The Buried Bird Box
Helena searched for one man on her monitor.
Kim Si-woo.
Artifact appraiser.
Finding articles related to him was not difficult.
"Could this really all have been done by one person?"
Before she ever heard from James, she had already known about Kim Si-woo.
No, not just her. Anyone in the art world, anywhere in the world, had probably heard his name at least once.
The porcelain used as an umbrella stand that had been purchased at an online auction.
It had sold for 80 billion won at a Hong Kong auction, and the story had become a worldwide sensation.
It was splashed across headlines around the globe.
Everyone focused on that astonishing figure: 80 billion won.
Everyone thought he had simply been lucky.
But the search results shattered Helena's bias to pieces.
[Katayama Kiyomasa's Sword Finds Its Owner After 400 Years]
[Artifact That Changed the History of Korea's Independence Movement Discovered]
[Heo Hyeon Shin Yun-bok's Forgotten Painting Found]
[Baekje Gilt-Bronze Maitreya Seated Buddha Statue Donated to the State, Youngest Recipient of the Geumgwan Order of Cultural Merit]
[Highest Price Ever Paid for a Porcelain Item in the History of Hong Kong Sotheby's]
Even the stories behind each one were anything but ordinary.
He had uncovered extraordinary relics that most people would be lucky to encounter once in a lifetime, and he had done it all in a short span of time.
What was more, he had achieved all of this not as some classically trained specialist, but after quitting his job and striking out on his own.
It was impossible to dismiss the results as mere luck.
What on earth is he?
Kim Si-woo's eye was not ordinary by any measure.
It would not have been an exaggeration to say he was born with it.
No, even then, it was hard to believe he had produced results like these.
In the art market, where countless appraisers with decades of experience were fooled by fakes, that kind of thing happened all the time.
Riiing-
Then the smartphone on her desk chimed with an alert.
The caller was James Miller.
Helena let out a short breath and answered.
"Yes. James."
"Helena, we're almost there. I'm passing through the museum's front gate now."
From New York to Oslo.
As soon as they had finished speaking, James had rushed to arrange the fastest possible flight and brought Munch's sketch over safely himself, as if he had been ready from the start.
Helena thought back to the past.
Their time as lovers.
He had been a man of hesitant temperament, yes.
But when it came to work, he had always been relentless.
"All right. I'll be ready."
Helena ended the call and rose from her seat.
* * *
In the conservation science lab beneath the Munch Museum in Norway, there was a tension so taut it felt almost physical.
The director, the head of conservation science, the chief researchers, and every other key figure who led the Munch Museum had gathered there.
All eyes were locked on the special security case sitting in the center of the table.
"Are we really supposed to believe you? An early sketch by Munch, bought at an Internet auction? Frankly, it strains credulity."
The white-haired director asked with a suspicious look.
The others nodded in agreement.
It was only natural.
One of the works most heavily targeted by forgers around the world was Munch's art.
Every year, enormous numbers of works were exposed as fakes.
James did not answer. Instead, with gloved hands, he released the lock on the case.
Inside the special case lay a single sheet of old, faded paper.
Rough graphite strokes.
A figure clutching its ears and screaming.
"......!"
The room seemed to stop breathing the instant they saw it.
"Head of conservation science."
Helena spoke in a firm voice.
"Yes, I'm ready."
The team leader carefully took out the K-12 pocket diary that had been stored in the Munch Museum's vault.
The notebook Munch had carried with him constantly in 1892.
For more than 130 years, the historical record had been preserved with 14 pages torn out, and now it was finally being brought back into the light.
"Let me align them."
James's sketch and the museum's diary.
The two artifacts were placed side by side under a high-precision microscope.
On the large monitor, the cut edges of the two sheets met in the image.
Uneven, jagged edges like the teeth of gears.
Click.
As though they had always been one.
The grain of the paper, the torn fibers, fit together almost perfectly.
"My God......"
The director let the words out like a groan. But the verification did not end there.
The conservation team leader lifted a tablet and began reading off the analysis items.
"First, we need a paper composition analysis. We have to confirm whether the pulp matches, along with the cellulose composition, the bleaching method, and even the mineral content of the water used in manufacture."
"The graphite, too,"
the chief researcher added.
"We have a pencil Munch favored at the time. It was a Faber-Castell product from Nuremberg, Germany. We need to compare the graphite's origin, the clay ratio, and even the microscopic impurity pattern."
"Radiocarbon dating can't be left out either,"
Helena said with a nod.
"We need to take samples from both the paper and the graphite traces to identify when they were made. We have to verify whether they really match 1892."
"I'll handle the handwriting analysis."
The researcher in charge of the archives raised a hand.
"I'll compare it with Munch's other sketches, looking at pen pressure, the flow of the line, and habitual touch patterns. I'll quantify his distinctive rough sense of speed and the tremor in his strokes, too."
The director opened his mouth, as if caught in a strange kind of emotion.
"......You all know this already, of course."
A low voice echoed through the room.
"That the way those cut edges match... that isn't coincidence."
No one argued.
That paper fibers preserved for more than 130 years should align so precisely.
To tear paper by hand and reproduce a pattern like that.
Mathematically, physically, it was beyond the realm of manipulation.
"We already know that,"
Helena said quietly.
"We're just gathering the evidence needed to convince the world."
Only then did James speak.
"How long will it take to verify everything?"
The conservation team leader's eyes moved as if he were calculating.
"If we do it properly, at least a month. We'll need joint verification with outside research institutions, and we'll have to prepare a report in academic paper format as well."
"No problem."
James nodded.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"This is a discovery that people have waited a long time for. A month is nothing."
Everyone's gaze once again settled on the old sheet of paper.
The rough, frantic lines.
A figure screaming with its ears covered.
A painting Edvard Munch had left behind well over a hundred years ago.
"By the way,"
the director said suddenly.
"Who was it that found this? You said it was an Asian man named Kim Si-woo?"
"Kim Si-woo is a Korean artifact appraiser."
The countless articles she had searched flickered through Helena's mind.
"At first I found it hard to believe, too. But when you look at his record..."
Helena paused briefly, then went on.
"This discovery was absolutely not luck."
* * *
Crosier Fine Art's vibration-free special transport vehicle slid into the underground VIP parking area of Eterna Gallery.
The moment the vehicle stopped, the security personnel waiting there surrounded it and handled the transfer with great care.
It was almost like a covert operation.
"Confirm the security code. We're releasing the seal."
The transport chief opened a special titanium hard case fitted with shock-absorbing mechanisms.
"Unloading begins. Watch the vibration."
The experts in white gloves lifted it out with extreme caution.
They handled it as though it were an explosive device.
This was no mere object.
It was Frere Rocha's Bird Box, worth 7 billion won, perhaps more.
"Current case humidity is 45 percent, temperature 20 degrees. Optimal conditions maintained."
The employee checking the device reported in.
Si-woo and Shin A-young watched the solemn process.
"It really is different. So much manpower for one box."
At Si-woo's remark, Shin A-young gave a faint smile.
"Of course. It contains a precision mechanism that's two hundred years old. Even the slightest vibration could damage it."
It was stored in the vault, and the inspection was complete.
"Please sign for final receipt."
After Si-woo finished signing, the person in charge bowed politely.
The scene was being filmed by a few Nutflix camera crew members.
"Si-woo."
Shin A-young spoke carefully.
"Are you planning to keep it?"
The moment this item was put up for auction, it would easily fetch tens of billions, perhaps even hundreds of billions of won.
And once the Nutflix documentary aired?
"When the program goes out, its value will skyrocket. It could easily pass the hundreds of billions mark. Collectors all over the world will come running."
Si-woo knew that very well.
"Besides, you now hold a stake in Eterna Gallery."
Shin A-young added,
"There's no need to rush. You can display it here and wait, or put it up for auction whenever you want. Either way, you won't lose."
Her words were reasonable.
He nodded and looked down at the Bird Box.
Intricate enamel work, a border set with rubies and pearls.
A masterpiece carrying the soul of a Swiss artisan from two hundred years ago.
And then, in that instant, the noise of the gallery faded far away from his ears.
The smell of hot, damp air hit him in a rush.
The scent of gunpowder. The salt of the sea. And desperate screams.
No way...
As his vision blurred, consciousness was once again dragged into the torrent of the past.
[December 25, 1941, To Kwa Wan, Kowloon Peninsula, Hong Kong]
Across the streets, a piercing siren wailed, and Japanese military radio broadcasts celebrating victory filled the air.
- The British have surrendered! Hong Kong is now territory of the Empire of Japan!
It was Christmas Day.
But for the people of Hong Kong, it was the day the forever-remembered "Black Christmas" began.
"Mom! The Japanese army is right in front of us!"
Anna screamed as she looked out the window.
The street was already a scene of total chaos.
Refugees carrying bundles of belongings.
Shouts from Japanese soldiers with bayonets fixed to their rifles, all of it blending into a hellish panorama.
The Japanese army was arresting Westerners in sight wherever they found them.
"Anna, hurry! We have to leave right now if we're going to catch Uncle Chen's boat!"
Her mother, Maria, shouted while packing their things.
But Anna could not bring herself to put down the Bird Box clutched in her arms.
"What about the Bird Box Dad gave me? If I carry this out, they'll take it!"
Tears streamed down Anna's face.
The box was decorated with gold and jewels.
The moment it fell into the eyes of the occupation troops hungry for plunder, not only would the object be seized, but the lives of the mother and daughter would be in danger too.
"We have to hide it. So nobody can recognize it."
Maria seemed to make up her mind and ran to the kitchen.
She pulled every candle out of the cupboard and began melting them in a pot.
"Anna, tear up the floor!"
Anna stopped crying and, grunting with effort, pried up the old wooden boards beneath the sink.
While she did that, Maria carefully poured the melted wax into the seams of the Bird Box.
"The mechanism inside can't be damaged. It has to be sealed completely so no air gets in."
She brought over waterproof tar and resin from the corner of the storage room.
After packing them around the box, she smeared thick black tar over the outside.
"...Dad gave me this."
Tears gathered at the corners of Anna's eyes.
But Maria was resolute.
"Anna, this is the only way we'll be able to find it again later. If anyone discovers it, it has to look like worthless scrap so they won't touch it."
A blackened lump.
The box had been transformed into something that looked like construction-site debris at a glance.
Wait for me...
Anna whispered as she covered the boards she had pried up.
I'll come back for you for sure. When the war is over... I'll come back to take you home with Dad. Sing to me again then.
It was the moment the mother and daughter stepped out the door carrying nothing but one worn bag.
"Stop there!"
Japanese soldiers burst through the front door.
Their rifle barrels, cold and sharp, swung toward them.
"They're white women! Show me your papers!"
Maria handed over her identification with shaking hands.
The Japanese officer scanned the documents, then narrowed his eyes.
In broken English, he asked,
"Austria... Vienna?"
"We're citizens of Germany's ally! We're not an enemy nation-"
Maria hurried to explain, but the officer's eyes glittered coldly.
"Shut up!"
He looked over the papers more closely, then smiled with a faint, greasy twist of his mouth.
"So you were Jewish."
Maria went white.
After Nazi Germany annexed Austria in 1938, Jewish people's passports were forcibly stamped with a "J."
It was a mark that could not be erased, even in the midst of a life-and-death escape.
The officer crumpled the documents and tossed them away.
"You're stateless people abandoned by your own country, and you're pretending to be allies? Jews are practically enemy nationals. Take them to the camp!"
"No! We've done nothing wrong!"
Maria resisted.
But a soldier swung the butt of his rifle and smashed it into her side.
Maria screamed and collapsed to the floor.
"Mom!"
Anna wrapped her arms around her fallen mother.
The officer jerked his chin.
"Send them to Stanley Internment Camp. Since they're Jewish, we can hand them over to the Germans too."
"No! We have to go! Dad is waiting for us!"
Anna's cries were swallowed by the sound of boots.
Rough hands dragged the mother and daughter away and threw them into the back of a truck like sacks of cargo.
The truck lurched forward.
Anna stared at their home growing distant behind them.
Tears flooded her eyes, along with despair.
I will come back for sure.
But Anna had no way of knowing whether she could keep that promise.
And so the Bird Box was left alone in the darkness beneath the cold floor.
Fwoosh-!
Light flooded back in as Si-woo came to himself again.
Then he grabbed his smartphone in a panic.
He called General Manager Yang Dong-seok, who was in Hong Kong.