“That’s fine too... but you could just sign up and pay.”
“My phone... isn’t in my name. I tried, but it wouldn’t let me register.”
“It’s not in your name? Then whose? In this day and age, not having your phone in your own name must be a pain.”
Juhan came back from ordering and set the vibrating buzzer on the bar, slipping into the conversation naturally.
“A burner phone... more or less.”
Even if I never became a Phantom employee, Yuni and Juhan were ties I wanted to keep. And now that we were even going to be working at the same gallery, I’d figured that—even if I couldn’t lay out everything—I’d have to give them a rough outline of my situation someday.
If you see someone every day and live alongside them, you can’t help but sense when things aren’t ordinary.
“A burner phone? Why a burner?”
Juhan lowered his voice and pulled his stool closer to me.
“I can’t tell you in detail because it isn’t just about me... but before I moved into the manager’s place, I was living with a hyung and a noona, and... it’s basically like the three of us ran from the town we were in. So...”
“The three of you ran?”
His long, narrow eyes went a little more hooded.
“Yes.”
“Unusual kind of getaway. Two guys and one woman?”
“Yes.”
“Are those two a couple?”
This time I only nodded, and he nudged me with an elbow and gave a slightly lewd grin.
“Man... Seo Ihyeon, no sense.”
“You think he just barged between a couple? There’s more to it than that.”
Yuni chose to see it kindly... but maybe I really was the no-sense kid Juhan said.
I knew Morae and Han I would never have thought of me that way. But regardless of what they felt, if you look only at how things had been till now, I had in fact spent a stretch of time with no excuse if someone called me “the kid with no sense.”
“So that’s why you couldn’t sign a full-time contract.”
Propping her chin on her hand, Yuni tapped her lip piercing with a finger and nodded like it finally made sense.
Given the circumstances, working in any way that left a record the tax office or anyone else could pull up was risky. So I couldn’t sign a formal employment contract; even at the moving company I’d worked for a slightly lower daily wage than others. In day labor that happens now and then, and the team leader, who was basically my employer, had seen all kinds of people, so he hired me without prying. I was lucky.
But I hadn’t thought Phantom’s director—who, by his own words, was picky about people—would want to hire me knowing my situation.
That night, when he made the offer at the manager’s dining table, I assumed it was because he didn’t know yet. Once he learned he couldn’t report me as a formal employee for expense processing, and that he might get dragged into hassle, he’d withdraw the offer and step back.
But after talking with him, the manager said he’d agreed to skip the formal employee filing and let me work until things improved, and she laid out the terms he’d offered. Given my situation—or even putting that aside—they were more than decent.
Even if there were reasons I didn’t know, even if those might later become a weakness for me, for now I was grateful for his decision.
Right now I wanted to be part of Phantom, and I wanted to take the chance even if it meant risk.
“Look at you, Seo Ihyeon. I pegged you as a well-brought-up, diligent kid, and it turns out you’re a problem child with a burner phone. But... you’re not on the run for, like, actual crimes, right?”
I snorted and shook my head at Juhan, who was chewing the end of a green straw as he asked. He smiled too, like he knew he sounded sheepish.
“I’m curious what the story is, but you look like the type whose mouth is welded shut, so I won’t ask.”
Yuni hooked an arm over my shoulder and teased.
“You look like an avatar of no-desire, and yet you fit right in with us, avatars of material desire. Figures. Anyway, open anyone up and rummage around—who doesn’t have a story? People look fine on the outside; you never know the inside.”
This time Juhan set a hand on my shoulder with a solid, weighty pat.
On the bar, the buzzer rattled itself into a noisy fit. Yuni winced at the ugly sound and snatched it up in one quick motion.
“Let’s grab the drinks and head out. If we’re stopping by the flower market before the office, we should get moving. Looks like we’ll arrive around the same time as the Director.”
This place where Phantom hadn’t vanished was still my reality.
■ ■ ■
“Director!”
Yuni waved at him cheerfully through the taxi window.
That big sedan, as always, was parked in the lot in front of Phantom. He had just finished parking and was getting out; he raised a hand to shoulder height to return her greeting, a gentle smile under his dark sunglasses.
Yuni got out first, and Juhan and I followed after paying. She was already up by his car.
“The works?”
“They’ll be right behind me. But...”
He slipped off his sunglasses and narrowed his eyes at the one-ton truck easing into the empty space the taxi had left. There were about a dozen planters of various sizes loaded in the bed.
“I told you. I’m bringing some plants into the gallery.”
At Yuni’s answer, he folded his arms and rubbed under his chin.
“Hm... Not sure it’s a great idea. We’ll just dry them all to death.”
“We literally hired one person who won’t.”
With an arm thrown over my shoulder, Yuni said it with confidence, but he looked at me, still doubtful.
“Ever kept those alive?”
“In the past... my ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) parents kept a lot.”
Both of them had loved plants. From relatively easy ones—snake plants, cacti, Chinese evergreens, anthuriums—to big pots like banyan rubber trees, areca palms, alocasias. Our little veranda had been like a jungle.
“Well, judging by how the manager’s place is being kept, at minimum you won’t kill them by drying them out.”
Folding the arms of his sunglasses and tucking them in his chest pocket, he nodded as if convinced. That made Yuni perk up.
“The manager’s place is really that clean now?”
A slow smile spread across his face, with a hint of mischief.
“If you’re that curious, go visit. Stop hanging on Gwon Juhan all day for no good reason.”
“I’ll pass on useless advice from an equally useless Director. Help us unload the pots.”
He mussed her bob and gave a short laugh. The words had a bit of bite both ways, but as with most talk among close people, to an outsider not in the circle it sounded like code you couldn’t parse.
With four of us to take the pots the driver handed down and carry them inside, it didn’t take long.
When he suggested grabbing a coffee outside until the works arrived, I thought he meant a nearby café, but that wasn’t it.
If you turn right along the building wall from the front gate without crossing the lot, there’s a tucked-away space encircled by well-kept shrubs. A small courtyard just big enough for a four-top under a parasol.
“Working on a Saturday is bad enough—why is the weather this good?”
He pulled out the sunglasses from his pocket and put them on, then tilted his head to peer past the parasol up at the sky.
“We could have brought the works tomorrow. We rushed because you wanted to.”
Yuni scraped at her ice cream with a plastic spoon.
From the traditional Korean house café next door, the Director and I had iced Americanos; Yuni and Juhan chose ice cream. Early summer had crept close enough that cold drinks and ice cream outdoors felt right.
“Thinking about making money gets me too happy to sit still.”
He popped the lid off his takeout cup, flicked the straw away, and drank straight from the cup, grinning.
I stopped stirring my ice with my straw. Because he treated the artist called Shushu with such particular care, hearing him talk like he was converting the value of the works straight into money was very unexpected. He looked laid back, fingers laced behind his head, shoulders loose against the chair. Satisfaction filled his face like he might hum.
“Are the new works that good?”
“......”
He didn’t answer. The satisfied smile just deepened a shade under the sunglasses. From that alone I could tell. The money talk had just been words.
He cherished Shushu’s works so much that even saying their name carelessly felt too much, and even letting out his true feelings about them felt risky. Maybe the artist who made them, too.
“Then let us make some money, too. You remember we’re shooting next Sunday, right?”
Juhan, already done with his ice cream, dropped the spoon into the empty paper cup and rubbed his palms together. He looked like Tom gleefully plotting what to do with the Jerry he’d caught.
He, on the other hand, straightened from his lounge and made a face.
“Ah...”
“Forgot?”
Juhan raised his voice.
“Do we have to do it that day? The show opens Saturday. I’m definitely going to drink all night.”
“You can drink all night and sleep it off, Director. We’ll shoot just fine without you.”
Yuni didn’t seem to care at all that he’d forgotten.
“I don’t recall ever underpaying you... What are you saving up for?”
“Studying abroad.”
“Then I should cancel the shoot. If you two quit, I’m the one who loses.”
The three of them were bantering. I seemed to be the only one surprised to hear “studying abroad” from Yuni. Whether it was her plan alone or a project with Juhan, it was clear she had it in mind, and from the Director’s reaction, it wasn’t the first he’d heard of it, either.
The swath of shade cutting the table on the diagonal grew darker. Everyone was steadily linking their present to their future.
“And half of my greed, I learned from you, Director.”
Skirting her lip piercing, Yuni spooned in another bite of ice cream, then pointed the spoon at him. He lifted the corners of his mouth in a bright grin.
“I always take pride in that. And come on—what’s more fun than making money?”
“Exactly. Why waste time playing? Making money is what sticks.”
“You two get to make money doing what you like, playing as you go. Kids these days are different. I’m jealous, honestly.”
“Yeah, except the scale’s different. Even in a lifetime, we probably couldn’t afford a car like that one you drive.”
