Can Murder Be a Workplace Accident? Chapter 2.2

For a while, just hearing the word ‘art’ made me feel like I’d just run into an ex who had mercilessly dumped me at a crosswalk. Even when I traveled abroad, I didn’t go anywhere near art museums. To Bae Taemin, art was practically a trauma.

If Min Isak had become a curator, did that mean he too was in a situation where he could no longer paint? And yet, he was stubbornly sticking by his side. For people who knew him to call the benevolent Namgung Tree a devil, a vicious criminal, and trash…

“It means he’s completely lost his mind.”

The image of a crazed stalker, unable to accept their breakup and hovering around the other person, came to mind.

“Fired? Is that really what happened?”

This won’t be easy from now on.

Bae Taemin sipped his cocktail and chuckled. He couldn’t taste the bitterness of the bitters or the sweetness of the sugar. His hands were still trembling.

“I like you.”

The school had turned off the heat as soon as the self-study period ended. The old brick building was too cold to hold any warmth. My fingers, which had been putting away the easel, grew numb from the winter draft blowing through the cracks in the window.

It was the first time since he had enrolled that Namgung Tree had stayed at school this late. Saying “I like you” to a boy was easier than he’d thought.

“Are you ignoring me? I said I like you.”

Contrary to his fierce tone, white puffs of breath billowed from his mouth. It didn’t suit the mood at all, so he waved his hand to disperse the vapor, and Namgung Tree glared at the target of his recent confession.

Min Isak, who had been putting away his easel, was frozen solid, as if he had turned into a pillar of ice. He was too shocked to say anything. Namgung Tree jutted out his chin, pressing for an answer.

As soon as their eyes met, Min Isak quickly turned his head, dropping his gaze to the floor. The knuckles of the hand gripping the easel stood out. His lowered gaze slowly flickered back up.

“…Why do you like me?”

“What? Why do I like you…”

This time, it was Namgung Tree who was flustered. A reason for liking someone.

“Does a person need a reason to like another person…”

Of course, he had never thought about it. If he felt an attraction to someone, he would just confess and ask them out, and if he didn’t like them, he would break up with them right away. Isn’t that how teenage dating works? A level where people would nod and say it was a long relationship if it lasted over twenty days.

Besides, Min Isak… wasn’t even someone he genuinely liked. This was a fake confession. He had never even thought deeply about the reasons.

He frantically searched for something that could pass as a reason for liking him. Right now, Namgung Tree was making a move to drag Min Isak down from first place.

“You’re good at studying and good at painting, you work hard at everything…”

He wanted to see the smug guy who always took first place scrunch up his face and sob his eyes out. Although he acted nonchalant in front of him, it wounded his pride to always place second even after hiring a top-tier instructor for one-on-one tutoring.

On top of that, that guy didn’t even go to a private academy, saying his father was a public school educator. What kind of monster is this bastard?

He’d have no other wishes if he could just see him break down once, just one time, before graduation.

“Your face is pale and pretty too… Your eyes, which are long horizontally, are especially pretty. Your eyelashes, too.”

The so-called confession attack.

Receiving a sudden confession of love from someone you’ve never even thought about shakes your mind with bewilderment and displeasure. What if this was done right before an exam? It was a tactic Bae Taemin, who always spouted nonsense, had found on the internet.

“It’s amazing how your hair doesn’t stick out even when it grows to your ears. Did you know? Your hair is soft like a cat’s?”

As he listened to Namgung Tree’s confession, he covered his mouth with his hand. The area around his cheekbones seemed to be reddish for some reason.

“And when I look at your paintings… my heart feels at ease. That’s why I like you. What about you?”

What did that kid say back?

Namgung Tree thought, somewhat detached. He could see the figures of two people in school uniforms in his field of vision.

It’s a dream.

The Namgung Tree in the dream, instead of hearing the answer, furtively glanced toward the hallway. At that moment, outside in the hallway, the group he hung out with was listening to his confession and stifling their snickers.

“…I’ll tell you if you…”

He couldn’t hear his voice properly. Wondering if he would say it again, the real Namgung Tree strained his ears, but Min Isak did not repeat himself.

“Yeah, got it.”

The Namgung Tree in the dream didn’t ask again either. Back then, he didn’t care what Min Isak’s answer was. His goal would be achieved as long as he messed with his mind and the next day’s exam.

In fact, at the time, he was more worried about how the guys listening outside would make fun of him.

“I’m leaving. I’ll wait for your answer.”

“Oh. …Yeah.”

Min Isak gave a small nod. As Namgung Tree left the classroom, he looked at Min Isak’s face again, but it was just dark as if it had been covered with ink. It was because he hadn’t looked at his face.

As soon as he walked out the back door, the group that had been ambushing him, crouched outside the window, clung to Namgung Tree. He remembered them walking down the hallway saying childish things like ‘Mission accomplished.’

The attack was a success. For the first time since enrolling, Namgung Tree took the first place in the whole school that he had so desperately wanted.

After that incident, Namgung Tree didn’t speak with Min Isak. He was reluctant to start a conversation. Min Isak, as he always had, didn’t start a conversation with him either.

It was for the best. He was actually very scared of how Min Isak would react to the fake confession.

He was afraid of being criticized for the lie, and he started avoiding him, afraid that he might say he liked him back. When Bae Taemin and the group brought up the confession to tease him, he would deliberately get excessively angry.

This relationship continued until the graduation ceremony. And as he left to study abroad, he forgot all about such mischievous pranks under the name of memories.

After waking from the dream, suffering from a terrible hangover, Namgung Tree kicked his poor blanket over and over. The embarrassment, unearthed after more than a decade, was worse than the hangover.

“Tree, say hello. This is our gallery’s chief curator, Min Isak.”

Printemps Kim, smiling brightly, introduced Min Isak to her son. Of all things, the dream he’d had at dawn came to mind. His eyes flew open so wide they looked like they had four pupils. His handsome face contorted in shock.

As if they were meeting for the first time, Min Isak offered a handshake.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am chief curator Min Isak.”

With a face that looked like he would scream if someone tapped the back of his head, Namgung Tree reluctantly took his hand. Min Isak deliberately gripped his hand tight and shook it firmly up and down. He could only stand there with his mouth agape, blinking his eyelids rapidly, unable to say a word.

…Fuck! Why are you here!

The face that had looked like an angel in his dream now looked like a devil.

“Hmm, seeing you two get along so well makes me feel so pleased. It’s reassuring from an owner’s perspective. Please take good care of my son, Chief Min.”

“Of course, Madam.”

The hand he had clasped for the handshake was clammy. Min Isak bowed politely. When he followed suit and bowed inadvertently, he saw that he was pinching his thigh with his left hand. His cheeks were trembling as if he were secretly holding back laughter.

This devil bastard. He’s laughing?

Printemps Kim, who had no idea what had happened on Friday, looked at the two of them with a satisfied expression.

“Why don’t we move instead of just standing here? I just happened to receive some precious tea as a gift.”

Min Isak gestured toward the director’s office with his hand. He didn’t have the slightest desire to be in the same room with him, but Printemps Kim, oblivious to her son’s burning frustration, serenely took the lead at the words ‘precious’ tea.

“Follow me.”

“Director?”

Namgung Tree let her enter the director’s office first and then grabbed Min Isak by the collar. As he was being dragged into the break room right next door, Min Isak nonchalantly gestured to the anxious employees not to worry.

As soon as he closed the break room door, he threw Min Isak to the ground. His body, like a paper doll, hit a cabinet and staggered. Min Isak lifted his head. His eyes, now that the mask was off, glared as if he were a different person.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I came to work and was greeting Madam Kim.”

“That’s not what I’m asking right now.”

Namgung Tree roared. Does this bastard think I’m an idiot? His blood boiled at how he was mocking him, pretending not to know what he knew full well. Min Isak didn’t even bat an eye and made a gesture to calm down.

“The office floor has plasterboard walls. Lower your voice.”

He glanced toward the director’s office. It was as if to say Printemps Kim could hear everything.

“…I fired you on Friday.”

He said, his voice lowered to a harsh whisper.

“That’s right.”

“Then why did you come to work?”

Slap! Min Isak, who had been leaning crookedly against the cabinet, slapped his own knee with his left hand. He covered his mouth with his right hand and crinkled his nose. His downcast eyes curved into crescents.

“Is it funny? Damn it, you think this situation is funny?”

“Director. It seems you’re mistaken about one thing…”

A chuckling sound escaped from between his fingers. He could see him squeezing his eyes shut, trying to suppress his laughter. What on earth is he scheming? If his intention was to make my blood pressure skyrocket first thing in the morning, he was succeeding.

“What am I mistaken about?”

“The person with the authority to hire and fire at Gallery Spring… is not you, Director, but the owner, Madam Printemps Kim.”

“…!”

He leaned his upper body forward and walked slowly toward Namgung Tree. With each step he took, the amusement evaporated until, by the time he was right in front of Namgung Tree, only a stiff smile that looked like a slight grimace remained.

Min Isak tapped Namgung Tree’s shoulder with his hand and whispered.

“So you, Director, do not have the authority to fire me.”

The small but gloating voice stuck in his ear.

With those final words, Min Isak left the break room. Left alone, Namgung Tree clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to swallow his anger, but ended up punching the plasterboard wall.

“Ugh…!”

Plasterboard my ass, it was concrete.

“Chief Min, did something happen?”

When he entered with the Pu-erh tea set from her desk, Printemps Kim was sitting in the seat of honor on the sofa. The feather on the wide-brimmed hat resting on her lap fluttered.

“I did something to get scolded by the director on my very first day.”

“My Tree? On the first day?”

She leaned toward Min Isak. Her eyes widened as she straightened the collar of her tweed jacket.

“Tree, you rascal. What could our gallery’s talent have possibly done wrong?”

“Since it was our first meeting, I failed to serve the director properly. From now on, I will make sure to understand in advance and assist him.”

He smiled brightly, as if his feelings hadn’t been hurt in the slightest. His attitude was one that said it was only natural to be scolded for doing something wrong.

“Everything he said was for my own good, after all.”

He even added a humble remark. He wasn’t naive enough to be reassured by a few light words of comfort. The people Min Isak had seen were endlessly generous when they wanted to be or when their authority was established, but when the situation changed, they would be the first to pounce on the weak. A heart laid bare would one day return as an arrow.

Meeting the mouse-like eyes that scrutinized his every move, Min Isak bowed his head.

“Hearing you say that is a real relief, Chief Min.”

As expected, Printemps Kim smiled in relief. She placed the wide-brimmed hat that had been sitting demurely on her head onto her lap and made a request.

“Please be patient with him. My Tree takes after his father and has a hot-tempered side, so he gets angry easily over trivial things.”

Just then, from the wall facing the director’s office, a loud thump echoed, along with a death shriek.

I had lied about it being a plasterboard wall with poor soundproofing, but I didn’t think he would be foolish enough to actually punch the wall. Is he going to lay a hand on me soon?

“…Yes, I see. I will handle things carefully so as not to displease him in the future.”

Although it seemed he had already displeased him and then displeased him again, Min Isak readily agreed with Printemps Kim’s words. His glasses slipped slightly from the sweat on the bridge of his nose.

“I wish my youngest son had taken after me.”

She murmured like a sigh as she gazed at the glossy, lustrous Zisha teapot. She was in the middle of boiling water with an electric kettle.

Namgung Tree was the third child and youngest son of Namgung Chun, the chairman of Namgung Construction, and Printemps Kim. He had an older sister and an older brother, he recalled hearing. It was painfully obvious he had grown up receiving nothing but love. At one time, he had been truly envious of that irritatingly cheerful nature.

“What are you talking about?”

He stopped pouring the cooled tea water and adopted a serious expression.

“Anyone can see that he is your son, Madam.”

“Oh my, is that so?”

Yes. Especially that temper of his. Min Isak kept the latter part of his thought to himself.

Printemps Kim’s truly abusive temper was famous even within the art world. Most of the employees at the gallery left after completing the one year required to certify their curatorial experience. While his own abilities were a factor in him becoming chief curator at a young age, it was also because he was the employee who had lasted the longest at Gallery Spring.

Even he, who rarely batted an eye at most things, couldn’t help but inwardly bristle at the suggestion that Namgung Tree didn’t resemble Printemps Kim.

“Does he only… resemble me?”

“Half Chairman Namgung Chun, half you, Madam. A perfect mix.”

In the land of South Korea, saying a son only resembles his mother could inadvertently lead to misunderstandings about the source of his genes. Min Isak, realizing her hidden meaning, corrected his statement.

“The tea tastes especially wonderful today.”

That was the correct answer. Printemps Kim savored the Pu-erh tea she had poured with a satisfied expression.

“But what is that?”

Printemps Kim gestured with her chin toward the center of the director’s office. The remains of the nameplate that Min Isak had shattered last week were still there.

“I wonder? It seems former director Lee Yanghee broke it on her way out. I will have someone clean it up.”

“Ms. Lee, that woman’s temper is really something… You went through a lot of trouble under that crazy person, Chief Min.”

“Thank you for acknowledging it.”

Namgung Tree entered the director’s office as they were chatting, having emptied their first cups and pouring the second infusion of tea. He was clutching his shoulder and panting, but since he wasn’t crying out in pain, it seemed he had managed to avoid a dislocation. How sturdy of him, to be in that state after punching a cement wall.

“Is there something bothering you?”

Namgung Tree glared at Min Isak, who was rising from his seat. He spoke gently, as if he would personally massage his shoulder if he said it was hurting. His face looked disgustingly fake.

“…I’m fine. I’m perfectly alright.”

Namgung Tree’s gaze, which had been deliberately rotating his shoulder to show off how fine he was, stopped in the middle of the director’s office. The nameplate, which had been perfectly intact until Friday, was broken.

“They say former director Lee Yanghee did it. That wicked woman caused a scene until the very end.”

Printemps Kim said, sipping her Pu-erh tea.

…Lies.

Without either of them being the first, the two men glared at each other. Their eyes drew crescents and their lips were pulled up into wide smiles as they laughed, ha ha, ho ho, but between their exchanged glances, a crackling, yellow current of electricity flowed.