Chapter 120
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 120
Seo Gio was a gentle, old-fashioned man.
‘I never thought my first impression of someone could be so embarrassing.’
But it was the first thought that came to mind just by looking at him.
“I see today’s refreshments were star candies.”
“Yes. Purple, yellow, and green star candies.”
“Aren’t they wonderfully sweet?”
“According to the records… they only ever request sweet snacks.”
“Last time, they wanted lemon madeleines.”
It wasn’t a particularly meaningful conversation. Although Seo Gio hadn’t stopped him from reporting the anomaly of the Sweet Tea Party over the radio, he had simply brushed it off by saying, “An extraordinary stroke of luck is on its way.”
The conversation they were having now was nothing more than ordinary small talk. Thanks to that, the man found the tension draining from his stiffened body.
“I’ve even baked them myself before,” Seo Gio said.
“You must be a good cook.”
“I have a knack for bringing food from my imagination into reality.”
“I’m a bit envious of that.”
Was this the power of a truly good person? The more they spoke, the more at ease he felt.
‘…This conversation is so grounding.’
There was nothing extraordinary about the topic, but Seo Gio’s demeanor was what provided that sense of peace. Even though he wasn’t doing anything particularly grand, his deep goodwill was unmistakable.
‘I heard he spoke with another rookie last time. Is he doing some kind of staff management?’
It was an immense, almost baffling level of kindness.
“…Do you often talk with other employees like this?” the man asked. “I heard you don’t usually stay at the company for very long.”
“I stay in a place that is much easier to find than you might think.”
“Ah, perhaps… in that case… are you living in the dormitory?”
“I live inside this building.”
“It’s such a massive building. I didn’t even realize it had residential facilities.”
The man understood. The Collector must be keeping him incredibly close. That had to be it.
‘Then again, with someone of his temperament…’
It wasn’t hard to understand the mindset of Bisabeol, the guild master.
‘He looks as if he might quietly vanish at any moment.’
Indeed, there was something about Seo Gio that seemed detached from reality.
His voice was low and gentle, like the faint warmth of spring sunlight. His gaze was clear, yet softened by a gentle hue that made it feel hazy. He was polite yet cautious with others, moving with a slow, weightless grace.
His quiet, soft-spoken tone and the faint smile that never seemed to leave his face felt like a faded memory preserved in a relic—like a children’s fairy tale or an old silent film.
“……”
Was he being too presumptuous, having such unfiltered thoughts about someone he had just met?
‘…But he doesn’t look like someone who could ever be tied down.’
Nor did he seem like the type to enjoy loud, bustling environments.
‘His actions are so refined, and his presence is so profound…’
He felt like some absurdly romantic entity—someone who would suddenly vanish to wander the world, only to appear in some unexpected place, bestow an unforeseen gift, and disappear once more. The thought left him with a strange sensation.
He exuded an indescribable aura. The very fact that such a person was standing beside him, speaking to him, felt surreal.
“……”
“Do you like sweets?”
“…To some extent, yes.”
“I like them too.”
Was this just unconditional empathy?
‘A social nicety?’
Before he could ponder any further, Gio held out a small treat.
“Would you like one?”
“…What is this?”
“A lemon madeleine.”
“……”
For a moment, a sense of strangeness washed over him.
“…Thank you.”
‘I don’t know what exactly is strange, but…’
Hadn’t they just been talking about lemon madeleines a moment ago?
Since Gio had said he enjoyed cooking, he must have made it himself or bought it from somewhere.
Yet the lemon madeleine that had so suddenly appeared mid-conversation was wrapped in faintly translucent white paper, tied with a neat, understated black ribbon.
Wrapped in elegant paper and exuding a sweet fragrance, the madeleine seemed to belong to the porcelain dolls of the Sweet Tea Party rather than to either of them. Yet the black ribbon, tied simply to seal the wrapping, looked as though it would taste bitter rather than sweet.
“……”
Rustle.
He unwrapped the madeleine.
“…Did you make this yourself?”
“It is my pleasure.”
“You really are very skilled.”
To be honest, he couldn’t picture the man before him actually baking and packaging this himself.
‘…It felt more like…’
He had literally conjured it into existence. As if it had appeared in his hand simply because he willed it so.
‘…I’ve been having the strangest thoughts. Idle delusions won’t do me any good.’
Perhaps because the mold itself was custom-made, the madeleine was smaller than expected. Coated in a frosty, translucent white glaze, its outer shell had a crisp, delicate crunch. Carrying the faint scent of rain-dampened wood, the cake was surprisingly light and soft.
“…It’s delicious.”
It was so delicious that, for some reason, it completely melted away the tension that had begun to creep back into his body.
“To be honest, I didn’t quite believe you when you said you were a good cook.”
“How tragic. What made you think that?”
“You don’t really strike me as the type to get your hands wet in the kitchen.”
“I hear that quite often.”
“You do give off that impression. But…”
Yet, it wasn’t that he seemed completely out of place doing it, either.
“…You also have the kind of presence that fits in anywhere.”
He felt like someone who could do absolutely anything.
He looked as though he could easily ascend to the high throne of the Pope, yet he also seemed like he could fit right in as a beggar in the lowest, most wretched slums. No matter where he truly belonged, the man instinctively knew he would find it completely natural.
Whether he was an unimaginably wealthy tycoon or a Carnation Child born in the slums on a freezing winter day—yes, one would look at him and think, Of course, that makes perfect sense.
“…As for why…”
Who knew.
“I’m not quite sure.”
“What a peculiar thing to say.”
“…Perhaps.”
But one thing was certain.
“……”
No matter his status, it felt as though no one could ever hold this man down. It was as inevitable as the passage of time and the turning of the world.
‘…I need to stop thinking about this.’
Enough.
The man stared blankly into the empty air.
“……”
He had too much to do; it was time to shake himself out of this dangerously peaceful lull.
“…It’s… later than I thought.”
It was already six in the morning.
“It feels like we barely talked, and yet…”
“I found it very pleasant.”
“…I’m glad you felt that way.”
Just then, he sensed a new presence approaching.
“Gio?”
It was Curator Yoo Seong-un.
“You were awake?”
“Yes, Seong-un.”
The two spoke naturally, clearly well-acquainted.
“I was talking with this gentleman.”
“Oh, I wondered who it was. If it isn’t Curator Binari.”
Having nothing to say, Binari simply offered a polite nod. Seong-un, socially adept and careful not to make things awkward, didn’t press further and turned back to Seo Gio.
“What were you two talking about?”
“He was saying he found it hard to believe that I’m a good cook.”
“Oh, really? I always thought it suited you quite well. Your cooking really is delicious, after all.”
Curator Yoo Seong-un asked in his characteristically casual tone, “It’s already past six. The other employees will be arriving soon. Are you going to stay in the gallery?”
“No, I plan to head back before the others arrive.”
Beneath the overhead lights casting straight down, Gio’s brilliant blue eyes locked onto Binari.
“What about you, Binari?”
“I’m heading back to the dormitory. The one provided by the company…”
“Is that place truly your home, Binari?”
“It feels more like a place to stay than a home.”
“You will have a comfortable home soon.”
Once again, he offered his goodwill.
“Do you need me to guide you out?”
“……”
Involuntarily, his gaze swept across the gallery.
“……”
He glanced at the porcelain dolls of the Sweet Tea Party under his charge. He looked at the glossy glass of the frame hanging beside it, and the one in front of it. He looked at the light streaming down from the ceiling, and the clock hanging in its midst.
He looked at the floor where the light pooled. Beneath the vertical beams of light, he saw their shadows. He saw a blackness that was one shadow short…
He saw it.
“……”
“…No.”
When he raised his head, his eyes suddenly met Curator Yoo Seong-un’s.
“I’ll be fine.”
Seong-un’s eyes curved sharply as he offered a smile.
“I’ve already memorized the entire layout of this gallery.”
“I see.”
“I’ll find my own way out.”
“Thank you for speaking with me,” the man in the black cloak said.
“I remember you, and I affirm you.”
“……”
“Have a good day.”
His voice carried a strange, echoing resonance.
“……”
Binari bowed his head and stepped out of the gallery.
“……”
He navigated the winding corridors, designed to twist and turn as a security measure.
The ceiling lights cast shadows that stretched and shifted with his footsteps. After his shadow danced across the walls several times, he finally reached the elevator.
Current location: Basement Level 3. Destination: the first-floor lobby. He pressed the button, and the elevator hummed to life.
“……”
He muttered under his breath.
“…What a strange person.”
He had only spent a brief moment with him, yet time had flown by. It had been a mere fleeting encounter, and yet… Well, such things happened.
Despite his tall, solid build, his presence was incredibly faint, making it feel as though he wasn’t even there when standing right beside him. Yet, he possessed an undeniable gravity; even if one tried to look away, they would find their eyes drawn back to him.
“He seemed like someone extraordinary.”
He was gentle, and he was old-world.
He shone like a fairy-tale prince who had grown up; he felt as ancient as a historical relic buried deep beneath the earth; and he was as precious as a forgotten miracle that no living soul remembered.
“A person who brings comfort…”
Why had a countryside village he had never once visited suddenly come to mind? Why did he think he could hear the rustle of dry grass in a quiet breeze?
He felt a nostalgia akin to watching the orange glow of a quiet sunset over the sea, or listening to a parent softly humming a lullaby to put their child to sleep. It was simple, rustic, and deeply poetic.
In other words…
“He’s a good person.”
The man knew nothing.
“Yes…”
Not of the one-hour gap in his memory, which must have been some trick of the mind.
Not of the rustle of dry grass that seemed to whisper beneath bare feet.
Not of the shadow that had failed to appear beneath the light, nor of the massive forest reflected in the glass of the picture frame.
Not of the sun.
Not of the sea.
Not of the eyeball.
Not of the eye.
The eye.
“……”
He knew nothing of the gaze staring back from the eye reflected in the glass.
He knew absolutely nothing.
“…He’s a good person.”
Because ‘Seo Gio’ was a ‘good person.’
He had to be.