Can Murder Be a Workplace Accident? Chapter 3.4

Should I back off for now and come back in again? But if I did that, the time I’d spent explaining things up to now would be a waste. Besides, I had my own pride as an exhibition curator.

“It’s because you’re the new director and you don’t know yet, but these are all steady sellers.”

“Well, I didn’t know this, but you have a knack for getting on people’s nerves, don’t you?”

The irreconcilable difference in opinion eventually led to a verbal argument.

“Did you talk back to the old director like this too? Are you treating me this way just because we’re high school classmates?”

“The old director would have understood by now. I won’t stop you if you insist on your own taste, but I don’t want to ruin the exhibition. For you, Director, it’s enough to blame the former director. But I’m the one who’ll be called a failure.”

The meaning of his words sounded as if Namgung Tree was a novice who couldn’t even distinguish his personal likes and dislikes. It wasn’t exactly an incorrect assessment.

He was a parachute appointment, and his experience in gallery management was paltry. Even his reason for wanting the exhibition to do well was so he could inherit the gallery.

“This exhibition is important to me too!”

That’s why he was even more furious. Hearing the plain truth usually makes one angrier.

As the man a head taller than him glared down, Min Isak puffed up his body as if he couldn’t lose. The look in his eyes as he stared with his mouth firmly shut was quite murderous.

“What’s wrong with my taste? Those great works you selected would have become forgotten junk, thrown in a warehouse behind SoHo Street in New York twenty years ago.”

“That’s America’s story. This is Korea.”

“Korea is bound to follow America. Look at the people who want to become painters. There are people who go to America to study art, but there are no people who come from America to Korea.”

Seeing Min Isak’s completely distorted face, Namgung Tree felt a sense of pleasure that he had finally landed a blow on him. It was also an undeniable fact that the center of modern art was America. The two men, armed with facts, exchanged blows nicely.

Drunk on the pleasure, Namgung Tree wanted to shake Min Isak even more. He scanned Min Isak, who was standing in a rigid posture, and then muttered as if he had suddenly remembered something.

“Ah, is that why?”

His eyes were filled with ridicule. His voice was endlessly vile.

“You were a domestic type, weren’t you? You said you were going to study abroad in high school, but you couldn’t go in the end. Is that why you’re acting so provincially?”

In that moment, a hand went up, and a sharp cracking sound spread through the director’s office.

The sound clearly reached his ears, but Namgung Tree had no idea where it had come from. His vision went white. A few seconds later, a searing pain rose on his cheek, and his vision returned.

Only then could he grasp the situation.

“Fucking bastard…”

Min Isak expressed his rage, his whole body trembling. His right arm, which he had swung widely, was still hovering near his left shoulder, and his indignant eyes were even welling with tears. He grabbed Namgung Tree by the collar.

It all happened in an instant. Flustered, Namgung Tree was helplessly pulled along by Min Isak’s hand.

“How could you say something like that!”

His face came up to just below his nose. He could feel the heat of his warm skin even without touching it.

In the end, tears fell from Min Isak’s eyes. His agitated voice was thick with moisture. Startled, Namgung Tree’s cheek twitched faintly. He was more surprised than when he’d been slapped. His tense body stiffened.

He couldn’t ignore the vivid heat emanating from the man below him. The scent of summer perfume that had been wafting from him earlier became more vivid with the heat. A flash of displeasure crossed Namgung Tree’s eyes.

“Stop it!”

He shouted, but it didn’t reach the ears of the agitated Min Isak.

One by one, he grabbed and pulled off the hands that were clumsily holding and shaking his collar. His shirt and vest were badly wrinkled. These are expensive clothes. I’m the one who should be saying ‘fuck’. Namgung Tree muttered a small curse.

“You, how dare you… sob, you…!”

“A director telling an employee to revise a proposal is something that deserves a ‘how dare you’? Do you think that makes any sense?”

Min Isak, enraged as if having a fit, rushed at Namgung Tree again. Namgung Tree quickly dodged him and pushed him to the floor. The slight body rolled onto the carpet, and his glasses went flying. Without a single cry of pain, Min Isak burst into sorrowful sobs.

It was practically a frenzy.

Min Isak looked like a person who had forgotten that this was the director’s office and that Namgung Tree was standing in front of him. His crying was half-mixed with curses.

“Ha, fuck…”

Why the sudden outburst? I’m the one who wants to curse! He bit his lips and swept up his messy bangs.

“What is this? I was just going to end it with revising the selected works, but I can’t even give my opinion? Are all curators crazy like you?”

Of course, that couldn’t be true.

Namgung Tree shook his head and looked down at Min Isak. He was still sprawled on the floor, sniffling.

He was unsightly. He was truly displeasing to look at.

Namgung Tree chose to turn his back instead.

It is human nature to extend a hand to someone who has fallen, but he didn’t even feel like helping him up. Furthermore, he didn’t have the slightest inclination to soothe a man of the same age, over thirty years old.

The only generosity he could bestow upon Min Isak was not firing him on the spot. Even that was more than enough.

A faint vibration came from his wrist. His smartwatch was alerting him of his schedule. It was almost lunchtime, and he had an appointment. He didn’t have time to deal with him.

“Stop your blubbering and get out.”

Namgung Tree decided to ignore the Min Isak behind him. He looked in the mirror leaning against the bookshelf and straightened his clothes. He hooked his fingers on the knot of his wrinkled tie to loosen it and let out a deep sigh.

“Let’s talk about what just happened after lunchtime.”

Once he cooled his head, he would realize how wrong he had been. But no answer came. The silence grated on his nerves. It was a vicious cycle.

The hands retying his tie kept slipping, and his face crumpled. The timing of his breaths grew shorter and shorter. His patience was about to snap.

The last time he had flared up, Namgung Tree had choked Min Isak. If he flared up again this time, he might very well kick Min Isak in the stomach. If that happened, all that would be left was a dogfight.

A dozen or so employees were working in the office. Namgung Tree glared at the space outside the director’s office and then squeezed his eyes shut. If they fought and the police were called, it was certain that Namgung Choon and Printemps Kim would hear about it. His father might take back the inheritance he had promised to give him, saying he wasn’t qualified to be the director.

Fuck. Just you wait until I inherit it.

I’ll sell all the paintings and close the gallery with my own hands.

His eyeballs were hot. His temples throbbed. Swallowing the rising anger down his throat, he shouted.

“Didn’t you hear me? Get lost!”

He pointed to the door and turned around. But belying the loud shout, his anger didn’t last long.

“Gasp, keok…”

The amber eyes, with their pupils fully dilated, were filled with terror. His stiffly twisted limbs trembled faintly according to the electrical impulses from his heart. He was like a wooden block in the shape of a person.

“…Chief Min?”

His breathing was severely ragged.

Like a person being strangled by a thick rope, or someone with food stuck in their windpipe, Min Isak gasped with his mouth open. No matter how much he moved his diaphragm, he seemed to be short of oxygen, and the rise and fall of his chest only continued to worsen.

His complexion was truly the leaden color of a corpse.

“Hey, Min Isak!”

Tears streamed down from his terrified eyes. Namgung Tree practically ran to him. His convulsing limbs twisted into a bizarre shape.

Fortunately, Namgung Tree had witnessed similar scenes a few times before. Hyperventilation syndrome due to mental stress was relatively more common among people who made a living in the arts than those in other professions.

“You’re one thing after another, really!”

He hurriedly embraced Min Isak from behind and sat him leaning against the wall. He knew from experience that if he didn’t straighten out the limbs that were beginning to stiffen, he would suffer for days.

You promised to take responsibility for the proposal.

Sick leave in this situation is definitely not good.

Namgung Tree, thinking from a purely capitalist standpoint that there was no other choice, entangled his own legs with the legs that were bending erratically. With one hand, he gathered Min Isak’s arms in front of him and pressed down on his chest, which was rising and falling crazily.

“Haa, heok…”

Min Isak’s head kept slumping forward. The gasping didn’t stop easily. He quickly scanned the inside of the director’s office. Was there anything he could use?

A paper bag, or at least a plastic bag, or even a briefcase would be good. The things that were usually so easy to spot were nowhere to be seen today. Asking someone to bring one in from outside would obviously cause a delay.

“So annoying.”

Namgung Tree hurriedly pulled Min Isak’s shirt out from his waistband. The white, flat stomach, writhing desperately, was extremely soft.

“Fuck. This gives me the creeps.”

Sitting as if embracing Min Isak from behind, he covered his mouth and nose with the shirttail and rested the round back of his head on his own shoulder. The standard emergency procedure was to extend one’s sleeves to cover the mouth, but unfortunately, Namgung Tree was wearing a perfectly tailored suit today.

“It’s okay. Nothing to be afraid of. Breathe slowly.”

His actions were swift, but his tone was nonchalant, even mixed with annoyance. Afraid of startling the man who was panicking from hyperventilation syndrome even more, Namgung Tree deliberately maintained his usual tone of voice as he soothed him.

“Slowly, slowly. Yes, that’s right.”

Inside his embrace, his rib cage expanded and contracted rapidly, like a baby bird’s chest. He cupped Min Isak’s face through the white cloth.

He could feel the flow of air coming and going under his palm. Even the movement of his lips as they mumbled something.

“Ah, my arm is falling asleep.”

Namgung Tree pulled his right arm away and shook it vigorously. He had pressed down with so much force to calm his breathing that the arm, which was usually unfazed by considerable exercise, was throbbing. Having no choice, he crossed his legs and hugged him with his whole body.

Chest and back were touching. He was held in a single embrace.

“It’s a real relief that you’re small.”

Between sobs and moist breaths, Min Isak muttered something.

“…I’m not. sob, …I’m not.”

“You’re not small? What are you talking about? You’re small enough to fit in one embrace. Don’t talk so loudly and just breathe properly.”

He looked into Min Isak’s eyes and repeatedly whispered, “slowly.” Finally, Min Isak completely relaxed his body and went limp against Namgung Tree. But he didn’t stop mumbling.

“I am… not.”

“Right, right. You’re not small.”

For all his faults, he was still a man and apparently disliked being called small. Namgung Tree let his words slide and absentmindedly stroked his head. As his breathing calmed, the faint cry also became a little clearer. It was like a spell he was casting on himself, to the point where an eerie obsession could be felt.

What he’d overheard wasn’t about being small.

“…What are you not?”

Min Isak tilted his head back and met Namgung Tree’s eyes.

Madness blazed in his tear-soaked amber eyes.

They were not the eyes of a sane person.

“…I am not a failure.”

He said, as if declaring it, in a small but clear voice.

“What?”

Namgung Tree’s eyes widened at the unexpected words. Weren’t we just talking about the proposal? He couldn’t understand the thought process of how an instruction to revise a proposal led to the word “failure.”

“What does that mean? Who called you a failure?”

“…I wish you would be ruined.”

After spouting only nonsense, he fainted. It seemed his mind couldn’t hold on, even though his breathing had returned to normal.

“Hey, hey! Min Isak. Chief Min! Get a hold of yourself!”

He had at least never accused Min Isak of being a failure, and yet he’d been cursed to be ruined. Since it was something said by a person not in his right mind, he couldn’t even scold him for it, and when he came to, he would probably feign ignorance, saying he’d never said such a thing.

“I really can’t deal with this.”

Muttering in a completely fed-up tone, he removed the shirttail that had been covering his nose and mouth. The white shirttail was damp with saliva and tears.

Min Isak’s face, with his eyes closed and breathing softly, looked extremely tired. The corners of his eyes, from all the crying, were swollen bright red.

If I leave him like that, won’t it sting?

Namgung Tree was about to stroke the corner of his eye with his finger when he flinched and pulled back.

It wasn’t just his upper body that pulled back. He sprang up from Min Isak as if he had been stung by a bee.

“Fuck…”

Staggering backward, he collapsed onto the sofa. What the hell am I doing?

Namgung Tree left Min Isak on the floor and ran out of the director’s office as if fleeing.

“What took you so long?”

Bae Taemin waved from his seat.

“Did you pull a hamstring while working out?”

He said, watching Namgung Tree walk in with a somewhat awkward gait. With his hand thrust deeply into his right pocket, he had walked in like someone being chased and then slumped into a chair.

Bae Taemin silently poured a glass of water and held it out. He snatched the glass and gulped it down in one go. The sound of his Adam’s apple bobbing echoed in the private room of the French bistro that Bae Taemin ran.

Thud, he carelessly set the glass down on the table.

“Put it down carefully. It’s a custom-made glass from the Murano workshop.”

“How much could that possibly cost? What’s the breakage charge?”

“Eighty thousand won each.”

“What?”

Namgung Tree recoiled from the water glass in shock. What kind of glass… He glared back and forth between Bae Taemin and the glass.

“You nouveau-riche bastard. When the food is this expensive, would I use cheap tableware? Do you think this is some kind of beef bone soup restaurant?”

The glass he was holding looked different now. What he thought was transparent glass had a milky swirl pattern on it. It was a color that reminded him of the wet white shirt that had clung to Min Isak’s face.

“Shut up. It’s boiling hot. Stop yapping and just bring me some ice water. In a paper cup, not this one.”

He pushed the glass toward Bae Taemin as if he didn’t even want to touch it and leaned back in his chair. He let out a short breath toward the bangs tickling his forehead and crossed his long legs. It was so hot it was hard to breathe.

“It’s September already, and you’re still complaining about the heat?”

Bae Taemin got up from his seat, opened the door to the private room, and called a server. When he ordered ice water in a paper cup, the server tilted his head in confusion. All the while, Namgung Tree was fanning himself incessantly, flapping his jacket.

He must be really hot. Bae Taemin lowered the air conditioner temperature with the remote. Cold air, enough to give one goosebumps, poured down from the ceiling.

As Bae Taemin, shivering, was returning to his seat, his eyes fell on Namgung Tree’s thigh. A thick bulge, pronounced enough to cast a shadow. Bae Taemin licked his dry lips with his tongue and asked nonchalantly.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“There’s always something.”

“No, not that kind of thing. I mean something fun.”

Knock, knock.

Just as he was about to ask a serious question, someone knocked on the door of the private room. In a voice thick with displeasure, Bae Taemin told them to come in.

The server who came in with a tray placed a paper cup on the table and bowed deeply. When the small paper cup, the kind used for instant coffee mix, was placed in front of him, Namgung Tree glared at the server with a look of disbelief. The server, flustered, turned his gaze to Bae Taemin.

Bae Taemin covered his mouth and chuckled, then gestured for the server to leave.

The paper cup full of ice water was so damp it was difficult to hold. The fluorescent lime green pattern was nightmarishly tacky.

“Hey, you, you did this on purpose…”

“When else would I get to tease you if not for something like this?”

As soon as the server left, Bae Taemin slapped the table and burst out laughing. The water in the paper cup was far from enough to quench his burning thirst. Namgung Tree crunched on the ice and glared at Bae Taemin.

“Is this funny to you?”

“No. There’s something else that’s funny.”

Bae Taemin rested his elbows on the table and cupped his chin in his hands. He watched the irritable, snappy Namgung Tree and then gave a sly smile.

“Who did you get turned on by on your way here?”

“Pfft!”

A piece of ice shot out of his mouth like a bullet and hit Bae Taemin squarely on his narrow forehead.

“Ah, shit! Are you a kid? That’s disgusting.”

“How, how did you know that?”

Namgung Tree’s eyes bulged as he retorted. But his wavering pupils, not knowing where to look, were telling the truth. His legs, twisting even more tightly, kicked Bae Taemin’s shin.

“Try uncrossing your legs before you speak.”

Bae Taemin said, wiping his forehead and putting down the damp napkin.

“What turned you on? You can’t get it up.”

“What kind of bullshit is that! There’s no functional problem, you know? I even went to the hospital and got checked. It’s psychogenic, from the stress of making art.”

“So you became impotent from making aaaart?”

“I said I’m not impotent!”

He denied it vehemently. But as always, a strong denial was a strong confirmation.

He wasn’t ‘impotent’. No, but Namgung Tree’s experience of getting an erection from seeing a real person was close to ‘0’.

“Not impotent, my ass. You think I don’t know about your failed love life? Should I list them for you?”

Bae Taemin sneered, counting on his fingers. Namgung Tree reached out, slapped his hand away, and became serious.

“Failed? Isn’t that a bit harsh?”

In truth, even the word “failed” was too generous. A waste of his handsome shell, Namgung Tree was still a virgin at thirty-two. His last date was eleven years ago, and his most recent kiss was twelve years ago.

A man over thirty being a virgin, not even twenty. It’s so embarrassing he can’t even tell anyone. Even Confucius would mock him.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in women or men. On the contrary, his interest was immense. After leaving his parents’ nest and going abroad to study at the age of twenty, Namgung Tree, reveling in the freedom and indulgence that crashed over him like a tidal wave, had poked around at various parties.