The White House Ring
"Since Mr. Kim is here as well, why don't you say a few words?"
That was when Doramp tossed out the suggestion.
What the hell is wrong with this lunatic?
At Doramp's proposal, Si-woo did not let any sign of surprise show on his face.
He smiled readily and stepped up onto the dais.
His mind spun at once.
What on earth should he say to get through this without causing any trouble?
There were countless reporters in front of him, but he opened his mouth slowly, keeping his voice as calm as possible.
"I would like to express my deepest gratitude to the President for inviting us to the White House, such a meaningful place. We also remember, without ever forgetting, the sacrifices of all the veterans who devoted themselves to Korea's freedom more than seventy years ago, and we pay our respects to that noble spirit."
At least the beginning wasn't bad.
He stopped there and smiled toward the Miller family standing beside him.
"I'm grateful to the President for giving me the chance to speak, but this isn't a place where I should be the one in the spotlight. The people who deserve true praise are the Miller family, who decided to return a precious relic to its rightful place without any conditions. I only played a small part in conveying their wishes. So today, I think it is right that we listen to the Miller family's voice more than mine. Mr. Clark, please come this way."
As soon as he finished, applause broke out from the press corps.
Trump came up to him and whispered in his ear.
"You're pretty good at talking. If I hadn't given you the chance, we might've had a real problem."
"...Thank you, Mr. President."
The shutter clicks flared up again, loud and frantic.
Hopefully this whispering scene wouldn't get turned into some weird meme and start circulating around.
For now, he had barely escaped Doramp's grasp.
He was the kind of man you never knew when he'd suddenly say something outrageous.
Then Clark stepped up onto the dais.
Every reporter's gaze snapped toward him at once.
Clark cleared his throat briefly and began slowly.
"My father, Harold Kelly, fought on foreign soil in Korea. To be honest, he said he didn't have some grand calling to fight for anyone back then. He didn't even know where Korea was located. Rather than some ideology about defending liberal democracy, he simply thought of it as the obvious duty of a man, to fight for America. Looking back on that time, my father used to say this: let's just crush the enemy and come home."
A small laugh rippled through the reporters.
Clark went on.
"My father said that the concrete slab, which he didn't even know was a relic, was the greatest treasure that ever saved his life. He said it without knowing, but the irony is that it turned out to be an astonishing treasure. He used to carry it with him when he went on family trips, and even when he went to the neighborhood market."
Clark smiled at his wife and son.
"The reason I returned the relic was simple. My father said while he was alive that he kept thinking of the comrade buried on Korean soil. He said we had to bring the friends buried somewhere on cold ground back home. In that sense, this relic is no different. It should go back to where it originally belonged."
As Clark's emotions rose, his throat tightened.
"If my father were still alive, he would have said of course it had to be returned. It's late, but it's finally back where it belongs. That's enough."
A brief silence followed.
Then applause rang through the room.
This time it was far louder than before.
Doramp patted Clark on the shoulder.
One last round of photos was taken.
Then the reporters began filing out one by one.
The heavy door closed.
The State Dining Room fell quiet.
There were no reporters left now.
* * *
After the press corps left, the atmosphere became much lighter.
Doramp took the seat of honor and slapped the table.
At that signal, the White House staff moved with perfect coordination.
What arrived on the ornate silverware was a dry-aged steak, seared so hard the surface was crisp.
The President, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, drowned it in ketchup.
The staff member standing beside him didn't even blink.
They knew Doramp's tastes well enough not to react.
In place of champagne, the wine glasses held ice-cold Zero Cola.
Doramp lifted his glass lightly and added, "This is the most perfect drink in the world. Everyone, have a glass."
So they all raised their glasses.
Doramp looked at Clark and said, "Mr. Clark, you did wonderfully today. Your father would be proud."
"Thank you, Mr. President."
Clark's voice still trembled a little, as though his emotions were not yet settled.
Doramp laughed heartily and shoved a bite of meat into his mouth.
While chewing, he suddenly seemed to think of something and turned to Si-woo.
"By the way, Mr. Kim."
"Yes, Mr. President."
"I looked into you, and it seems you've uncovered quite a few interesting items."
"I just seem to get a feeling whenever I look at something."
It was a light joke.
Well, half true, at least.
"Hahaha."
Doramp laughed loudly.
"That's a funny story. So then, among the things in the White House, wasn't there anything that gave you that feeling?"
"Unfortunately, there wasn't."
They were just having an easy, ordinary conversation.
Si-woo thought that was a relief.
But then.
Doramp set down the knife smeared with ketchup and reached into the inside pocket of his suit.
A moment later, he took out a ring.
"They told me it was once worn by some famous king in the past."
The rim was worn down.
And in the center, there was a gemstone shaped like an eagle.
Doramp placed it on the table with a light tap.
"I bought this years ago for quite a bit of money. Would you take a look at it for me?"
He paused and stared straight at Si-woo.
"Does this one give you a feeling, too?"
Doramp's eyes looked playful on the surface.
But underneath that was the sharp test of a businessman.
Gray light lingered around the pipe.
Si-woo had seen this light before at the Kim Hak-jun Public Interest Foundation.
It meant this was not a precious museum relic, but a crude fake made to pass for an antiquity in the market.
But this was the White House.
And the person before him was the most powerful man in the world. That fact pressed down on him.
Should he say it honestly, or smooth things over and play along?
"Mr. President, this is..."
As Si-woo looked at the ring and hesitated for a moment, Doramp set down his cola and urged him on.
"Go on. What's your feeling?"
He made up his mind.
"...The odds are high that it's a fake."
In an instant, the air in the dining room froze.
Trump's eyebrows curved sharply.
The Miller family beside him drew in a breath.
Doramp stared at Si-woo for a long moment.
But it wasn't anger that broke the silence. It was laughter.
"Hahaha! That's right! Exactly right, it's a fake!"
Doramp slapped the table and laughed loudly.
His fierce energy vanished without a trace, leaving only a cheerful expression behind.
What the hell is wrong with this man?
"I bought this a long time ago, and I got thoroughly ripped off at the time. I found out later that it was fake, but oddly enough, after I bought it, my business luck became incredible. So I just carry it around like some kind of lucky charm."
Doramp carefully tucked the ring back inside his coat and nodded at Si-woo with visible satisfaction.
"You're the first person who's ever looked me in the eye and told me my own item was a fake. Everyone else either called it authentic or never noticed. That was fun."
Doramp drained the rest of his cola in one go and said, "I'll give you a little gift. Ask my secretary when you leave."
The meal ended there.
"Mr. Kim."
The secretary approached quietly.
He took a dark navy leather case from inside his coat and handed it over.
Inside was a card set with a gold chip.
"What is this?"
"A Global Entry card. The President approved it with his authority."
The secretary explained calmly.
"Ordinary people have to stand in line at the airport for baggage inspection, passport control, and customs declarations. But with this card, you can pass straight through."
The secretary added, "The holder's bags are not opened by customs. No matter how heavy they are. No matter how suspicious they look. The President has personally vouched for the holder's identity."
For an appraiser of relics, airports were always a headache.
Whenever he carried old objects, customs would inevitably stop him.
He had to explain, prove himself, and worry that rough hands might damage the relic.
To be exempt from all that.
It was far more extraordinary than he had expected.
"There's one more thing. If you ever run into trouble in the United States, whether with federal agents or the police, just show them this. They'll apologize to you politely."
He set the card in his palm.
It was cold and heavy.
A card containing quiet, practical power.
* * *
The morning of the send-off ceremony arrived.
Not only high-ranking officials from both countries, but the presidents of South Korea and the United States themselves were present.
On the Korean side, even the heads of the major conglomerates had shown up.
Before the ceremony even began, someone approached Si-woo, who was seated in the VIP section.
It was President Kim.
The security detail naturally cleared the area around them.
The President sat quietly beside Si-woo and said in a low voice, "All of this is thanks to you."
"Not at all. I only did what any Korean citizen should do."
To be honest, he never wanted to be involved with politics again.
He had never felt this exhausted before.
So there really was something to the saying that one should avoid anything connected to politics.
The President looked at him for a moment, then slowly nodded.
"Hahaha. A remarkable young man has appeared in Korea. I hear President Doramp thought highly of you. Your name came up during our brief talks."
"Me?"
"Yes. I heard you identified one of President Doramp's relics?"
"Ah, yes. That happened at the luncheon."
"Hahaha. Thanks to you, he and I got along quite well. The improvement in relations between Korea and the United States is not my achievement. This is Kim Si-woo the appraiser's achievement. It's all yours. I won't forget this."
"That's too much."
"I'm not just saying it. Politics is about giving back when you've received something. If you ever need help, contact me anytime."
They shook hands firmly, and the chief secretary gave him his number.
He hoped he would never need to use it.
Then.
In the row ahead of the VIP section, a familiar face came into view.
It was Chairman Lee Jae-yong.
Their eyes met.
Lee Jae-yong wore a tired expression and made a gesture as though he were drinking a beer.
Si-woo answered with a small laugh and a nod of greeting.
The ceremony went on.
Under the salute of the honor guard.
The presidents of Korea and the United States delivered their speeches.
Then soldiers from both countries carried the box containing the golden book of Sejong.
They headed toward the presidential aircraft, known as the Code One of Korea.
After that, the send-off ceremony concluded with President Kim receiving the storage case and carrying it inside.
Code One began to move slowly down the runway, engines roaring.
Along both sides of the runway, the joint honor guard of the U.S. Army, Navy, and Air Force stood frozen at attention, giving salutes.
That was when it happened.
"Look at that!"
Jacob shouted, pointing at the sky.
Si-woo's gaze turned toward the window.
Above Andrews Air Force Base.
It was the U.S. Air Force demonstration team, the Thunderbirds.
Six F-16s painted in vivid red and blue flew in tight formation on either side, holding their altitude in perfect alignment.
The formation was so precise he could even make out the silhouettes of the pilots' helmets in the cockpits.
The moment Code One climbed through the clouds and gained altitude.
The Thunderbirds ahead of it twisted their aircraft in unison and shot straight upward.
Smoke burst from the tips of their tails.
Red and blue.
Using the clear sky over Washington as their canvas.
Two streams of colored smoke drew a massive curve, coiling around each other.
It was the taeguk pattern.
* * *
At the airport, thanks to the card Doramp had given him, all immigration checks were waived.
The staff member's expression changed the moment he saw the card.
"This way, please."
The VIP-only passage.
A world apart from the long lines in the regular arrivals hall.
This is really convenient.
It was the first time he had learned that American airport staff could be this friendly.
There was no baggage inspection.
No customs declaration.
He simply passed through.
As he pulled his luggage out, he thought for a moment that future business trips to the United States would be much easier.
Incheon Airport.
The moment he stepped outside, a crowd of reporters rushed toward him.
No, he wasn't even a celebrity. How did they know to gather here?
Security at the airport held them back and led him to a makeshift press area set up separately.
Camera flashes exploded from every direction.
Microphones crowded up in front of his face.
"Mr. Kim Si-woo, please say a few words!"
"Please tell us from the beginning how you discovered it!"
"What did you discuss with President Doramp at the White House luncheon?"
Before he knew it, he was standing on the small podium.
Reporters from every major outlet were seated in front of him.
He glanced around for a moment.
He had dealt with American reporters at the White House; this was no different.
"Yes, I'll take questions."
He opened his mouth with ease.
How he discovered the relic.
How negotiations with the Miller family had gone.
What the atmosphere at the White House luncheon with President Doramp had been like.
What they had talked about during the meal, and so on.
Questions came pouring out.
He answered them one by one.
Only the ones he could speak about.
About an hour later, after the press conference ended and he stepped down from the podium, General Manager Yang Dong-seok was standing beside him.
He tapped Si-woo on the shoulder.
"You've worked hard."
"Come on, this much isn't a big deal."
"You really do have incredible stamina. I'm still dying from jet lag."
Dark circles sat heavily under Yang Dong-seok's eyes.
He definitely looked exhausted.
"Then hurry up and get some rest."
"Yes. And thank you for all your hard work too, Mr. Kim Si-woo."
By the time he arrived home, he felt the fatigue in both body and mind begin to fade.
The moment he opened the front door.
He felt a gaze on him.
Atop the cat tower.
The moment their eyes met, Kkamangi hurried down as if pleased to see him.
"Meow-!"
It came up and flicked its tail around as though asking where he'd been all this time.
What a shameless cat.
With no other choice, he went to the kitchen and took out some Churu.
"You welcomed me home, so I guess I have to give you two tubes."
The tail swayed back and forth.
After licking up every last bit of Churu, Kkamangi quietly climbed onto his lap and settled there.
When he stroked it, it gave a soft purr.
Then his mother came out into the living room.
"If you're coming home, you should say something."
"I called you."
"Aigoo, do you know how worried I was about when you'd get here?"
"Nothing happened."
"Nothing happened, my foot... Korea has been in an uproar because of you. Fine, you're back now, so that's enough. Eat something in a little while."
The smell of kimchi stew, after so long, pricked at his nose.
His mouth watered on its own.
Coming back to a home where Kkamangi and his mother were waiting for him.
Only then did it feel as though the heavy load on his shoulders was slowly loosening.
He was still petting Kkamangi when a call came in from an overseas number.
The caller name read Helena Vik.
The chief curator of the Munch Museum in Norway.
Come to think of it, was it already time?
The special exhibition opening at the Munch Museum.
And the ceremony where he would receive the Order of St. Olav, awarded by the Norwegian royal family.
It would be attended not only by numerous figures known across Europe for their achievements in art, but by many high-ranking officials as well.