Tell Me Your Wish

I have always loved beautiful things.

It may sound arrogant, but ever since I was a child, I judged the value of every existence by its beauty. The bar, however, was set fairly low. First I assessed the surface-level beauty anyone could see at a glance, and whatever points were lacking, I filled in with inner beauty. By that method, most things ended up passing my standards.

“What kind of ticket is this…?”

The ticket in my hand right now is beautiful by my standards, though I have no idea how anyone else might see it.

Thick, luxurious paper stock, an antique-flavored design, even gold-leaf detailing that must have cost a fortune to print.

The information printed on it is too sparse, though. Way too sparse.

It seemed deliberately stripped of any practical details to cultivate a mysterious air, but even so, this was the level of a place that had no intention of drawing a crowd. I did appreciate the thoroughness of the concept, mind you.

I'm not going to walk in there and get dragged off to a shrimp boat on the other side of the planet, am I?

Yesterday, when I came home from work, there was an envelope in my mailbox. I let out a long sigh, assuming it was one of the usual stack of bills — and that was when the museum address printed on the envelope caught my eye.

Out of nowhere, an exhibition ticket. How did they even know my information?

Well, personal data leaking is practically routine these days. Still, it's unsettling.

But the ticket's design pleased me so much that I decided to visit at least once. If I got all the way there and it looked suspicious, I would simply turn around and come straight home.

So I set out on foot for the address printed on the ticket. I only went because it was my own neighborhood — had the venue been anywhere farther, I wouldn't have even tried.

Honestly, I was puzzled by myself. Spending a golden weekend like this frittering away time on nonsense, of all things.

“So what do you do on weekends, Mr. Kim? You don't seem to have a girlfriend.”

“I rest at home.”

“Ah… really? Surprising. You're young — you should have a hobby or something~”

The sour expression on my company's owner floated up in my memory. A sneer that seemed to say, If I were your age, I wouldn't be living like that.

This was your stereotypical "s-mall company" — three employees slaving away at overtime every single day — and he wanted me to keep myself busy on weekends too?

Don't hedge with 'your pay might get delayed.' If it actually gets delayed this time, that's it, I quit.

A company like this — the answer is to bolt the moment you're hired. But back when I took the job, I'd had no other options. At the time, I just wanted to get hired anywhere at all. I thought life would improve over a lifetime of dead-end part-time work. …What an idiot.

I really have done nothing but work all this time. …Art appreciation was my only hobby anyway.

I hadn't so much as opened a single book related to art since my parents died, so even my most recent hobby went back over ten years.

Of course, I hadn't come out here in a fit of pique over my boss's remark. Art, which I'd made sure never to encounter even in shorts-form videos, had suddenly come looking for me. Back in the day I would have ignored the ticket out of spite.

I can't put it into words, but… somehow I just couldn't help being drawn to it.

Right. My mood had been absolutely foul these past few days, so indulging myself a little wouldn't count as a sin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠worth punishing. Once couldn't hurt.

“So it's around here….”

Arriving at the location on the ticket, I looked around. An old building crouched at the end of the lane. Our neighborhood had always been shabby, but I'd never seen a structure quite this far gone — a shuttered storefront at best.

“This is it…?”

Of course, I had known from the start that a "museum" couldn't exist in a tiny neighborhood like this. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠To deserve the name, a museum needed collections, artifacts, works of art. I'd assumed it was just some small exhibition using the museum as a gimmick.

“Exhibition, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my foot. What a wasted trip.”

What a fool I'd been, expecting even a modest show. But this was a chance to shove my selfish desires back down where they belonged, so perhaps it was all for the best.

Relieved that I wasn't about to be dragged off anywhere, I was just turning to leave—

“Kehk…!”

At the sound of a phlegm-rattling cough, I looked back. An old man in threadbare clothes was shambling toward me, dragging a cart. The wheels of the clattering old cart rattled noisily.

Strange — I didn't hear those wheels at all until just now….

Then the old man's eyes met mine. Wool hat, heavy coat, a rumpled sleeping bag — and bare feet. The attire made no sense for the season; he might have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been homeless.

Ugh—

My face scrunched up on its own. The stench of a body unwashed for ages clung to him. I barely managed to choke down the rising nausea.

“…?”

What now?

The old man, whom I'd expected to shuffle right past me, abruptly stopped. He parked the cart beside the building, rummaged in his pocket, and produced a roll of tape. Then he picked out a single sheet from the pile of crumpled paper stacked in the cart and stuck it to the front of the building.

The moment I saw the logo on the poster, a laugh escaped me.

Completely unbothered, the old man slipped into a little booth beside the building. I'd taken it for a parking attendant's booth — but apparently it was a ticket office. We weren't exactly a small theater in Daehangno.

Whoa!

Then, leaning back in his chair, the old man lit a cigarette. An ember flared to life inside the sealed space. In no time the cramped booth filled with smoke and turned hazy.

Watching that flame flicker in the murky haze, beads of sweat gathered on my forehead. My teeth clicked together, humiliatingly, and my breathing went ragged.

What if the fire spreads to somewhere in the booth? What if the oxygen runs out and he suffocates—?

Frightened, I took a step back. Even if it looked rude, I couldn't help it. The dread was too large — the fear that this small flame would swallow the old man whole and then come for me next.

Just as terror and anxiety were scrambling my thoughts, the old man opened a small window and abruptly held out his hand toward me. Apparently he wanted my ticket.

“N-no, thank you. I was just passing through.”

A derelict storefront, and a barefoot homeless man for staff. Deeply suspicious — and more than that, I was terrified the cigarette smoke seeping through the little window might touch me. To escape this place, I put on an awkward smile.

But the old man paid me no mind. He picked something up inside the booth and tossed it my way.

Thwip—

Instinctively, I caught the flying paper.

An exhibition leaflet. Except where the exhibition contents and images of the works ought to have been, the leaflet was completely blank — and in its exact center, a single short phrase was written.

“Ah. Is this one of those interactive exhibitions?”

Reading the leaflet, I found myself asking the old man before I knew it. Strangely, my urge to flee evaporated the instant I laid eyes on it. Instead, curiosity surged at the unexpected exhibition content.

…A wish.

The italicized line on the leaflet wasn't bad. The exhibition title leaned heavily on sentiment, but sentiment happens to be my weakness, and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Still, having zero information about the artist or the works is a bit much….

Even as I tilted my head in doubt, I couldn't tear my eyes from the leaflet. An exhibition I'd meant to walk past, yet the questions only piled up. A slapdash guide, a staff member who did as he pleased. I knew stepping into that building to view this bizarre exhibition would be nothing but a waste of time. And yet there wasn't a single part of it, from beginning to end, that didn't intrigue me.

“Actually, I got this ticket for free. It came in the mail, so….”

At the very least, I wanted to know why this ticket had ended up at my house of all places. But the moment I held out the ticket, the old man snatched it away with brisk efficiency. He tore off the stub at the edge and handed it back.

I suppose that means: go up and see for yourself.

At this point he might be a mute. I'd been slow on the uptake.

“Thank you.”

When I bowed politely, the old man waved his hand as if to say, get moving already.

I cautiously entered the building's entrance and stopped in front of the stairs. I could hear a hubbub of voices from above.

So it's not completely empty…. Could they be human traffickers?

This was the neighborhood I'd lived in my whole adult life. Imagining crimes at this level — was that paranoia taken too far? When you spend years thinking death could come for you at any moment, this is what you become.

Right. Even if I haven't exercised lately, I used to do some running. …In school, but still. Anyway, if it feels even slightly off, I'll bolt on the spot.

Unlike my usual self, this exhibition pulled at me hard enough that I was spinning hopeful fantasies. I swallowed, and slowly began to climb.

The floor label is wrong too. What a mess.

Climbing the stairs, I clicked my tongue at the scrawled handwriting on the paper pasted to the wall. The leaflet and ticket had looked so convincing — and then they botch this.

The smell of stale dust was enough to make my head swim. When I reached the second floor, a steel door greeted me. The moment I gripped the handle, turned it, and pulled the door open—

“…?”

The instant the door swung open, I doubted my own eyes. A space of unbelievable size unfolded before me.

From the outside the storefront looked tiny. How can it possibly be this vast?

Surveying my surroundings, I stepped carefully inside. When I released the handle behind me, the steel door slid silently shut.

Inside, a dozen-odd visitors were milling about in restless confusion.

People other than me actually came to this dump of an exhibition hall. Incredible.

An utterly empty space with not a single work on display — nothing but gray cement walls and bare floor. Every person present wore the same expression of bewilderment.

“Honestly. What is all this….”

“Mom, I'm bored!! Let's go already~ 'kay?”

“Yes, yes, we're going. Shh! Mom told you to be quiet outside!”

A middle-aged man forcing a hollow laugh, a whining child, the mother placating him. This was no atmosphere for viewing anything.

Well, the racket aside, there's nothing here worth calling a piece anyway, so it hardly matters.

I distanced myself from the crowd and moved to a corner. Faces scrunched up all around in the mold-scented air. Better to isolate myself than share a room with people who'd only get in the way.

Not even the piece from the leaflet is here. A total scam…. Huh?

I froze, staring at the leaflet in my hand.

The printed text had vanished entirely, and in its place, new letters were surfacing on the page. The other visitors must have been experiencing the same thing, because murmurs erupted from every direction.

That slanted italic typeface again. A phrase that tied directly into the exhibition's theme, The Museum of Wishes.

I once read in a book about inks that make letters appear or disappear depending on ultraviolet or visible light.

My memory wasn't bad, so the content of a book I'd read long ago came back to me easily.

The visitors were busy staring at their leaflets in flustered amazement. Judging by how thrilled everyone looked, there hardly seemed any need to explain the trick behind this little bit of magic.

Again the previous sentence erased itself, and new words wrote themselves across the paper.

A wish, huh.

I'd like it if my overtime hours went down, obviously. Or maybe quit this company and move somewhere better. Ah — better yet, I'd love to be rich enough that I never have to set foot in the research industry again.

…What is this leaflet.

The timing of the text changes must have been fixed from the start. And yet, somehow, it felt as though the leaflet were seeing straight through me.

They've timed the letter changes exquisitely. What impeccable staging.

I hadn't expected an exhibition this well-crafted. Soon something even more spectacular would surely appear in this hollow space. Even if it was just an interactive show fishing for social media buzz, I didn't care in the slightest.

To think I'd get to savor an experience like this again…. Mom, Dad. I'm sorry for being the only one happy.

My heart swelled, and the corners of my mouth trembled. I was sorry to my family — but my chest was pounding. The happiness of touching art. Something I was supposed never to hold again.

Not knowing what was about to happen, I quivered with excitement, just like when I was a child. From my earliest days I had yearned for the beauty I could never possess. Art had always been blinding to me.

Today, I stepped into the museum where that beautiful art and hell itself coexist.