The Gallery on Oxford Street
Devon went back to the family house for the first time in a long while. Nothing in the world frightened him, except for one thing: his father still did, a little. Maybe that was why he drifted around the yard with nothing particular to do and ended up in the training room, where every machine had been set to his father's measurements.
"Nngh."
He had to readjust every weight. Old as the equipment was, it had been oiled with fussy care, so even when he hauled in earnest the usual creak never came. Typical of Father. Of course it is.
He was just finishing a set for his chest.
"You're here?"
"Wh—? Ah, yes. You're off work?"
Devon scrambled to his feet and bowed his head.
"You come home and lift weights instead of helping your mother?"
"No, well... if I hang around while she's cooking, I'll only be in the way..."
"You could talk to her."
"R-right. I could."
"Chest?"
"Yes."
"Why's the weight like this?"
"I-I'm just warming up."
"A man gets a stimulus out of this?"
His father, White Moore, reset the stack to the heaviest weight there was. The frame was already massive. With every pull of the iron it grew more brutish still.
"Hup!"
This was no prosecutor general. You could have called him Detective Ma, tearing through Ubam City, and anyone would have believed you.
"Spot me."
"Yes..."
There was exactly one reason Devon feared his father. Mind or body, he could not stand beside the man in either.
"Wh-where's Grandfather?"
"He went out on business."
"Business? He's retired..."
Well, fair enough. He had left public office, but he still kept something like a legal counsel's post.
"Will he be back for dinner?"
"Why so interested in your grandfather's affairs?"
"Well..."
Because eating alone with you is unbearably awkward!
Nngh. Pizza with the students would have been so much better. Devon could only smack his lips in regret.
At that same hour, in Leona Harris's office, warm sunlight poured across the room. Even so, her face looked deathly pale. Across from her sat a man well past middle age: Somerset More, legal counsel to the House of Grosvenor. A former chief justice, and a More—Britain's greatest legal dynasty, which since the eleventh century had produced no fewer than nine chief justices.
In Britain the chief justice also serves as attorney general. It is the highest seat the law can offer, and not one of them had ever hung out a private shingle after retirement. Still, in an honorary capacity, they sometimes took counsel to the royal household or to the Grosvenor dukedom.
"I understand your husband runs a law firm?"
"Yes... that's right."
"You would do well to mobilize every lawyer under him."
"Pardon?"
"I intend to take the case myself. Not only Clifford Brookhouse. You will need to gather every leading firm there is."
Leona Harris's throat bobbed in a hard swallow.
"Will you fight to the end? Or will you sign this document and end the war?"
"Even if the war ends, if I lose everything... what good is that?"
"Then die gloriously in battle. Who knows. They might pin a medal on your grave."
"We are Harris. Must you really go this far?"
"Your opponent is Grosvenor."
"......"
"I should think this much is courtesy enough."
Somerset More settled his fedora as he spoke.
The next day, Harris's head of protocol set out for Oxford Street from the morning. Today the street Park Jihoon and Tennessee had made together was reopening.
They send the legal counsel right before we open?
It was as good as a declaration of war.
Fine. I'll see exactly how well you've prepared.
There were already quite a few people at the entrance to the street. It was the weekend, and uncommonly clear for London, so of course a fair number had come out for a stroll. Right. You could hardly call the outlook rosy on that alone.
The first shop was Luy Vuitton.
I heard they even issued new shares to look after Park Jihoon.
Were they determined to push him? There seemed to be quite a few exclusive goods sold only at the Oxford store. In plain terms: what Harris Department Store did not have, Oxford Street did. Was that the whole of it? And when he looked to see how impressive the thing actually was—
"Ha!"
Absurdly, it was Capsulemon. He understood the urge to look hip. Even so, that was over the line, wasn't it? Children did go in, delighted. They had next to no spending power and would only make the shop noisy.
Child customers are the worst.
And yet.
"Sweetie, no running. That's it, slowly. Aigoo, what a good kid. Here, take this."
Quite a few young men in volunteer sashes were looking after the children. Thanks to them, a shop that ought to have been a racket felt quieter than he had expected.
"Do you know what this is?"
"Yes."
"Do you know its type, too?"
"Of course. I know all of them."
"Want to tell me?"
There was a fellow whose enormous frame did not match the way he dropped to the children's eye level to look after them. Wait—hadn't that one been one of the young master's men? The name... Ra, Ralph, he thought. Besides him, quite a few others were sweeping and wiping down the street, and every face was familiar.
Why are they...
The thought did not last.
"May I help you with anything?"
"No, no. I'm fine."
In case someone recognized him, he had to get clear of the place at once.
Hoo.
Once he escaped the bustling Luy Vuitton shop, Malenciaga came into view. He had heard they had collaborated with Ultimate this time. A brand that had been dying—why on earth was there a line like this? Word was that Malenciaga was preparing to pull out of the Harris flagship. They meant to lock their course firmly onto Park Jihoon's side while they had the chance.
Damn it.
Even as he sighed, customers kept pouring in.
Right...
Luy Vuitton and Malenciaga were brands with history, weren't they? People lining up to get in? Factor in opening-day fever, and it was not incomprehensible. That was one thing.
What is that?
What on earth was Gromhats, that the line ran this long? Stranger still, everyone leaving the shop came out carrying some peculiar shopping bag.
Gromhats × Rolex
What? That upstart had collaborated with a watchmaking giant?
For crying out loud!
Park Jihoon, that man. He knew exactly what a new brand had to do if it wanted to raise its name in a short time.
And it doesn't stop at knowing it in his head...
The problem was that he had the power to carry it out.
"Tch."
No matter how Park Jihoon strained on his own, he had thought the Harris chain would not so much as budge. Then Grosvenor seemed to move, and now countless houses were scrambling to line up behind the boy. Was there any way to stop this current? His chest was tightening for no good reason when the next blow landed, as if bad news had been waiting its turn.
And what is this now?
Murals faintly worked into the shop walls began to catch his eye. They were not flashy; at first he had not even noticed them. Which was to say the pictures had melted that well into the street. Look closely, though, as he was doing now, and each mural matched its brand's image in a strange, exact way. Damn it. He had heard that luxury would become the art of this age. Did they really mean to turn the whole street into one enormous gallery? At that point he honestly had nothing left to say.
"......"
He had asked himself a moment ago whether there was any way to dam a current this large.
Next to this, Harris Department Store looks far too stiff. Too old...
Perhaps because no solution came to him no matter how he turned it over, he could only let his head drop.
Meanwhile, it was opening day, so a good many familiar guests had come by. Even now, Steve strode into the newly dressed Queensman with a folding bicycle in one hand.
"Whoa... this kills."
You could call it a deeply impressed face. He was looking the place over when I spoke.
"What's with the bicycle?"
"Got a bit of money this time. Went and bought it with a heavy heart."
The factory was running at full capacity these days. He must have read the question on my face, because he went on, a little sheepish.
"No, it's—you donated all the profits, didn't you?"
Ah, that. We were making the stuff and selling it as promotion, but frankly, a chaebol pocketing even bread money felt a bit off. So I was giving the entire profit to a children's hospital.
"If I hadn't known, I could've let it slide. Once I did, how was I supposed to buy a car?"
"......?"
"A fair bit came down as my share. Like a man, I meant to shut my eyes and donate it... God, my hands were shaking."
"What happened?"
"What do you mean, what happened. I donated it with shaking hands."
"How do you feel now?"
"I regret it twelve times a day."
"Really?"
"On the other hand, I'm proud about a hundred times a day."
"Then you're still ahead."
"Yeah. What I've actually got left is one bicycle, though."
I huffed a laugh. He had donated, so he ought to have been broke, and yet he had gone and bought something in the middle of it.
"Nothing special. Just sandwiches and such."
I had known he was a good man since he started teaching me rugby. Tsk. A fellow with an uncommon love of cars, and with money enough for a Ferrari, had gone and donated just to follow me. Conscience would not let me send him off empty-handed.
"Want me to show you around?"
"Love to."
"Shall we step out?"
"Hm?"
"There's a brand I really want to introduce."
We headed for Gromhats.
"Isn't that Park Jihoon?"
"I think it is."
Since my face had been on television lately, people recognized me now and then. It was not uncomfortable. They only stared with curious eyes, and nothing more.
"One Rolex collaboration, please."
I swiped the card without hesitation. No shareholder discount. Full price, clean.
"It's a gift, hyung."
"What's this all of a sudden?"
"The bread. There's a lot of volume, and you're moving it without a single hitch. I'm grateful."
That was the excuse. I simply wanted to send this man off with one present in his hands.
"I... it's a burden just to take it."
"With the money you donated, you could buy fifty of these."
"Even so..."
"Wear it a lot and advertise for us. That's enough."
I forced the watch into his hands, then quickly turned toward the staff. If I jumped into business, Steve would not be able to refuse.
"How are sales today?"
"So explosive we can hardly keep up."
"Really?"
"The stock we took in to last at least two weeks..."
"......?"
"It was gone in half a day."
"Huh."
I meant to forbid sales one day a week. At this rate, we might only be selling one day a week.
The other brands were the same. Malenciaga had already sold out on account of the Ultimate collaboration, and the shop was practically empty. Luy Vuitton said the Capsulemon collaboration had sold out the moment they opened. Anyone who had come to look would not mind much. Anyone who had come to buy might leave hollow and disappointed.
Of course, there was a shop prepared for them.
"From here on is space for emerging designers. You'll be able to see work by young, fresh artists that co-representatives Park Jihoon and Tennessee discovered themselves..."
Nobody had even asked them, yet Ralph and the other second-year seniors were guiding people through. I huffed another laugh. Anyway, from luxury brands down to newcomers who could barely open a shop of their own, a street had taken shape where different designers could thrive side by side.
Where else is there a policy this friendly to design?
Grandfather! Design's Hyeongang—in other words, my retirement—doesn't look far off.
Of course, before that.
I mean to swallow the Harris flagship cleanly on the way out.
Watching the bustling street, I set my resolve once more.