WW | Chapter 15

The bus began to speed up again, bumping along the road roughly. Yul shifted closer to the window, but every time the bus jolted, her arm brushed against Yoonjo’s in a precarious manner. At some point, his sleeping head tilted near her ear, and with each small nod, a faint breeze stirred around them. Even though they were clearly sitting apart, the subtle movement of the air seemed to tie them together, softly tickling as it drifted back and forth.

She couldn’t ignore it; the sensation was impossible to endure.

Sigh. Yul let out a quiet breath and pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from her bag. Nothing helped her concentrate better and forget her scattered thoughts than this. As she turned the pages of her notebook, one by one, architectural drawings she had sketched began to appear. It had started as a habit from copying designs she saw lying around her dad’s study, and now it had turned into her hobby, something that anchored her.

As she flipped through a couple more pages, an unfinished building design emerged. Placing her pencil on the page, she continued drawing from where she’d left off.

With her focus deepening, all the surrounding noise faded away. The only things that existed were the sound of her pencil moving across the paper and the emerging shape of the building on the page.

But just as she was getting fully absorbed, it wasn’t a person who interrupted her—it was the sunlight. When the bus made a sharp turn, a burst of intense sunlight flooded in, blinding her.

Nothing ever goes smoothly.

Yul folded the notebook to block the light from the window and suddenly remembered the day she had taken the bus with Yoonjo. The situation had been exactly like this. The only difference was that their seats had switched. She glanced sideways at Yoonjo, noticing that a shadow fell across his face. Unintentionally, she had once again created a shade for him.

“Kang Yoonjo is like a poison mushroom.”

Jieun’s words echoed in her mind. Beautiful but deadly; if you touch it, you’ll die. She had warned her countless times to stay away.

Could that really be true? It was natural for her to feel a bit shaken after hearing it, as anyone would. But as she sat peacefully beside Yoonjo now, she found herself reconsidering. After all, she too had once been trapped in a frame crafted by others. She had been judged harshly for things she hadn’t done, for things she was forced to do to protect herself, with her actions branded as severe faults. Only those who have experienced such unfairness understand that pain. Maybe Jieun was right—Yoonjo might be dangerous. But something told her that simply knowing what others said didn’t make it the absolute truth.

The bus, drenched in light, continued down the road. Thanks to the autumn foliage reflected on the windows, a bit of fall had entered the bus as well. Yoonjo slept peacefully in the afternoon light and the shade she had created. She had once been wary of Yoonjo, yet here she was, feeling sorry for ever being scared of him.

Guess you’re just as much of a loner as me.

“Hey.” Feeling a faint sympathy and sense of kinship, Yul lowered her notebook.

“Kang Yoonjo.”

Since he didn’t wake, Yul reached over to nudge him gently. His eyelashes quivered, and he slowly opened his eyes. His still-drowsy gaze shifted around, eventually settling on her. Those were pretty eyes. It was strange to think she was reflected in them.

“I need to get off.”

“Huh?”

“Move, please.”

She prepared to stand as she spoke to him. This time, it was truly his turn to move aside, without worrying about staying to the right. Finally seeming to come to his senses, he grabbed his bag and stood. After pressing the stop button, she brushed past him to the door. When the bus halted and she stepped onto the roadside, Yul hesitated, turning back briefly. Kang Yoonjo had taken the seat she’d just vacated.

That idiot. He’s sitting right where the sunlight hits.

Jieun’s secretive words echoed in her mind once more.

“Oh, Kang Yoonjo’s mom passed away.”

With no one left to create shade for him, it puzzled her why he had chosen that seat.

The painting was not in the Hyeum Museum of Art but in a private room belonging to Director Park Jaewoo. Since it was a space that Director Park took meticulous care of, the temperature and humidity were maintained year-round to preserve the painting.

Yoonjo stood quietly, gazing at the large canvas. The swirling colors appeared almost chaotic, as if they were blending together, creating a powerful, mesmerizing design. It resembled flickering flames, rushing waves, or perhaps scattering petals. If one looked closely, the painting was made of various circles, each circle a bubble containing shadows and light, which anyone could see if they looked closely enough. The artist had painstakingly drawn each one, dedicating countless hours to complete it.

The title was Myo Yu, representing the existence of something intangible.

Yoonjo visited this spot once or twice a month to view the painting, increasing his visits during periods of sleeplessness. The bubbles in the painting seemed to fill his mind, helping him sleep once more.

“It’s such a shame every time I see it—that the world can’t see this painting,” Director Park said, standing beside him, looking at the painting with regret.

“Then, why not display it?” Yoonjo replied.

“For real?”

“My father would be on the phone with you instantly.”

“Oh, right, your father.”

Director Park closed his eyes in resignation, disappointed, while Yoonjo secretly felt relieved. He had no desire to share this painting’s emotions with anyone else.

The artist, who had passed away young, had gained fame for her talent and was adored by many. People still talked about her with embellished stories. But unfortunately, she hadn’t left many pieces behind. If this painting, which she had poured the most effort into and which Director Park deemed her best, were to become public, the reaction would be overwhelming. As someone who had loved the artist dearly, Director Park would want to share her final work with the world. But he couldn’t, knowing Yoonjo’s father would claim ownership.

“Why don’t you sell it to me instead?”

“Dream on.”

“So cold-hearted.”

Director Park gave a resigned smile, then turned his gaze back to the painting.

This piece had been created solely for Yoonjo, as a gift from the artist who loved her son more than anything. In her deepest melancholy, she dedicated herself to finishing this work, intending it as a keepsake for him.

Yoonjo could still remember the woman painting this, with paint smeared on her body, moving across the canvas as if trapping herself in the bubbles she was painting. It was as if she couldn’t even recognize him beside her until the bubbles popped, bringing her back to reality.

Just like that girl.

For the first time, while looking at the painting, other thoughts entered his mind. Seomun Yul, that was her name. He’d come to remember it because her voice echoed in his ears every time he tried to sleep.

Yul-ah, let’s eat. Yul-ah, did you bring your gym clothes? Yul-ah, do you want this? Yul-ah, Yul-ah, Yul-ah.

That distinctly overfamiliar tone, echoing even in his dreams. Her name piled up, solidifying in his memory like limestone, etched there permanently.

In truth, he had been awake on the bus too. The sound of her pencil scratching across the paper wasn’t unpleasant, so he opened his eyes briefly, catching sight of her sketching. It was a strange drawing of a building. Each time her hand moved, columns appeared, walls formed, and windows took shape. She made no effort to hide her work, and even though he openly watched, she remained oblivious. As if blocking out the world, she had immersed herself in her own space, creating her building.

When he felt a warm light within his closed eyes, she had already folded the notebook and cast a shade to block the sunlight. Once again, he found himself grateful for the shadow she provided, a thought that felt both cool and comforting—like the time the artist had once shaded him.

“How’s school going?” Director Park asked.

“It’s comfortable.”

“That’s troubling.”

Director Park shook his head. “Comfortable” meant Yoonjo still hadn’t made any friends. Realizing isolation was comfortable was far from healthy. One couldn’t live alone in this world. For now, it was okay, but if he continued down this path, connecting with others would become increasingly difficult. That worried Director Park.

“Why don’t you try making friends? A girlfriend would be even better.”

“Not interested.”

Friends? He barely remembered what that even meant. A girlfriend? He couldn’t be bothered. He hated entanglements and preferred to keep people at a distance. Besides, no one dared approach him easily. He was already aware that rumors had spread, suggesting he’d killed someone, even if people were discreet about it. It didn’t matter to him; he had little interest in others, and besides, what people thought wasn’t the truth.

Whenever he showed even a hint of displeasure, people backed off, which was convenient. It meant he could sleep undisturbed. But today, for the first time, that girl made him feel something strange. At the bus stop outside school, when Seomun Yul flinched and stepped away after spotting him.

A girlfriend, huh?

The words echoed in his mind, and once again, her face appeared. He knew instinctively, from the way she avoided his gaze on the bus, that she’d finally heard the rumors about him. Until now, she’d looked him dead in the eyes, but now she lowered her gaze, watching him nervously, and for the first time, it bothered him.

“Well, who could stop you? Do as you please. And in the future, feel free to come in and look whenever you want.”

Director Park’s tone held an unusual grumpiness as he turned away. It was strange, given his usual obsession with privacy. When Yoonjo looked at him questioningly, he sighed and gestured vaguely in the air as if he’d already resigned himself to it.