29
For the first time, I visited what was called Cha Sukyung’s studio. It was a space in a separate building, and when I opened the door, a strange oil smell stung my nose.
Something covered with white cloth filled one wall of the studio, and in the middle, I saw a large canvas placed on what looked like a tripod.
This must be what they use instead of paper for oil paintings, and this tripod is called an easel, right? The smell that had been stinging my nose must be from the oil paints.
The painting on the canvas was about half-finished, so I couldn’t guess what was being painted. It looked like what you’d get if you mixed various paints on paper, stood it up, and let it drip down.
Hmm, a difficult painting. Ordinary people like me wouldn’t even dare to try understanding it.
I tried to pick up the canvas but realized the paint was still wet and pulled my hand away. My fingerprint was clearly left on the corner of the canvas.
It’s been a few weeks since Cha Sukyung died, yet the paint still hasn’t dried. I knew oil paintings dry slowly, but I didn’t know they would stay wet for this long.
I squeezed some nearby paint onto a brush and painted on the canvas. Unfortunately, it was red, and the line I drew didn’t blend with the painting but stood out jarringly.
“I need to know what was being painted to at least finish it somewhat.”
As I dragged the brush down like Cha Sukyung might have done, it turned into a horror painting, like blood dripping. It was practically Cha Sukyung’s final work, but in less than a minute, it was brilliantly ruined in my hands.
Feeling sorry for the non-existent Cha Sukyung, I quietly put down the brush. Though I could blame my unfamiliarity with oil painting, I knew it wouldn’t be any different with watercolors either.
Slowly looking around the studio, I found an audio system and pressed play. I briefly wondered what Cha Sukyung’s music taste was usually like, but an unfamiliar opera began to play.
This isn’t right.
This stuffy studio with ghostly opera music, plus the oil smell that made my head dizzy, and a painting that looked like a horror scene.
It was very bad for mental health. No wonder Cha Sukyung fell into depression, painting in a place like this.
People should eat good things, see good things, think good thoughts, and listen to good music to refresh themselves.
I quickly turned off the opera and played dance music I’d been listening to lately on my phone. The thumping beat that made me want to move my hips helped calm me down a bit.
Swaying my body, I wandered around the studio and approached what was covered with white cloth. I was curious about its bumpy shape, and when I pulled down the cloth, what was revealed was a box full of canvases of various sizes and rolled-up papers.
I leaned the canvases against the wall in a row. Most of them had colors so chaotically entangled that it wasn’t clear what they were.
This one looks like a flower, and this one might be the sky or the sea, I’m not sure. This one seems like a landscape with a lake and trees. This one could be a goblin or a monster, I don’t know. This one is a burning land or maybe hell. And the rest… they just seem like the flow of consciousness expressed in drawings.
Your mental world was difficult, Cha Sukyung.
Judging by the drying time, they must have been drawn and collected for quite a while. He must have been drawing since childhood. The skill level is… I’m not sure if it’s good, but he must have been at a good level since he got accepted to university.
I also took out and unfolded some of the rolled papers one by one. I wondered why there were so many Westerners drawn, but then I coincidentally noticed that they strangely resembled the white plaster busts placed on the studio shelves. For some unknown reason, it seems he had drawn those plaster busts over and over again.
On other papers, there were also faces of Cha Sukyung himself and his omega father. The faces of other family members were visible too, but occasionally they were drawn to look like evil spirits.
In many ways, it’s certain that Cha Sukyung’s mental state had been abnormal for a long time.
It seemed the place hadn’t been cleaned since the suicide incident, as dust rose when I plopped down a bit. Coughing a few times, I sat on a chair placed on one side of the studio to organize my thoughts.
If I’m going to live as Cha Sukyung from now on, I’ll need to show that I’m painting. But what if the results keep turning out like this?
Actually, I had a bit of hope. Though my soul is Min Jaehee’s, my body is Cha Sukyung’s, so wouldn’t the talent for painting remain? I realized it was a vain hope.
“At this rate, there’s nothing I can do.”
I was given an opportunity to live like a normal human, but what should I do if I can’t actually do anything? Should I live off the wealth of rich parents who aren’t even mine? That seems too trashy, especially since they’re not even my parents.
I want to do something I’m capable of, to earn money legitimately instead of pickpocketing. I want to do what I want with that money, meet someone I love, and build an ordinary family.
I also need to find the culprit related to my parents’ accident, but I still can’t guess who it is. How did Cha Sukyung figure it out? He said as if someone proudly boasted to him about it, but who could have been close enough to tell him that?
I don’t know anything. Neither the culprit of my parents’ accident nor what I can do in the future.
My head started to hurt. I held my head in my hands and slumped down helplessly. The place is definitely not good. I feel like Cha Sukyung’s depression is being transmitted to me.
Thinking I should leave this place, I trudged toward the main building. Since I had gone out saying I’d go to the studio but returned shortly after, Director Cha approached me, probably finding it strange.
“Couldn’t you find the studio?”
“No, I went there.”
“You came back quickly. You don’t look well. Are you feeling sick?”
“Just… feeling a bit depressed.”
I suddenly became depressed at the thought that my future seems too bleak. It seems that even becoming Cha Sukyung doesn’t change the fact that I’m useless.
Is Min Jaehee’s soul the problem? At least if I were truly Cha Sukyung, I could paint. Min Jaehee isn’t good at anything. Where can I use my pickpocketing skills? Since painting isn’t something that comes with effort, should I learn other skills now?
While I was lost in thought, Director Cha was looking at me with suspicious eyes, probably wondering if my depression had returned. Suddenly noticing that gaze, I straightened my shoulders.
“No, it’s just… My memory isn’t coming back at all. I tried to paint, but the level was so bad that I wondered if I had ever painted before.”
“Don’t think about it too hastily, young master. No one is pressuring you about your memory not returning, so please be at ease. I like the current young master very much too.”
“…Really?”
“Of course. You’ve always been so quiet, I can’t tell you how nice it is to see you so lively. So don’t be depressed. On days like this, how about meeting your friends, watching a movie, and having a good time? That should help refresh your mood.”
…I don’t have any friends to meet. I was about to get depressed again.
“I’ll go up to my room.”
“Shall I bring you a cup of tea?”
“No, it’s okay. Thank you.”
Dragging my legs, I came up to my room and sat down on the bed.
When I was Min Jaehee, I had to earn money on happy days, sad days, depressing days, and even when I was sick. The guys who managed me weren’t kind enough to consider my circumstances, so regardless of my emotions or physical condition, they drove me out onto the streets.
Compared to that, this is practically heaven now. But strangely, I felt guilty about spending time doing nothing. It seems like even playing around requires some experience.
I looked at the contacts in my phone, but apart from family members and attendants, there was… one person left.
The alpha I met and played adult games with a few days ago.
We exchanged contacts before parting, but as the man said, there had been no calls or messages since then.
Should I… call him? After much deliberation, I tapped on the contact listed as “Kwon Yikang” and tried to make a call. The signal went on for a while, and I thought he wouldn’t answer, but just before it was about to disconnect, Kwon Yikang picked up.
—Hello.
The low-resonating voice was definitely Kwon Yikang’s. Despite having met him only a few days ago, this man’s voice was strangely not awkward.
—Hello? If you make a call, you should speak. Did you just want to hear my voice?
Sensing a hint of amusement in his voice, I let go of some tension and managed to speak.
“Do you… remember me?”
—If I can’t remember something that happened just a few days ago, I’d need to exchange this brain.
“Is there a place that exchanges those too?”
—If it’s not working properly, I’d have to find one. Your heat probably hasn’t come again already, so what business do you have calling?
Judging by the casual way he said “heat,” he must either be away from work or in a private space. I flopped down on the bed and answered, “Just…”
“You said we wouldn’t have any reason to contact each other, but you really haven’t called even once.”
—The same goes for you, doesn’t it?
“Can I see you… today?”
—For what purpose?
“Do I need a specific purpose?”
He’s incredibly cold. He probably doesn’t have friends either.
When I unconsciously replied in a sulky tone, Kwon Yikang was silent for a moment. After a slight pause, he made a sound, “Hmm.”
—How about dinner?
“Can’t we meet now?”
—I’m at work. I have to work.
“That’s right, you have to work.”
When my tone brightened briefly and then became sulky again, a low laugh was heard from the other end of the phone.
—Around 6:30 should work. Is that okay?
“Yeah. Where? That hotel from before?”
I asked because for some reason it seemed like he stayed at a hotel, but surprisingly, Kwon Yikang mentioned what sounded like the name of an establishment some distance away.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
