The crowd gathered in the hall stared fixedly at the veiled paintings. The gazes trained upon them carried the raw, distinct stench of something uncooked. They concealed it behind refined gestures and manners, but the moment the veils were lifted, they would bare their fangs — that much was certain. The light from the chandeliers bolstered their air of authority. But when the veils fell away, the vast canvases silenced the most powerful figures in the art world in an instant.
“……!”
The aura radiating from the paintings swelled and rippled through the wide hall. Those who had been arrogantly, unhurriedly composed now wore the faces of people who had just had their throats torn out. Their smooth, unlined eyes trembled as if under sudden attack. In the thick silence, someone spoke.
“The reinterpretation of the classical is quite fascinating.”
That voice of admiration was the signal — the audience came back to their senses and began to speak.
“Though portraiture as a subject matter is, in truth, far removed from the experimental currents of the time.”
“The very fact that he used the same model to explore both the avant-garde and the kitsch is experimental in itself — what do you mean by that?”
“How could someone paint something so vulgar and wicked? This is an insult to art — a regression!”
Those who had been elegantly sipping their wine and flattering one another had, without realizing it, begun raising their voices. Their reactions were wildly divergent. Some flushed at the brazenly suggestive portraits, while others gazed up at the portrait reminiscent of an ancient deity with something close to reverence. The responses were all across the board — yet it was undeniable that these two paintings had caused an unprecedented stir.
The crowd had lost all reason, hurling arguments at one another, but Gi-hyeon, the very man who had painted them, remained numb to all of it. He had reached the pinnacle in one swift stroke, just as he had wished — and yet his face was still ashen and hollow. As he looked out at the impassioned crowd, Gi-hyeon suddenly felt a gaze and turned his head. He recognized the man standing at a distance from the paintings and murmured.
“……Do-gyeom-ssi.”
Their eyes met, and Do-gyeom smiled back at him with a face on the verge of tears. Emotion pooled in Gi-hyeon’s parched eyes. He ached desperately for the waist he had held a hundred times over, for the cheek he had pressed his lips against. Gi-hyeon clenched his back molars, and his jaw joint jutted out. He couldn’t give up now. If he’d intended to, he never would have come this far. Just as Gi-hyeon moved to approach Do-gyeom, his wrist was seized.
“Don’t go.”
Gwok Un gripped Gi-hyeon’s wrist with desperate urgency. The bony hand clutching his wrist trembled faintly. Gi-hyeon stood there, caught in Gwok Un’s hold, his eyes fixed on Do-gyeom. Do-gyeom, watching them both, bit down on his lower lip. His lips had gone white — it was a pitiful sight. The tips of Gi-hyeon’s fingers drifted through the air as if grazing lips that weren’t there. At the sight of it, resignation settled into Gwok Un’s eyes.
Gi-hyeon had regretted every single moment from the instant he’d set foot in the estate until now. But even if he could undo everything, he would not go back. Because at the end of this labyrinth, Do-gyeom would be waiting.
“As you know, the portrait was commissioned by the Chairman. It is to celebrate the Young Master’s twenty-fifth birthday.”
The butler’s words reached him faintly, carried off by the wind. Gi-hyeon swept back his hair, which the wind had tousled. As his view opened up, he felt the full weight of the wealth accumulated by Dugong Construction — a company whose reach shaped the very foundations of the nation. Across an endless field, elegant flowers bloomed in full, and in the lake, sculptures of galloping horses and a goddess statue lay submerged. The smooth marble skin of the statues and their flowing garments were the pinnacle of craftsmanship. Gi-hyeon stood there, entranced, admiring the sculptures — then suddenly clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Ugh……”
He was puzzled by the sudden wave of nausea that came over him. The cart was gliding smoothly along a well-paved road, which made the queasiness all the more baffling. Gi-hyeon looked around trying to find the source of his motion sickness, and then he spotted the road — twisted and winding like a snake — and furrowed his brow.
“The work will proceed over two hundred days as stipulated in the contract, and the Chairman has promised to provide the finest working conditions. Should you require any materials or supplies, please let the servants know and they will have them prepared for you.”
“I apologize, but my stomach isn’t doing well. Is this road truly the best option?”
“The Young Master dislikes visitors, so all the roads were made deliberately difficult. Please understand.”
Gi-hyeon, who had imagined a polished, well-bred young master based on the refined garden, was left speechless. Could he really manage to get on the good side of this eccentric young master? An ominous feeling crept over him, but he quickly reined his thoughts back in. Beyond the handsome compensation promised by the Chairman of Dugong Construction, the man’s son was a promising art collector and sponsor.
The world dismissed his success as the product of money, yet implicitly acknowledged the keenness of his eye. One example among many: in an art world flooded with monochrome work, he had been the only one to recognize the talent of artist Choi Wook, who had returned to Art Informel. No one had wanted Choi Wook’s work back then — and yet now, even those with money couldn’t get their hands on it.
To be chosen by him — whether you were an amateur or a professional mired in a slump — was naturally the first step to stardom. This was an opportunity he absolutely could not afford to squander. He had to catch his eye. Gi-hyeon set his resolve firmly and gripped the bar of the cart.
After a long ride, the moment his feet touched the ground before the estate, a wave of nausea surged up his throat. The butler, seeming well used to the sight of Gi-hyeon staggering, walked past him and pushed open the door of the estate. As it swung open, the waiting servants bowed to both Gi-hyeon and the butler. Welcomed by their lavish reception, Gi-hyeon followed the butler inside. With every step he took, the servants’ gazes clung stubbornly to him.
“Pfft!”
A sharp burst of laughter shattered the silence. Gi-hyeon turned around — the servants who had been clustered together scattered quickly. It had clearly been aimed at him. An uneasy feeling prickled at him, but he dismissed it as mere oversensitivity and turned back around.
Once Gi-hyeon had put enough distance between himself and the servants, he was able to take in his surroundings. Unlike the garden, which had shimmered with vitality, the estate was cold — as though it had been carved from glass. Crystal chandeliers, transparent marble floors, hollow furnishings, and mirrors all held a chill within them. He stood and stared blankly at his own reflection in the objects around him. The estate was opulent, just as he had expected — but there was not much artwork. A promising collector, they’d said — but this was nothing more than a chaebol’s asset management. Gi-hyeon was casting a cynical eye over the overflowing wealth when he spotted a painting on the wall and had to question his own eyes.
“Newman……”
A vertical line cutting across a vast, blue canvas — it was one of Newman’s Onement series. A piece worth tens of billions of won, hanging in a private individual’s home. Of all the sights he had seen in his life, this was the most staggering. As he stood rooted to the spot before the Newman, the butler tugged at his sleeve.
“The entire third floor has been cleared for your use. The second floor, however, is off-limits without the Young Master’s permission — please keep that in mind. This is the servant who will attend to you for the duration of the two hundred days.”
The man who had been standing behind the butler stepped forward. The moment Gi-hyeon saw him, he held his breath without realizing it. His gaze slid naturally across the man’s innocent features, his gaunt cheeks, his straight neck. Feeling the unabashed stare, the man dropped his gaze.
“My name is Do-gyeom. Please let me know if there is anything you need.”
A voice not yet fully broken caught in Gi-hyeon’s ear. As Do-gyeom bowed his head, his pale neck was laid bare. Gi-hyeon looked down at the graceful line of that neck and extended his hand.
“I’m Kim Gi-hyeon. I look forward to working with you.”
When Do-gyeom took his hand, the dry hand rustled at the touch. It was a hand pitifully twisted, and yet the bones were straight and neat. The blue veins visible through the thin skin were strangely sensual. Gi-hyeon examined the contours with a careful eye, then drew his thumb across the back of the hand. At the subtle touch, the hand gave a startled tremble. Gi-hyeon watched his innocent reaction and laughed quietly. The butler urged them along.
“That covers everything I needed to convey. For anything beyond this, please speak with Do-gyeom.”
“Yes.”
“Well then, let us go in.”
The butler rapped the bell-fitted door with crisp precision.
“Young Master, I have brought him.”
There was no answer from inside. The butler, having waited for a response, turned the handle. When the door opened, a chill distinct from the coolness of the interior washed over Gi-hyeon.
In the drawing room stood a man in a robe, his forehead resting against the floor-to-ceiling mirror that lined the entire wall. The mirror running along the wall reflected the crown of the man’s head. As if cooling himself down, the man slowly pressed and rubbed his forehead against the mirror. After repeating this inexplicable behavior for some time, the man turned around — and through the loose folds of his robe, a sensuous body was revealed. A flustered Gi-hyeon found he could neither avert nor tear his eyes away from the man’s face and body. The man fixed his gaze on Gi-hyeon and approached him slowly. With every step he took, the whisper of the robe against his skin tickled Gi-hyeon’s ears. The man slowly tied the loose sash and settled into the seat of honor, gesturing for Gi-hyeon to take a seat as well. A detached gaze — bearing neither goodwill nor hostility — landed on Gi-hyeon. He opened his mouth.
“So my father commissioned a portrait.”
The languid voice was sharp, as though probing for an opening. Their eyes met, and as if he’d been waiting for it, those long eyes folded into a graceful curve.
“What an old-fashioned man. Who even hangs portraits these days — might as well shove them in a storeroom. Don’t you think?”
“……”
“I’m Gwok Un.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Kim Gi-hyeon.”
As the robe rode up and a glimpse of pubic hair came into view, Gi-hyeon cast his gaze downward. In his downcast line of sight, a dried liquid on Gwok Un’s knee came into view. The familiar viscosity of the substance sparked a certain imagination in Gi-hyeon. He swallowed dryly and pressed his interlaced fingers together with force. At the flicker of discomfiture on his face, Gwok Un tilted his head.
“Didn’t you do nude sketching to death back in undergrad?”
“……”
“For an artist, you’re quite faint-hearted.”
“……Is there a particular concept you have in mind?”
Gi-hyeon steered the conversation elsewhere, and Gwok Un laughed languidly. Gi-hyeon began observing him as a subject in order to regain his composure. Gwok Un was a savage-looking man with striking features, a long neck bearing faint burn scars. A classic beauty — yet one so distinctly himself that he evoked no one else. Gi-hyeon observed this unsettling beauty with rigid eyes. While he strained to maintain his composure, Gwok Un made no effort to hide his boredom. His arm dangled idly over the armrest.
“I haven’t really thought about it — the subject matter is rather dull by nature, don’t you think?”
“……”
“Well, I’ll leave everything regarding the work to you, the artist. Once the draft is ready, we can confirm it once a month. As for the esquisse¹⁾ — please work it out in as much detail as possible by next week.”
“Understood.”
“I’ve been bored. It’s been a while since I’ve felt excited.”
Gwok Un ran a hand down his intricately sculpted abdomen and smiled insolently. In that moment, Gi-hyeon had a gut feeling — the two hundred days here would be anything but smooth.
Why is it that bad feelings are never wrong?
“Haah……!”
Gi-hyeon opened the refrigerator to the sound of moaning echoing all the way to the first floor. After a week of observation, Gwok Un was a man who defied all common sense. It was nothing unusual for him to wander about in furs regardless of the season, or in nothing but his underwear. He would discard luxury goods — things ordinary people could scarcely lay eyes on — for no reason at all. Some days, like today, he did nothing but have sex around the clock. Other days, he would shut himself in the study without even eating a meal. In this way, he was a man to whom no rules or norms applied.
¹⁾ Esquisse — a preliminary sketch or study for a larger work, commonly used in fine arts.
