DDB Ch 6

Jiwoon received the letter the next morning. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say she discovered it.

Maybe because she had caught the scent of the man the day before, Jiwoon, who managed to get some light sleep, opened her eyes to Myungja’s call.

“Hello?”

— It’s me, Myungja.

Hearing Myungja’s voice after a week, Jiwoon slowly got out of bed.

“Who is this? Isn’t it my landlord?”

Myungja had provided her apartment to Jiwoon for free, who had nowhere to turn to in Korea, allowing her to save money.

“What brings my grateful landlord to call so early in the morning?”

— Why do you think? You asked me to tell you when the master leaves the workshop.

Sleep vanished in an instant.

Jiwoon, out of bed, went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Did he leave?”

Jiwoon took out a bottle of water, opened it, and gulped it down, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

— Yes, as expected, the destination is Korea.

The master of Giovanni’s workshop was on the move.

She had an inkling that the master was involved with Heritage Beyond in forging paintings. Now it seemed the master had made his move.

— They’ll likely contact you soon, so be careful. You need to be cautious.

“…Thanks.”

Jiwoon ended the call after a brief thank you.

So, are they going to forge “Guinevere” with the master and Heritage Beyond? Could they use me too?

Sshh-.

“Guinevere is mine…”

The painting she accidentally found in Florence, where she had nothing to hold onto, was her only solace.

For that painting to be forged rather than restored?

“No.”

She really hated that. “Guinevere” should be unique in this world.

Her throat parched, Jiwoon finished the water and tossed her phone onto the table. On the table lay a shopper bag she had taken out the previous day, slumped over.

“…?”

At that moment, she noticed an unfamiliar envelope sticking out of the bag.

“What’s this?”

Jiwoon reached out and grabbed the envelope.

“Why is this in my bag…?”

Or rather, when did this get in here?

Tilting her head, Jiwoon opened the envelope.

Inside was a photo with writing on it. The painting in the photo was one she knew all too well.

“Guinevere…?”

[If you’re curious about “Guinevere”, come down to the parking lot as soon as you wake up tomorrow morning.]

“Good heavens.”

It was that man.

The hand holding the photo trembled with joy.

Warehouse, painting, man—I know nothing.

Her heart began to beat abnormally.

Thump, thump, thump.

The loud noise rang in her ears, the force of her heart felt physical.

Who sent the photo?

The master? Or those from Heritage Beyond chasing the painting?

‘Maybe, that man?’

“What’s he saying. The only one who knows I call the painting Guinevere is that man.”

So, it must be him who sent the photo.

Her heart pounded as if it would burst at the contact from the man she had only seen for ten minutes.

Jiwoon left the kitchen, put on the nightgown hanging over the sofa arm, and headed out the door. She mindlessly got into the elevator, pressed the button for the underground parking, and bit her lip hard.

Tomorrow morning, parking lot.

While not knowing when this letter got into her bag, was there any guarantee that “tomorrow” meant now according to the letter?

Plus, was there any guarantee that the parking lot referred to here?

There was nothing.

Yet, her heart urged her to move faster, and her legs, trapped in the elevator, anxiously tapped the floor.

From the 8th floor to the basement.

Every second felt delayed, and as soon as the elevator doors opened, she dashed out.

The automatic door to the underground parking opened, and Jiwoon stepped out, looking left and right for the man.

The ice cream shop on Gyeongridan-gil yesterday, the envelope must have been passed there. That scent… it was definitely the smell of that man.

So, now is the right time, and this is the right place.

Having convinced herself, Jiwoon was determined to search every corner of the parking lot to find the man.

Then, someone approached silently, put a black cloth over her head, and lifted her body.

Was there chloroform on the cloth? Her body went limp, and consciousness faded.

Even in that moment, the corners of her mouth twisted into a smirk. As if she had been waiting for this.

🐬🌊🐳

I had a dream.

It was a dream from eight years ago when I first arrived in Florence.

Memory impairment, sleep disorders, and slight sensory issues. The master took Jiwoon, who was malfunctioning in various ways, to a counseling center. It was probably to make sure she was somewhat sane before teaching her work.

The counselor was a kind woman in her fifties. She had a bit of a plump figure, neatly tied milk-coffee colored hair, and a polite, well-mannered smile.

Her face… I don’t remember. As someone with memory loss, even her dreams are just a blur.

Perhaps it’s idealized. Even though I can’t remember the counselor’s face, she was much kinder and warmer in the dream than in my memories.

“What’s your name?”

“Seo Jiwoon.”

Jiwoon answered diligently to the counselor’s question with her bright blue eyes. She found it amusing that she was behaving more quietly than she remembered.

“What’s the hardest thing for you right now?”

“I don’t know.”

“There must be something. Like being afraid to live alone in a strange place, or struggling because of language barriers… things like that?”

Jiwoon, looking younger than now, shook her head with an expressionless face.

“There’s nothing like that.”

The counselor scribbled on the medical record and continued.

“You really can’t remember anything?”

“What kind of memory?”

“Parents, the accident, paintings…”

Jiwoon’s face twisted in pain. She shook her head, clutching it with both hands.

“Stop, stop it. My head hurts.”

Even the sound of the counselor’s pen scratching the paper irritated Jiwoon, who clenched her fists tighter.

Then, a pill was handed to her.

Jiwoon obediently swallowed the pill and leaned back in her chair.

Sweat pooled in the crevices of her clenched fists. Several minutes passed until the effect of the medication spread through her veins to her whole body.

“Feeling better?”

Jiwoon nodded silently.

“Then… can you tell me how you feel right now?”

“Whenever I try to remember… my head feels like it’s going to split. So, I don’t want to remember. But…”

“But?”

Jiwoon slowly lifted her head, furrowing her brows as she pondered deeply.

“I suddenly miss someone.”

“Who?”

Well, who do I miss?

Dad? Mom? Or maybe my grandmother?

No, no.

Jiwoon shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

It was strange. Her mind was foggy like it was filled with mist, yet her chest felt heavy, and for no reason, her throat tightened.

Who do I miss, why do I miss them? Nothing comes to mind, yet vaguely, I want to see someone.

Even though it was a dream, my heart was boiling, and it hurt like it was being squeezed. Tears rolled down Jiwoon’s cheeks as she couldn’t find an answer. The counselor handed her a piece of drawing paper and said:

“Then… would you like to draw something?”

“Draw what?”

“Anything that comes to mind. Don’t rely on your memory, just follow your hand.”

Taking the paper, Jiwoon started to draw.

Her cursed hand moved the blunt pencil busily.

Quickly sketching the outline with a few strokes, Jiwoon completed the drawing.

A man with a sharp jawline, clear facial features.

But that was all. In reality or in dreams, Jiwoon did not know or could not distinguish the man’s face. It was tragic that she was drawing without even recognizing what she was creating with her own hands.

She wouldn’t even remember drawing this once she woke up from the dream.

The more she tried to look at the drawing, the blurrier her vision became. In the end, the dream yielded nothing but the fact that she was drawing a man…

A man…

Jiwoon slowly lifted her heavy eyelids.

As always, the dream quickly faded away. Feeling sad, Jiwoon buried her forehead in the pillow, her shoulders trembling slightly.

Then, a familiar scent brushed past her nose. Followed by a voice.

“Wake up, won’t you?”

Against her will, her eyes snapped open.