It was the season just before the spring blossoms all fell — it had been exactly this time of year back then, too.
The gallery office was bustling with employees packing up their belongings.
“If I’d known it would come to this, I would have started job hunting earlier. What a mess, right in the middle of an awkward season.”
The youngest of the staff held up a desk calendar and spoke in a gloomy voice. She’d thought they’d all be sharing the desk calendar — made as a souvenir for the exhibition — through the whole year, she said, never imagining she’d end up scribbling interview dates in it. She exchanged a bitter few words with the person next to her.
Seowoo forced a brighter expression onto his face to shake off a guilt that wasn’t really his to carry. As he stacked the remaining brochures neatly into a box, his eyes lingered on the print of Hyeon’s painting. Donghyeok came up and nudged him in the arm.
“Hey, how are you getting more and more washed out by the day. Keep it up and you’ll go transparent.”
“I wanted to sink into the ground — sounds like a decent alternative, actually.”
Another staff member who had caught the exchange raised her voice.
“This isn’t something you need to feel sorry about, Seowoo. Please don’t.”
“No. I am sorry.”
“Come on! I’m telling you, you’re not!”
After refusing the marriage she was being pushed into and deciding to give up the gallery, Director Lee Wooseok had sent word that he would be appointing a new director for Suryeon and replacing every single member of staff at the same time. He had threatened Seowoo — asking whether she was really fine with that.
It was true that she had grown fond of the people she’d worked with, but that wasn’t a reason to go through with the marriage. And it wasn’t as though she felt no guilt at all, which left her deeply conflicted. Not one of the staff members who knew the full circumstances blamed Seowoo — but the fact that her very existence had served as bad luck for them was undeniable. No one expects to lose their job because of factors entirely outside the work itself.
“Hah……”
In the middle of it all, her phone buzzed. She took it out, looked at the name on the screen, and lost her words entirely. Speak of the devil — it was Director Lee Wooseok, the very person she had been silently cursing.
Seowoo stepped outside the building and swiped to accept the call. Whatever her feelings about giving up the gallery, as long as her mother’s paintings were being held hostage by them, answering his calls without fail was the best she could do. The voice that had threatened to tear Han Sooyeon’s paintings to shreds was still fresh in her ears.
“Yes, Director.”
— Hello. Your voice sounds lovely today too.
Seowoo couldn’t find a response for a moment, and Director Lee Wooseok moved straight on.
— Have you eaten? If you’re free, would you like to meet? I know a place that does wonderful food.
“No. It’s still working hours, and I have prior plans.”
Since the exhibition ended and she had turned down the marriage — for the past fifty-odd days, it had been exactly like this. At first she couldn’t make sense of what he was after, but Seowoo soon came to understand: the two-month grace period he had given to wrap up the gallery wasn’t a generous gesture to give the displaced staff time to find new jobs. It was a leash, keeping her tethered while he tried to wear her down.
Now that even that was down to one last week, the urgency bled through in Director Lee Wooseok’s voice.
— What prior plans? Are you seeing someone?
“……A work dinner.”
A low laugh with a metallic edge came through the phone. He and Hyeon were unmistakably from the same family, yet the two shared not a single trace of resemblance — not in looks, not in voice.
— You really have no sense, Seowoo. Youth, maybe. Stubborn too. Don’t you know how frightening the world can be.
“What is it you want to say?”
— Well. I’d say I’ve communicated my intentions more than clearly enough. I have no intention of answering questions you already know the answer to. And I don’t think that’s what you’re hoping for either.
“……”
— Yoon Seowoo.
A sudden chill ran through her when he used her full name like that.
— I want to offer you some advice: live up to what you were born with. Even a blade of grass by the roadside has a destiny it was made for. I’m offering you the place that suits you.
“……”
— It’s the fate and privilege of beauty. Do you understand? It’s a position others would want but can never have. You grew up watching what your mother’s life was, and you’re going to act like you don’t know.
“……”
— Let’s not waste each other’s time.
Seowoo stood there frozen at the threatening tone, and Director Lee Wooseok didn’t even wait for an answer before hanging up. The fact that he was laying his emotions bare like this meant he was genuinely furious. The domineering words left a cold chill running down her spine.
You’ve got a pretty face too — I’m sure you’ve been passed around just the same.
Yoon Kangwoo, who had despised her from the moment he laid eyes on her, used to say similar things often. Both Yoon Kangwoo and Director Lee Wooseok said filthy, repugnant things — and the implication was always the same. You must take after your mother, they would murmur, like a set phrase, pinning labels to her life that had no basis in truth.
Long after the call ended, she was still staring down at her phone screen when Donghyeok came up behind her and patted her on the back.
“Don’t even think about drinking today. We need to wrap this up properly.”
His instincts were uncanny.
“Stop nagging already. The gallery’s gone — let’s go back to just being friends, Donghyeok.”
“Can’t do that. You’re still on payroll.”
“That money isn’t even coming from me.”
Her shoulders slumped, and the sigh came out on its own. Seowoo’s gaze drifted to the white tree planted in the gallery garden. It was a tree her mother — who had a real eye for landscaping — had gone out to buy as a sapling when Seowoo was small, planting it herself and tending to it with great care. She had told Seowoo it was a very rare tree, a beautiful and fragrant one that grew only in Korea. You are just as precious and fragrant, she had said.
“Donghyeok, what was the name of that tree again?”
“Yoon Seowoo?”
“No — the tree’s name.”
“How would I know that. Wait, hold on — let me do an image search.”
While Donghyeok walked over to the tree to take a photo and peered at his phone, the rest of the staff filed out and gathered around Seowoo. She asked why they’d all followed her out, and they made light of it — said they’d come out for a smoke, that sort of thing.
“Seowoo, how about a drink tonight?”
A cheerful staff member slung an arm around her shoulders, but Donghyeok somehow heard it from across the garden and came running.
“No, no. Seowoo hasn’t gone a single day without drinking for the past fifty days. They say if you eat enough garlic you turn into a bear — at this rate she’s going to turn into something too.”
“What are you on about. Really? And the bear ate garlic for a hundred days.”
“Okay, fine — half human, half bear.”
Seowoo grimaced but laughed anyway. That day in the gallery garden, joking and chatting all together — that was the last time. Before the gallery had even fully closed, Director Lee Wooseok showed up and, right in front of Seowoo’s eyes, had the entire garden cut down with a chainsaw.
Seowoo had stood there and watched, helpless to do anything else. Even her mother’s grave sat on land owned by her father’s family, so there was nowhere to go and cry.
***
What ever became of Suryeon and her mother’s paintings.
The restaurant Seowoo and Hyeon had gone to happened to have that very tree growing in its courtyard.
After finishing their meal, they had come outside during the time set aside for dessert drinks — Dano had wanted to use the small children’s play area in the courtyard, so they came out together. Behind it was a well-tended garden, and white blossoms bloomed in countless clusters like white clouds. The deep fragrance pulled a thread of memory from the past up to the surface without warning.
“Yoon Seowoo……”
Because he had only ever known it by the name his mother had given it, he still didn’t know the tree’s actual name. Hyeon, standing beside him just then, seemed to read his thoughts exactly and told him.
“You like miseon trees? Come to think of it, the scent is similar to Yoon Seowoo’s pheromones.”
He must not have caught Seowoo’s murmur, because he didn’t ask about it.
“Whoever’s been tending to it has done a good job. For it to have grown this tall, the tree must be quite old — but the trunk is still healthy and the blossoms are full.”
“……You’re right. It’s beautiful.”
In the end, because Seowoo had refused to comply with what they wanted, Director Lee Wooseok had cut down the innocent tree as though striking off his head. Seowoo had stood rooted to the spot and watched, unable to do anything. With even his mother’s grave sitting on land belonging to his father’s family, there was nowhere to go to grieve.
What became of Suryeon, and his mother’s paintings. Being made to feel, once again, as though he had been the Yoon family’s property from the moment he was born — after fleeing from all of it, he had lived without even following news of the gallery. Too afraid that seeing it with his own eyes would shatter him, he had never once thought to look.
The tug on his hand pulled him back. He looked down to find Dano staring up at him with uneasy eyes. Seowoo reflexively smiled, and those round eyes shifted with undisguised displeasure toward Hyeon. The unspoken question was perfectly legible — why do we keep going around with this man.
“He’s not a bad man.”
Seowoo smiled and lifted him up, and the little one responded with a pointed huff through his nose.
Hyeon raised an eyebrow, and Seowoo hesitated for a moment before taking one step toward him.
“Look — Appa’s friends with this man.”
“Hmph!”
“Is that really going to work?”
At the gentle nudge in Hyeon’s tone, Seowoo placed a hand on his shoulder.
“See. Nothing bad happened, did it?”
Dano’s eyes remained full of suspicion, and Hyeon reached out and took Seowoo’s hand.
“Look, this man is holding Appa’s hand. What do you think.”
“Hy— Hyeon——”
“Yoon Seowoo, you’re a terrible actor. Standing there all stiff like that — no wonder the baby doesn’t believe it.”
At that, Seowoo’s reddened face turned even deeper as he opened one arm and loosely wrapped it around Hyeon’s shoulder. Following what the nurse had shown him, he patted Hyeon’s back gently while looking at Dano — who, inconveniently, still showed no sign of softening.
“Do you have any idea what it feels like to be treated like a villain by a three-year-old? Are you just going to leave me to suffer this injustice?”
“But yesterday — you weren’t entirely without fault either, Hyeon.”
The faint resistance in his words was ignored. Hyeon spread his arms wide and opened them fully, then tilted his head. The meaning was clear — come on, hug me properly. Seowoo fidgeted and reluctantly pressed his upper body against him. Dano, inevitably swept into the embrace along with him, looked up and stared at Hyeon.
“Give it a proper try. The baby is smart — I think he’s measuring whether it’s genuine or not.”
“I am doing my best.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Seowoo, now essentially the color of a tomato, grumbled — and Hyeon let out a quiet laugh. Then he tightened the arms he had spread wide and pulled both Seowoo and Dano into a firm embrace.
Hk! Seowoo gasped and squirmed in surprise, while Dano stretched out all four limbs and strained with everything he had to pry the two adults apart. At that, Hyeon burst into full, open laughter — so deep it shook his whole body.
