem.

"Thank you."

I bowed and quickly walked to the office.

Knock, knock.

"Yes, come in."

Creak.

The visitor who entered was an eleven-year-old kid.

The female assistant, who was about to stand up, took an awkward posture.

"What brings you here?"

"I have my eye on a painting."

"You have your eye on a painting? You didn't come to see your older sibling?"

"My brother is in the sixth grade."

The assistant looked at me with a bewildered expression.

It seemed like it was the first time something like this had happened.

"So, you're saying there's a painting you want to see again and you want me to open the exhibition hall for you?"

"No. I want to purchase a piece."

"What?"

This reaction was expected.

"You want to buy a painting? You?"

"Can't children buy paintings?"

"Well, it's not that, but…"

Scratching her head, the assistant seemed to be contemplating how to gently turn me away.

"Do you like paintings?"

"Yes."

"So you want to buy one? To hang at home and look at it?"

I nodded.

"It's a commendable sentiment, but… what should I say… for our little friend to understand?"

"You don't need to worry about that."

"Huh?"

"I have a lot of money."

"Right, that's why you came all the way here. But no matter how much money you have…"

Just then.

Knock, knock.

As the door to the office opened simultaneously with the knock, a voice came in.

"Assistant Kim, there's something wrong with the phone in my office."

A middle-aged man in his fifties.

He was the head professor of the Western Painting Department.

A few days ago, I had greeted him in his office when I came with Song Soo-hee.

"Can you get someone to fix it before the end of the day…?"

Before he could finish his sentence.

"…?"

The professor looked at me with a curious expression.

He must have been wondering what a child was doing here.

But his reaction was brief.

"Oh!"

The professor recognized me.

As expected, his stiff expression softened, and he bent over to meet my eyes.

"You're Ji-hoon, right?"

"Hello, professor."

"Oh my, you're so polite and cute."

Unlike the bewildered assistant, the professor responded quickly.

"Assistant Kim, when a guest arrives, you should at least offer some juice. Don't just stand there."

"Yes?"

"I told you, didn't I? Important guests had visited."

"Oh, yes."

"You should have listened carefully when I said it. Huh? Would I have mentioned it for no reason?"

"What does that mean…?"

"When important guests arrive, you should treat them well."

Perhaps thinking further reprimand would make me uncomfortable, the professor turned his attention to me.

"Where is your mother?"

"I came alone today."

"Alone?"

"Yes. I want to buy a painting."

"Oh my, you're in the fourth grade… and you already have such refined tastes?"

"..."

"Well, it's only natural, given that you've inherited Chairman Park's blood. Your tastes must be special. And your mother is a promising artist, too."

If left alone, he seemed ready to recite endless praises for Hyungang.

Though this special treatment is fascinating, given I'd never experienced it in my past life…

Seeing such transparent flattery too often can become tiresome!

"I need to get back before my grandfather finishes work."

I subtly cut off the professor's words.

The effect was excellent.

"Oh! Of course, the grandson must return before Chairman Park arrives. Naturally. Assistant Kim."

"…Yes?"

"What are you thinking about alone without focusing?"

"I, I'm sorry. I was just so taken aback…"

"The young master is busy, so put your surprise aside for later and assist him with the exhibition tour and purchase."

"But, I haven't finished preparing for the afternoon lecture yet…"

"Are you the only assistant in the Art Department?"

"Pardon?"

"There are assistants in the Oriental Painting and Printmaking departments. Just ask one of them to cover for you."

"Oh."

"What are you doing? The young master is waiting. I'll make the phone call, so just go."

"Thank you."

***

Exhibition hall.

The assistant still seemed bewildered.

But what can you do?

The professor had given her instructions, so she had to follow.

"You said there's a painting you have your eye on?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember where it's hung?"

"Of course."

I walked briskly and pointed to Yoo Sun-ho's 'Spiral.'

The assistant frowned slightly and spoke.

"That's a first-year student's work, isn't it?"

"..."

"There are better paintings. Why did you choose this one?"

To my eyes, this painting was the best.

The piece chosen by Song Soo-hee by Lee Yoon-ki might be superior in terms of completion, but this one had the unique raw potential of an unrefined piece.

Especially the powerful strokes caught my eye.

But the assistant seemed to have a different opinion.

"There are students who are about to graduate and are receiving love calls with pretty good conditions. Want to see them?"

"Sure."

It doesn't cost anything to look, so I quietly followed the assistant.

"From this wall to the end, these are students considered professional-level. They've participated in multiple group exhibitions and, once they accumulate enough works, they can hold solo exhibitions without any problem."

Hmm.

Sorry, but I've seen these paintings before.

As the assistant said, they are indeed at a level worthy of being called professional.

But…

Do I want to spend money to hang them in my room?

'Not really.'

On the other hand, Yoo Sun-ho's work, though somewhat lacking, had something that attracted people.

A power that makes you want to keep looking.

"They haven't debuted as artists yet, so their works aren't that expensive."

"I'll stick with the painting I saw earlier."

"If it's a budget issue, I can talk to the professor and…"

"No."

"…?"

"In my eyes, the painting I saw earlier is better."

The assistant was probably showing me kindness.

Since the professor had requested, she was paying extra attention.

But if the person concerned is okay with it, there's no reason to insist further.

"Alright. Let's go with the painting you saw earlier."

"Thank you."

"But you know, Yoo Sun-ho said he was leaving school. I heard he was preparing to study abroad, but I'm not sure if he really left."

"Does that mean I can't buy the painting?"

"If he really left, there's no way to contact him."

"..."

This was an unexpected turn of events.

"I'll go check the studio. Will you wait here?"

"The studio?"

"Yes. The first-year students have a shared studio. Since he said he'd clear out his stuff before going abroad, we should be able to tell."

"Can I come with you?"

"Huh?"

"I'm curious about how university students work."

***

The studio was ordinary.

Each canvas was spaced out generously.

There weren't many people around.

"They're in their major classes."

Maybe that's why she allowed me to come so easily.

The assistant headed to a room inside the studio.

There, tall lockers were lined up in a row.

"Yoo Sun-ho…"

After confirming the name, the assistant opened the locker door with a key she had prepared.

"His stuff is still here. I guess he hasn't left yet."

"Really?"

"As you can see, there are quite a few drawings. It's too much to just leave behind, so he probably didn't just leave it."

As she said, the locker was filled with sketches.

"Are you interested in buying the drawings too?"

"Um… if there's one I like."

"Want to take a look?"

"Can I?"

"If he doesn't come to claim them on time, they'll just be thrown out."

"...?"

"We're already being lenient. He took a leave of absence after the first semester, and it's almost the end of the second semester now."

Hmm.

It's certainly late.

"He has no right to complain if we dispose of them immediately. Showing the sketches to a buyer is more than generous."

"Can I take my time looking?"

"Sure, sit over there and take a look. In the meantime, I'll try calling Sun-ho's house."

"Thank you."

After she left, I sat down and started looking through the drawings.

'His skills are impressive.'

But the more drawings I flipped through, the more a certain feeling emerged rather than admiration.

Something familiar.

I had felt a similar emotion when I saw Yoo Sun-ho's 'Spiral.'

How much time had passed?

Just as the pile of sketches was nearly gone.

Step, step.

Footsteps approached closer.

"What should we do? He's not answering the phone."

It was the assistant.

"If we can't reach him, we can't sell the painting."

I intended to thank her for her effort.

But.

When my gaze landed on the last drawing.

"...!"

I froze on the spot.

Unable to utter a word… my eyes were fixed solely on the drawing.

At the center of the faded paper, a masked man was depicted.

He seemed like a member of a protest group.

The man was poised to throw a Molotov cocktail.

But astonishingly.

In the hand where the Molotov cocktail should have been… he held a delicate bouquet of flowers.

'A bouquet instead of a Molotov cocktail?'

Instantly, a name came to mind.

'Banksy?'

The faceless artist, Banksy.

This was undoubtedly a Banksy artwork.