“Director Ryu, let’s stop talking about what’s got Manager Han worked up and get back to Shushu. Okay?”
My teacher tried to change the subject quickly, but he seemed genuinely angry. I’d never heard his voice that emotional.
“If you don’t want nagging, change how you drive. If you can’t change the habit, I’ll hire you a driver.”
“You drive yourself and you want me in a chauffeured car? What are people supposed to think?”
“Who cares what people think. If something happens to Manager Han, are those people going to take responsibility for Phantom in his place?”
“Ihyeon, you heard what Director Ryu just said, right? This is what tsundere looks like, isn’t it?”
My teacher glanced back at me in the rear seat as he asked. It wasn’t really a question seeking agreement.
“If you’re worried I’ll get hurt, just say you’re worried. Don’t use Phantom as an excuse.”
Still trying to pivot the mood, my teacher kept up the light joking, and as he eased the wheel toward the ramp to the underground garage, Director Ryu lowered his voice again from the higher tone he’d been using.
“If you know all that, then please—be careful.”
A sigh in his voice, like it could evaporate any second. Clear enough for anyone to hear that his worry wasn’t just scolding.
My teacher didn’t look back this time, but even from his half-turned profile I could tell he was smiling, both apologetic and grateful.
That blasé, cocky attitude he used with the man in the passenger seat; the businesslike courtesy he showed the clients at the party; the hostility he’d shown an outsider like me.
That was all I knew of him. I’d thought he was a playful, affectionate boss to Phantom’s staff, but I hadn’t known he was someone who, in a taut voice, could worry about someone to the point it bordered on overprotective.
But of course. Unless blue blood really flowed in his veins to match his eyes, even someone who seemed to dole out no more affection than necessary couldn’t stay detached when it came to someone precious. That’s only natural.
The air felt stifling when we stepped into the garage. No one seemed to put any meaning to it, but I kept thinking about missing my chance to greet the CEO.
When our eyes met for the first time as he came around the front of the car, I said a small “Hello,” and he tipped his head slightly.
For someone Juhan had said “pried” about me, those pale blue eyes still looked like they had no interest in me at all.
To him I was a temp helping out at Phantom for a while, and now a household helper at my teacher’s place. Unless you’re especially warm and outgoing, there’s no need to spend effort on friendly small talk and smiles for someone that marginal.
Polite kindness—rapid-fire questions disguised as sociability—was exactly what made me uncomfortable, so I had no reason to be upset by his indifference.
As soon as we got home, the two of them sat at the kitchen table to talk work, and I started on mine.
So they could talk comfortably, I began with the four bedrooms and two bathrooms.
Just from bits of conversation I couldn’t help overhearing as I passed by now and then, it sounded like a solo show was being planned for one of Phantom’s exclusive artists. After visiting the studio today to check on progress, the CEO wanted the exhibition scheduled as soon as possible.
A different kind of excitement colored his voice than when he’d fretted over my teacher’s wild driving.
If I heard right, the artist’s name was “Shushu,” and every time his low voice—slightly husky, like it had been nicked by a thorn—said that sweet-sounding word “Shushu,” it had a strange texture. Like a record that pops sharply in one spot. Or like watching him bend his big frame to scoop up a poodle and cover it in kisses.
You could say it didn’t match, but it wasn’t a grating, brow-furrowing mismatch I didn’t want to hear or see. If anything, it was unfamiliar and new in a way that piqued my curiosity.
Shushu. What kind of paintings would an artist with a name like that make? It wasn’t a real name, obviously, but I wanted to know.
“Are you really thinking of having him move in?”
I was cleaning the living-room bathroom. When I paused scrubbing the tub, his voice came clearly enough through the tiled wall that I could follow the gist even if not each syllable.
“It’s not certain yet, but it looks that way. It took work to convince him.”
“‘Live-in helper’ is still living with a total stranger.”
“Total stranger? I taught him once, remember.”
“Oh, ten years ago?”
“Do you have to put it like that? Can we not.”
“How do you know what might happen, bringing a man into your house to live with you. Even a decent-looking guy can flip.”
“Then I should throw Director Ryu out first. He’s a man too.”
“Am I the same as that guy? To Manager Han?”
If he isn’t the same as me, then what is he to my teacher?
I understand worrying when someone precious to you might end up living with a non-family member of the opposite sex. That kind of concern is natural and reasonable. But as the person who’d become the cause for that worry, I couldn’t help finding the conversation less than pleasant.
“I know you mean well, but I’m not acting without thought either. And I don’t want this getting to Ihyeon’s ears, so if you don’t want to see me actually get mad, drop it.”
He stopped there, for the time being. The topic returned to the artist named Shushu. The CEO wanted the show open as soon as humanly possible; my teacher thought the timeline was too tight and couldn’t agree easily... back and forth like that.
I turned the shower lever to rinse off the cleanser foam, so I missed the rest.
My teacher hardly used the living-room bathroom, so there wasn’t much to scrub, but for some reason I didn’t feel like going back out, so I took longer than usual. The bathroom shone for it.
When I finished cleaning the living room, kitchen, and dining area and reached for my «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» bag on the sofa, my teacher slid his chair back and came over. It sounded like their meeting at the table had wrapped up too.
“Ihyeon, if you haven’t booked a moving-center shift next Saturday, could you help Phantom?”
“Next Saturday’s open.”
“The show you helped with at the opening closes that day. But the next exhibition just got pulled way up... our CEO over there can’t wait and wants to open fast.”
It looked like his stubborn push to hurry Shushu’s exhibition had won.
“I’m fine with it...”
I looked at the CEO, lounging back in his chair, drinking coffee. I hadn’t meant to.
Sensing where I was looking, my teacher glanced at him, then put both hands on my shoulders.
“Why are you watching Director Ryu? I’m the one asking you.”
Behind his shoulder, the CEO set down his cup and stood.
“Of course. The real power at Phantom is Manager Han. I’ll get going.”
He grabbed the summer jacket draped over the next chair, checked the watch below his rolled shirt cuff, and took a quick standing sip of coffee.
“Koon, drop Ihyeon on your way.”
“Ah—no. I’m fine.”
He looked at me for a moment, then shifted his eyes back to my teacher.
“He says he’s fine.”
“It’s on your way. Take him.”
Silent, he looked down at me briefly, then turned toward the entry.
“Let’s go.”
“I’m really fine. There’s a bus.”
“Manager Han wants it this way. So we’ll do it this way.”
He wasn’t offering because he wanted to; the tone said, let’s stop quibbling and get it over with.
“He just talks like that. Don’t mind him—just ride.”
My teacher kneaded my shoulders a couple of times and whispered it. I smiled awkwardly. I thought he was downplaying my discomfort with the CEO more than it really was. The CEO put his shoes on first and opened the door while I tied my Converse.
In the elevator he asked where I lived, and when I gave the neighborhood and the big church across from the steep stairs up to my place, he hmm’d like he knew it.
“I heard you studied painting with Manager Han.”
He said it after we’d gotten in the car and were driving out of the complex.
“Yes, when I was very young.”
“How young?”
“I studied about a year, starting in fourth grade.”
While waiting for a right turn to enter the main road, he asked if he could smoke. I nodded. He fished a cigarette from the jacket he’d tossed behind the armrest and put it to his lips. Another car slid in behind and gave a short honk. With the cigarette at his mouth he turned onto the road, then used his own lighter instead of the car’s electric one. Most of the smoke slipped out the half-open window.
“I heard you didn’t major in it. Do you not paint now either?”
“No, now I...”
I already knew from Juhan that he’d asked my teacher about me, but I didn’t think my teacher would have told him everything. He wasn’t the type to disclose someone’s past beyond a certain line, and as for my present, I was basically in hiding.
Was he just asking me polite questions? Only on our third meeting? He didn’t strike me as the type to go to that trouble just to avoid awkwardness in a sealed space.
I was giving the passing scenery a meaningless look and thinking that when, with a breath that exhaled the smoke he’d drawn in, he asked again.
“Manager Han asked you to work live-in, right?”
There it was.
“I’ll be honest.”
“...”
“Even if you had a connection as kids, it was brief, and you lived your own lives until you met again, so now you’re basically strangers. Bringing a person like that into your home to live... from where I stand, that’s a concern.”
He paused in the middle—but not because he was hesitating for my feelings. It was just a breath to pull on the cigarette.
“Manager Han likes you and trusts you so much I don’t think he’ll listen to me, so I’m asking you directly.”
By public transport it took a bit of time from my teacher’s place to mine, but by car it wasn’t far. The roads were still busy, just past the edge of rush hour, and the car stopped at a light to go straight toward the War Memorial.
He held the top of the wheel with both hands and leaned into it a little, turning toward me. I didn’t look away. The cigarette in his left hand looked like it might brush my fine hair.
“I want it to be safe. Peaceful. A secure life. Okay, Seo Ihyeon?”
For a second, the man who’d seemed the emblem of some elegant, refined world—Golden Alpha incarnate, like he’d never gotten dirt, let alone grime, on his hands—looked like someone from the underworld who wouldn’t hesitate at threats or backroom pressure to get what he wanted. More convincing, even, than the PI director who’d set us up with burner phones and a room.
Like that first day, he was the kind of person who, for the sake of the people precious to him, didn’t spare a thought for the feelings of anyone outside that circle. He wasn’t considering my feelings, or the chance that his rude way of speaking might make me dislike him, resent him... none of that. And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter.
The light turned green and the car rolled forward. Before the Namsan tunnel he turned into a side street and climbed the winding hill. I stared openly at his profile. I didn’t bother to hide it.
There was no way he couldn’t feel it, but he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable or bothered.
What exactly was I supposed to say? “Yes, understood. I won’t do anything to my teacher”?
Promising something I’d never intended to do was odd on its face. A promise like that would feel like admitting I might be dangerous to my teacher. I didn’t want to say it.
It surprised me he knew not just my age but my name. I never expected to hear it like that.
When I finally pulled my gaze off his calm profile, his phone rang. He glanced down at the faintly buzzing handset, checked the caller, clicked his tongue in annoyance, and took the call.
“Yeah... I stopped by... No, not now... I’m driving.”
What I knew of his relationships was a tiny sliver, but the slack tone made me think it was someone like the man in his passenger seat that day.
Whoever it was said something; he hesitated and flicked a glance my way.
“No one. I’ll be there soon—hang up.”
“Just a side job.”
“Am I the same as that guy?”
“No one.”
The words he’d aimed at me connected in my head like episodes in a series. True to form, even after he hung up there was no explanation or apology for turning a person very much present into someone nonexistent.
The big, out-of-place church that landmarked my stairs was just ahead now.
“You can let me out there. In front of the steps.”
As the car slowed, I unbuckled my seat belt. He pulled over a little short of the bus stop.
“I have a question.”
“For me?”
“Were you like this with Juhan too?”
His brows knit and drew together. The look said he didn’t know what I meant. Maybe the one who hits forgets easily, even if the one who gets hit doesn’t. Juhan had even wondered if you’d key his car and run.
