Chapter 10
Chapter 10
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Suddenly Mistaken for a Monstrous Genius Artist
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Grandmother's house has one warehouse.
It's a standalone shed tucked into one corner of the yard. With a bit of remodeling, it could easily become a pretty spacious place fit for someone to live in.
But I had no idea how to put the space to use, and it was so cluttered and filthy that I'd just left it alone all this time. That neglect is finally coming to an end.
From now on, I'm the one doing the cleaning.
"Hup."
Useless junk piled haphazardly all over the warehouse. I start by hauling out the heaviest, bulkiest pieces to the yard.
Next come the things I don't need. Broken or faulty items. Stuff that's a shame to toss but I'll never use anyway. I drag it all out to the yard without a second thought.
I'll call a disposal service to haul it all away.
"Ugh, dust."
I wave away the clouds of dust kicked up from moving the big, heavy loads as I survey the warehouse. When I first arrived, I'd only given it a cursory glance and hadn't realized, but now that I'm cleaning and looking closely, it's bigger than I thought—and packed with way more stuff.
Come to think of it, whenever I visited Grandmother as a kid, we'd play hide-and-seek in this very warehouse. As I poke around, childhood memories bubble up, and I pause for a moment.
But who did I play hide-and-seek with?
There was definitely someone besides a little sister or big sister. I swear there was one more person. But I can't for the life of me remember who. Was I too young?
"Eh, probably just some neighborhood kid."
No one my age around these days, but back then there were a few kids around my age. Had to have been one of them.
I shake off the hazy old memories that refuse to come into focus and grab the broom. With all the junk cleared out, now it's time to sweep up the dust and polish everything clean.
This warehouse is going to be my studio from here on out.
A place where I can draw, compose songs, and—if possible—even record them. To make that happen, I've already ordered partitions, all sorts of tools for working, and even an air conditioner.
This is all really thanks to Ksee Enter!
The plan to turn the warehouse into a studio had been in the works from the start. But with my finances being so iffy, I'd half-given up on it—until Ksee Enter shelled out that huge payout and made it possible.
"Hee hee hee hum, hmmm. What's this?"
I'm singing to myself while cleaning when a long bag wedged deep in the corner catches my eye. It's so caked in dust that I can't even make out its shape. Frowning slightly, I pull it out.
This is... a guitar case?
Round at the bottom, tapering thinner toward the top.
Classic guitar bag shape.
It's not even a hard case, but the bag is bulging, so there's definitely a guitar inside. Why the heck is there a guitar in Grandmother's warehouse?
Did Dad maybe play back in his younger days?
I wipe the dust off the guitar bag with a dry rag and unzip it. Inside is an electric guitar in surprisingly decent shape, considering how carelessly it'd been abandoned.
Of course, "decent" is relative to it being abandoned. It's in no condition to play right now.
At least all the strings had been loosened, so the neck hasn't warped. But the tuning pegs and bridge are in rough shape. It'll need repairs.
"Hmm."
Normally, I'd toss something like this without hesitation.
But for some reason, it keeps nagging at me.
Is it because my go-to electric guitar got trashed right before I quit? But that doesn't quite explain it—I have money for a new one, yet I'm still drawn to this thing.
Maybe I should get it repaired?
I can always get a quote first, and if it's a no-go, ditch it then. I carefully slide the guitar back into the bag and set it aside.
I'm about to get back to cleaning when—
Ding-dong. Bang-bang. Ding-dong. Bang-bang.
The doorbell rings along with some rhythmic knocking. What the...? No one should be dropping by this house.
"Who is it?"
I step out of the warehouse amid the racket and open the door.
Eh?
"Director?"
The guest at my door is none other than Kim Jin-gyu, the director. What the hell is this guy doing at my house? He looks like he's been chased here, panting ragged breaths. I blink in surprise.
"Haa, haa... Whew. Ah, writer. You're home. Thank goodness. You weren't picking up."
"Ah. I was in the middle of cleaning the warehouse."
"I see. Phew, sorry for barging in like this. Was I a bother?"
"No, not at all. Uh, want to come in?"
The house is a mess from cleaning, so I'm not thrilled about inviting him inside. But talking out here with all these onlookers gawking isn't great either.
"Yes, then I'll impose. Excuse me."
Not really imposing at all.
His face doesn't look the least bit sheepish.
"Ooooh, so this is the writer's house. It has that real artistic vibe."
"......Does it? Uh, can I get you something to drink?"
"Any chance of coffee? Lee Si-yeon was raving about yours."
"Sure. Give me a sec."
I peel off my gloves, head to the kitchen to wash my hands, whip up two iced café lattes, and bring them out to the yard bench.
"Sorry about the mess. Still in the middle of cleaning."
"No, it's fine. My place is about the same."
Really? How does anyone live like that?
"Ah, this must be it. Cheers."
"It's nothing special."
"Mmm, sniff. Wow, this is... seriously good."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. I get why Lee Si-yeon was singing its praises."
Kim Jin-gyu says it with such genuine feeling that he falls silent, focusing on his coffee. In the quiet yard, the only sounds are distant noise, chirping cicadas somewhere, and the soft slurp-slurp of sipping. I quietly drink mine while watching him.
So... why is this guy here?
Did he hate the painting and come to tell me in person? But he looked happy to see me, so probably not.
Hmm. No clue.
Honestly, right now it just looks like he came for a free cup of joe.
"Kyaa, this flavor is unreal."
......You're not really here just for the coffee, are you?
"So, what's the deal?"
"Oh, right—lost my head there. I saw the photo of the painting you sent."
"The picture?"
"Yeah. Once I laid eyes on it, I couldn't just sit still. I have to see it in person. With these two eyes. Felt like some historic mission calling me."
No, a historic mission?
With utter conviction in his voice, Kim Jin-gyu jumps up like he's demanding I fetch it right now. I lead him to the unused room where I've stashed the painting.
"I cleared this room out in a hurry to store the painting, so it's still kinda messy."
"This is it."
I'd said that to prepare him for the clutter, even though I'd wiped down the dust. But Kim Jin-gyu wasn't listening anymore.
"......My eyes didn't deceive me."
He stares at the painting I'd done, murmuring in a voice thick with emotion.
Wait a sec.
Is this guy... crying?
Kim Jin-gyu stared blankly at the painting before him. Woohyun's work filled a canvas even larger than life-sized.
'Good thing I came to see it myself.'
It had been stunning even in the photo.
But in person, it was profoundly moving.
The intuitive imagery and the loneliness it evoked were great. But above all, the colors—their feel.
Dark-toned blues and bright whites, warm high-temperature oranges and pinks and reds that defied exact description, hues somewhere in between. Colors that highlighted a nostalgic, endearing warmth.
Beautiful enough to make your heart race just looking at it.
The color of humanity.
'This has to be seen in person.'
No photo could capture the imagery and sensation these colors conveyed. You had to see the real thing to feel it all fully.
"I felt it with the mural too, but... how to put it. Your paintings have this emotional punch."
"Do they?"
"Yeah. Mind if I take it now?"
There was still time before the deadline, but nothing left to revise. No—Kim Jin-gyu wanted to haul it straight to the studio right this instant.
"Sure. It's done."
"Then I'll call a truck to pick it up now. Oh, and I'll head to the company tomorrow to wire the remaining payment."
"Okay."
Because it was none other than Ksee Enter, Woohyun nodded. Kim Jin-gyu thrust out his hand toward him.
"This is really, really good work. Best decision ever to commission you."
"I'm the grateful one, with you liking it this much."
"Then I'll be off."
Truth be told, he wanted to chat more. But Kim Jin-gyu desperately tamped down the urge. He had far too much work waiting.
"Next week, final day of the festival. High New's coming to perform."
"Oh, really?"
"Could I see you then? Briefly, after the stage."
"Sure. It's no trouble."
And so, as Kim Jin-gyu set up the next meet and was about to leave Woohyun's house—
"Ah, Director."
"Yes?"
"Could you do me a small favor?"
"A favor?"
"Yeah. Found a guitar here at home. Looks like it needs repairs. Electric guitar. I know a repair guy near Ksee Enter. Could you pass it on for me?"
Woohyun, who'd been mulling over the hassle of shipping or trekking to Seoul himself, made the request. Kim Jin-gyu nodded eagerly.
"Of course. Just leave it to me."
"Whoa, looks like a typhoon blew through."
I mutter quietly, watching Kim Jin-gyu—who'd somehow summoned a delivery truck—load up the painting and drive off.
Is it because he's a visual director? Super sensitive type?
Well, whatever. At least the painting delivery's sorted, and now the guitar repair too. All good?
"Hmm. I'll finish cleaning later."
I wash the two café latte cups, peek into the open warehouse at the half-done mess, and quietly shut the door.
Electricity's hooked up, and I've swapped in new fluorescent lights, so I could keep cleaning late. But with my momentum broken, forcing it feels wrong.
I tidy the junk scattered across the yard into one corner, then head to the bathroom for a shower. Summer means cold water from head to toe, scrubbing off the dust-caked grime until I'm clean. Then back out to the bench.
Ah, refreshing.
Sea breeze carrying salty air, the scent heralding summer, distant cicada song, voices drifting over the wall.
I soak it all in and close my eyes.
Moments like this always lift my spirits. Childhood memories, old summer days resurfacing. If winter turns people sentimental, summer drowns them in nostalgia.
Lost in thoughts of my pre-trainee days for a bit, I fetch the guitar from my room. With emotions running high and senses so alive, why not make some music?
"The song I thought of yesterday was something like this."
The melody that came to me while painting yesterday.
The instant I recall it and grip the guitar—
My hands start moving on their own.
As if it's a song I already knew by heart. As if it had always been inside me. I don't fight the willful fingers. I let them play, syncing with the breeze, sending the notes drifting on the wind.
As the melody flows, I slowly part my lips and sing.
"Hey, it's me, you know.
I mean..."
Lyrics on the fly. Whatever pops into my head.
I sing freely, matching the melody.
Edits can come later. Right now, it's this feeling. This sensation I've never felt before—like it was always mine. I don't want to lose it.
Childhood insecurities, anxieties of adulthood, the dream I never abandoned. Every emotion from that painting moment pours into the song.
"Hey, it's me.
I wanted to be you."
The festival was still ongoing, and Woohyun's wall mural remained a massive hotspot, drawing crowds nonstop.
How popular? Even past 9 p.m., people were still showing up to snap photos.
"Here it is. Pretty good, right?"
"Bigger than I expected."
"Should've come during the day."
"No helping it. Too crowded daytime."
The pair who'd arrived in Namhae that afternoon, worked their event, and come for pics smacked their lips in disappointment. Even with summer's long days, by 9 p.m., everything was pitch black.
No streetlights under or near the wall made photos a pain. Flash or lights helped, but only so much.
"No wonder it's empty at night."
"Such a shame."
Still, they weren't giving up. They snapped shot after shot. Satisfied at last, they turned to head back to their lodging—
"Hey, it's me, you know.
I mean..."
A voice singing drifted from beyond the wall.
Guitar strums carried on the wind, overlaid with a human voice. The song tugged at their hearts, stirring up old memories. As if on cue, they halted their steps back to the dorm.
They stood there, dazed, listening to the song from beyond the wall for a long while.
"Hey, it's me.
I wanted to be you."
Like people utterly entranced.