Can Murder Be a Workplace Accident? Chapter 3.3

“So, shall we take a closer look?”

She placed a hand on Min Isak’s shoulder and looked at the drawing.

Although she had chided Namgung Tree, asking him how he could possibly look like David, the Namgung Tree in the drawing certainly had a face that resembled David. It wasn’t just his physical appearance; his overall aura was similar.

His combative eyes, which held the will to keep moving forward even while plagued by uncertain anxieties, were enough to remind her of how he would rush to tackle any difficult challenge she gave him.

This was a side of the boy that she could know not as a close friend, but as his teacher, as an older adult who had come before him.

He has a good eye.

Admiring him inwardly, she stroked Min Isak’s head. He hunched his shoulders awkwardly.

“You drew this boldly.”

To draw well, one first had to see properly. Technique was a secondary issue. It was a talent that was difficult to explain away as mere good observational skills.

A boy who had only just entered his late teens possessed such an eye. What would he become when he grew older and matured?

Choi Soon-ho fell into a pleasant daydream. The biggest reason she had chosen to be a high school teacher was so she could watch from the closest vantage point how young students grew.

“Drawing boldly is good, but today is for sketching, not croquis, isn’t it? Don’t rush, take your time and draw slowly. Consider the volume, and pay attention to the direction of the light.”

She patted his shoulder lightly in encouragement.

“Yes, Teacher.”

Volume. Light. Time. Min Isak repeated her advice in his mouth and picked up the charcoal.

Looking at the drawing again, the direction of the light was all over the place. The cheekbones were prominent, and the cheeks were sunken.

It was a terrible drawing.

When the class began, Choi Soon-ho had emphasized that there was no material as excellent as charcoal for expressing light. The expression of light would surely be the most important evaluation criterion. To get a good score, he had to pay attention to that point.

He had foolishly stared only at Namgung Tree’s face and missed the instructions.

“Oh, dear…”

A ‘ㅠㅠ’ emoticon was plastered to the back of his head. Choi Soon-ho could tell his mood just by looking at the back of Min Isak’s head.

He was probably letting the corners of his mouth droop, completely intimidated.

The more well-behaved and obedient a student was, the more their mood would fluctuate with a teacher’s evaluation. Her comment about his bold lines had been a compliment, but he had likely forgotten that and only remembered the rebuke.

She sighed softly and added her opinion.

“The proportions are accurate, so that should be good enough. You’ve captured the features of his face well, too.”

The expression on the back of his head changed from ‘ㅠㅠ’ to ‘!’. His prominent shoulder blades trembled between the X-shaped lines of his apron.

“Th-thank you.”

“Goodness. Work hard on your drawing.”

It didn’t even take 0.1 seconds for the ‘!’ to change into a smile. Choi Soon-ho ruffled the back of Min Isak’s head with her hand and turned her head to scout for her next target.

Flick! Thwack!

“Oh my!”

Suddenly, something like a black gnat flew in front of her eyes. Choi Soon-ho grimaced and waved her hands.

Feeling something unpleasant stick to her cheek, she instinctively rubbed it. What smeared onto her palm was pitch-black charcoal powder.

“Take that!”

Namgung Tree threw the bits of charcoal stick he had snapped off toward the friend sitting next to him. The target of the attack was no pushover, either.

“Eat crap!”

He threw eraser crumbs, made by breaking a perfectly good eraser, toward Namgung Tree.

No matter how artistically gifted they were, the concentration of seventeen-year-old boys and girls was scraping the bottom.

I thought it was strangely quiet. Should she praise him for not throwing rocks like David?

“Namgung Tree, you again?”

Students who were young enough to be her children were always adorable, but she couldn’t overlook them fooling around during class. Lost in his mischief, Namgung Tree didn’t notice Choi Soon-ho calling him, nor did he notice her approaching him from behind his sketchbook.

“Namgung Tree!”

In the end, belying her long career in education, Choi Soon-ho ended up shouting his name.

“Let’s see just how much you’ve drawn.”

Hissing with frustration, Choi Soon-ho walked over to the easel and, for a moment, couldn’t hide her shock.

Just as their concentration was beginning to wane, the students, getting antsy in their seats, began to get up one by one. Art class today was a mess.

“Whoa, that’s insane!”

The students, too, were all unable to hide their surprise. The picture Namgung Tree had drawn captured everyone’s attention for various reasons.

“What are you doing drawing a caricature?”

At the word “caricature,” even the students who had been ignoring the commotion and silently focusing on their work couldn’t help but turn their heads. Dozens of pairs of eyes converged on Namgung Tree’s sketchbook.

Min Isak, who had unconsciously started to lift his butt from his seat, hurriedly came to his senses. Suppressing his desire to look, he forced himself to sit back down.

It was because the caricature drawn in Namgung Tree’s sketchbook was of none other than himself.

He was embarrassed even to see his own face in the mirror. He wanted to see himself as a drawing even less. He wanted to see it, but at the same time, he didn’t.

“It’s a perfect match!”

The eyeballs that had been fixed on the sketchbook all turned to Min Isak at once.

“The eyes are the same, and the nose and mouth are exactly alike.”

“Wow, to draw a kid with such a faint impression like this, Namgung Tree is really something else.”

The friends looked back and forth between the drawing and Min Isak’s face, evaluating the picture.

“Are you sure you drew a person?”

After the positive evaluations were over, the mischievous friends’ round of slander began.

“If this isn’t a person, what is it, a sweet potato?”

“Oh, my. I thought it was a cucumber.”

It was the usual dissing, so Namgung Tree didn’t even flinch. But Min Isak was different. It felt like his own face was being critiqued, not the drawing. And it was close to slander at that. In truth, neither praise nor criticism was welcome.

The desire to see and the desire not to see were split fifty-fifty, waging a war. Blood rushed to his face. To avoid looking hideous, Min Isak bit his lip and breathed through his nose.

“Who’s the model? The kid’s gonna cry, he’s gonna cry.”

Bae Taemin’s sneer sounded like he was telling him to cry. It was unbearable. He forced his head up as it was dropping to the ground and rose from his seat.

“Uh, hey…”

The moment he saw Namgung Tree’s drawing, Min Isak froze solid.

Th-that’s me?

Those dots, lines, and planes?

He was so dumbfounded he couldn’t even speak. Perhaps realizing that even he had gone too far, Namgung Tree meekly apologized.

“Sorry. …But it does look a bit like you, doesn’t it? H-here, the space between the eyebrow and the eye, or the upturned eyes. I drew the ears big too.”

“That was an ear? I thought he had a wart on the side of his face.”

“Shut up, Bae Taemin! …Ah, I’m going to redraw it. I’ll redraw it.”

Namgung Tree desperately tried to explain himself to Min Isak. But nothing registered in Min Isak’s ears.

“Do it properly.”

He barely managed to squeeze out a heavily suppressed voice.

“Everyone, you need to sit down!”

Choi Soon-ho, having narrowly escaped her shock, placated the students.

“Min Isak, you too.”

Min Isak returned to his seat. He rubbed his hot forehead with the back of his hand and picked up the charcoal.

“Caricature” was a rather generous assessment.

Out of affection for her student, Choi Soon-ho couldn’t bring herself to use words like ‘doodle’ or ‘scribble.’

The image of Min Isak drawn in Namgung Tree’s sketchbook was close to an extremely abstract shape. A few lines on a thin, oval-shaped circle. Were the two dots that looked like watermelon seeds his nostrils?

It was a drawing dashed off on a blank page in a single stroke. Having spent all of thirty seconds on it, Namgung Tree had propped it on the easel and was grinning at Choi Soon-ho.

Choi Soon-ho looked back and forth between Min Isak and the drawing. The drawing and Min Isak did have a similar feel. The line falling from his forehead to the bridge of his nose and then to his lips seemed like its features would only come alive if drawn with a fine brush, as if in flight.

Namgung Tree had probably instinctively caught that point and drawn Min Isak as if he were drawing a caricature. However, convincingly transferring his outward appearance was not the purpose of this sketch.

Just as Min Isak had tried to capture Namgung Tree’s essential aspects, Namgung Tree also had to see those same aspects in Min Isak. The expression of light was important, but the most important point of this class was to see properly.

“Namgung Tree. Stop disrupting the class and look properly before you draw.”

“Yeees.”

He answered sullenly.

“Do it well. If you don’t draw properly this time, I’m going to call you to the faculty office after school and make you draw me. The teacher has plenty of time, you know?”

She spoke with a sharp edge to her voice.

For Namgung Tree, who was always busy dashing out like a chicken with its tail on fire the moment class ended, being told to stay at school was as terrifying as having his parents summoned. He pouted his lips like a duckling and reluctantly replied, “Oookaay.”

Truly, he was so thick-skinned. It would be so nice if Namgung Tree’s and Min Isak’s personalities could be mixed half and half. She thought this as she looked at the easels, which had been set up to seat them in pairs.

Namgung Tree ripped out the page with Min Isak’s face on it, creak, and crumpled it into a ball. Even after being scolded like that, he couldn’t shake his mischievous streak and threw it into the trash can as if shooting a basketball.

“Look. I threw that picture away.”

Namgung Tree called to Min Isak and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. Even if it was a terrible drawing, the fact that his face went into the trash can wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling.

“I know.”

“Wipe that look off your face. I said I was sorry. If you keep scowling like that, I’ll draw you really ugly.”

He didn’t even want to speak to him.

Min Isak snorted softly and turned his gaze to his sketchbook. Namgung Tree also picked up his shortened piece of charcoal. A sharp gaze stuck to his skin.

For some reason, his palms were sweaty today, and the charcoal kept slipping. Min Isak, conscious of trying not to look at him, wiped the sweat from his palms on his apron. Every single cell where his gaze touched grew hot.

“Are you a monkey? Your ears are really red.”

“It’s b-because it’s hot. It’s almost summer. I should open a window.”

Min Isak got up from his seat and opened the window. A cool east wind blew in, and the sketchbook fluttered. In the distance, he could hear the sound of cars passing and of a ball being kicked on the sports field.

He hid his embarrassment and glared at the drawing. The Namgung Tree in the drawing was just as detestable as the real one. As if by mistake, he drew a line upwards, making a single strand of hair stick out.

After the commotion passed, the classroom was filled with the sound of charcoal rolling across paper. Choi Soon-ho closed her eyes.

With her eyes closed, it felt like she had entered a sericulture room full of silkworm larvae munching on mulberry leaves to produce silk threads. This accumulated time of effort would surely allow each of them to produce silk threads filled with their own individuality.

Like an owl, she opened one eye to look at the students’ drawings, but ended up shouting.

“Namgung Tree, I told you not to draw a caricature!”

That day, Namgung Tree had to stay late into the night, drawing Choi Soon-ho’s face before he could go home.

What was the grade again? Was it a C, or a C minus? The memory was hazy. Of course, he remembered Min Isak’s grade clearly. An A plus. Choi Soon-ho had taken the portrait, had it framed, and hung it in the art room, which resulted in Namgung Tree being teased for a while, being called ‘David.’

Looking back, it was a pleasant memory. Back then, he hadn’t doubted for a moment that Min Isak would become a painter representing Korea, so how did things turn out like this?

Namgung Tree tapped the exhibition proposal lying on the desk with his fingertips.

“You’ve written a proposal that’s just like you. Uninteresting.”

Min Isak, who had asked for a week’s grace, had produced a rather plausible result. It was of a higher quality than the first proposal, which had just tacked on whatever was trendy. But unfortunately, it wasn’t as good as he had hoped.

Smacking his lips, he pressed the extension number.

—This is Min Isak—.

“Come to the director’s office.”

Before Min Isak could even finish his response, Namgung Tree stated his business and put down the receiver. He was looking forward to seeing how Min Isak’s face would crumple when he told him no.

“It’s old-fashioned. There’s no freshness.”

The inside of the director’s office was cluttered.

Contrary to expectations that he would just make a token appearance at the gallery, Namgung Tree had been diligently clocking in. Seemingly having no intention of putting aside his personal work, the director’s office was strewn not only with work documents but also with an easel, canvases, and a palette with paint squeezed onto it.

The proposal, sent first by email, lay on the desk, scattered into loose pages. As if to show off that he had read it carefully, his eyes were drawn to sections marked with large red pen marks here and there.

“Are you referring to my proposal?”

“Yes. Your taste is old. Is this your taste? How have you been working as a curator with such outdated judgment?”

Namgung Tree flicked the loose sheets of the document with his fingertips. The paper, lifted lightly, slid on the air currents and fell in front of Min Isak.

A bright red X mark was drawn through the entire list of artworks he had painstakingly prepared. Min Isak felt as if that mark had been seared onto his face.

It was the first time he had received such a harsh critique.

Honestly, Min Isak had prided himself on being good at exhibition planning, so Namgung Tree’s指摘 was a shock.

I said I would take responsibility. That’s why I boasted that I would write a proposal that would satisfy him within a week. What should I do now?

Enduring the dizzying sensation of blood draining from his entire body, he clenched his fists.

“Tell me honestly. Is this really your taste?”

However, contrary to his expectations, Namgung Tree didn’t tell Min Isak to take responsibility or to step down from his chief position. Instead, he prodded at the proposal, even asking a question as if to find out why such a result had come about.

“I don’t understand what you mean…”

Naturally, he couldn’t readily understand Namgung Tree’s words. Above all, a curator’s personal taste was merely a secondary factor in exhibition planning.

“You’re still as bad as ever at getting what I mean.”

He frowned as if the very thought was dreadful and pulled a page from the proposal, waving it in front of Min Isak’s eyes. A mother’s breast and a father’s genitals, represented by machinery, sloshed around within the thin A4 paper.

“Do you want to hang works like ‘Naked Motherhood’ or ‘The Father in the Age of Mechanization’ in your home? Do you feel like hanging them on your bedroom wall and making eye contact with them first thing when you wake up in the morning?”

One was the painter’s self-portrait, the other a portrait of his own wife. There was no need to argue back that he lived in a 23-square-meter studio apartment without a separate bedroom or walls to hang large paintings on. As Namgung Tree said, they were not pictures he wanted to see right after waking up in the morning.

“Was your taste that of a lecherous old man who still hits on everyone at eighty years old?”

“…It is not.”

The excessively expressed volume in comparison to the bodies was extremely burdensome. Min Isak couldn’t bring himself to see the works as just works and turned his head away.

“However, the visitors prefer this kind of painting…”

“When did the trend change, and you’re still harping on about motherhood, fatherhood, nudes, breasts, and cocks? Is it not a painting if you take those out?”

He added a weak excuse, but it didn’t work at all on an active painter. Namgung Tree leaned back in his chair and covered his eyes with his right hand, as if there was nothing more to see.

“Get that out of my sight. It’ll make even a hard-on go limp.”

He didn’t forget to add an insulting grumble.

“If you’re going to draw it, at least make it arousing. Then it would at least be pornography, wouldn’t it?”

In short, it was a difference in taste.

The difference in taste between the main visitors and Namgung Tree. Moreover, since the new director was an active painter, his taste might be more radical than that of the average art enthusiast.

If taste was the problem, then Min Isak had something to say too. He couldn’t have a proposal he’d worked on day and night for a week be rejected over the trivial issue of it not being the director’s taste.

Min Isak slowly composed his breathing and organized his thoughts.

“I understand very well what you mean, Director.”

First, he accepted Namgung Tree’s words. As he listened obediently, Namgung Tree slightly shifted the hand covering his eyes.

He had probably expected him to object, so his accepting attitude seemed to be a surprise. An attitude of first agreeing to whatever the instructions were was a basic item equipped by any office worker. The important words come after that.

Min Isak approached Namgung Tree, leaned over the director’s desk, and spread out the documents one by one. The mahogany desk, with its uneven decorations jutting out here and there, had a small workspace for its enormous size.

Their bodies, bent over the desk, were close enough to touch. It seemed like Min Isak’s thigh would touch the back of the hand resting on the swivel chair’s armrest.

A clean, summery perfume scent wafted from his body, clad in a white shirt.

“However, I would like you to confirm the criteria for artwork selection. Would you please look at page five here?”

Min Isak, focused on the proposal, didn’t even realize he was on the verge of perching on one of Namgung Tree’s knees. His shoulder blades twitched every time he shuffled through the papers.

The nape of his neck, revealed between his short hair and high collar, was the color of milk. The marks that looked like they were made by some kind of vampire bat were almost gone now.

“Hmm. Give it here.”

Namgung Tree lightly stood on his toes and silently pushed off the floor. The swivel chair rolled back naturally in sync with Min Isak turning his body. By the time Min Isak turned to hand him the documents, Namgung Tree, already out of his seat, was looking elsewhere, holding out only his hand.

Min Isak looked down disapprovingly at the hand extended without even looking at him. Unable to bear it any longer, Namgung Tree turned his head and looked at him with a skewed gaze.

“What are you doing? How am I supposed to look at it if you don’t give it to me?”

His face, with eyes raised and chin jutting out, was the very picture of arrogance. Patience. For better or worse, he’s the director. Min Isak swallowed his irritation and handed him the relevant page of the proposal.

Frowning, Namgung Tree snatched the document, turned his back to Min Isak, and reviewed it.

“As you can see, this was not my arbitrary selection.”

Min Isak explained calmly to his turned back. For a full ten minutes, he passionately argued that the works were selected based on rational grounds for a successful exhibition.

“So what? Those amazing works you selected, I’m telling you they’re old-fashioned.”

Persuasion didn’t work either. All sorts of thoughts ran through his head. Was he being stubborn out of a director’s pride? Or was it simply bad timing?