WW | Chapter 48

Yoonjo didn’t respond to Park’s remark, which sounded more like a passing thought than a statement. Sharing the painting, which was once solely his, with the public felt surprisingly empty. As a child, it was the only thing he had left of his mother, so he’d tried to keep it locked away. When he lost his zest for life, he’d come here, look at the painting, and find some measure of peace. That’s why he’d always rejected Park’s suggestions to sell it or even exhibit it publicly. He feared that sharing it would erase the presence of his mother completely from his life.

“Don’t you regret it? It was your treasure, wasn’t it?”

“No, I don’t regret it. Why should I?” Yoonjo replied flatly.

He’d once thought he’d never sell the painting, but when the time came, he let it go easily. He realized his attachment to the painting was a manifestation of his obsession, and now he had a place to find greater solace. For the sake of something more significant, he didn’t regret letting it go. Perhaps, from the start, this was where the painting belonged. He’d just pretended not to know.

“Your father saw the painting too,” Park said casually.

“What?”

For the first time, Yoonjo’s calm demeanor cracked, his eyes sharpening with surprise. Normally unfazed, he couldn’t help but react to those words.

Yoonjo’s father, Jinseok, had died last year. He had narrowly survived a major accident years ago, only to suffer complications that eventually claimed his life. Until the end, Jinseok had been unaware of the painting’s existence—or so Yoonjo thought. And even if he had known, Jinseok was not the type to visit such a place.

“He came here before he passed. He already knew I had the painting. He said he wanted to see the completed work just once, so I showed it to him.”

“That cunning old man,” Yoonjo muttered, clicking his tongue as he thought of his father’s crafty nature.

Come to think of it, it wasn’t impossible for Jinseok to have known about the painting. Yeonsu had completed it in her home studio, a place where only Yoonjo had been allowed entry. But it was possible Jinseok had sneaked a look once or twice. Still, Yoonjo had assumed he wouldn’t have known the painting had been moved to Park’s studio shortly after its completion. Yeonsu had destroyed many unfinished works or abandoned them mid-progress. Yet somehow, that shrewd old man had figured it all out and kept quiet about it.

“And he didn’t say anything?”

Yoonjo couldn’t believe that Jinseok, knowing about the painting, had taken no action. His father had been both merciful and ruthless. While he had cherished Yeonsu, he’d also exploited her talent for his own gains. The sale of her works at high prices had often been used to evade taxes, which had only deepened Yeonsu’s depression. Yoonjo suspected that was why she had entrusted her final masterpiece to Park—to leave something entirely for Yoonjo, untouched by Jinseok’s influence.

If Jinseok had known about the painting, he would surely have investigated its whereabouts. And had he known it was with Yoonjo, he would have argued that he, as her husband, had the right to it. Why hadn’t he?

“He didn’t say a word. He just spent a long time looking at it and left. I think he understood its meaning and chose to protect it,” Park said.

“…”

Yoonjo fell silent at Park’s words. It was unlike Jinseok, but it was the only explanation that made sense. Yoonjo let out a belated chuckle.

“Those old folks were living out a drama, weren’t they?”

“More like a series. Looks like you’re starring in the next season,” Park quipped, refusing to be outdone.

The lightened mood prompted Yoonjo to tilt his head and study Park. His wrinkles and graying hair made the passage of time feel more tangible. Their relationship was a peculiar one—originally destined to be antagonistic, yet fate had turned it into something closer to kinship.

“You should start dating. Growing old alone is lonely.”

“I’ve got a friend I chat with from time to time. What about you? When are you getting married? I heard Yoo Kahi mentioned a boyfriend in an interview.”

“Who knows?” Yoonjo replied with a faint, enigmatic smile.

“By the way,” he continued, “do you know if Yul works near here?”

“How did you know?”

The light returned to Yoonjo’s dim eyes as Park’s guess hit the mark.

“I had a hunch. I saw her driving by a few times. Looks like her workplace is up that way. If it’s a construction company, it’s probably Space Maru. Is she working there?”

“You’re practically a detective,” Yoonjo said wryly.

“Then that woman from a couple of years ago was Yul, wasn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“About two years ago, a woman was lurking near the museum. When I approached, she panicked and ran away, but from the side, she looked just like Yul. Now that I think about it, she was probably out for lunch or a walk and stopped by. Why didn’t she say hi?”

Park’s eyes glinted with a mix of nostalgia and disappointment as he recounted the memory. He had come to know Yul through Yoonjo, met her multiple times, and even grown fond of her. It stung that she had ignored him, especially when her workplace was within a ten-minute walk.

“Don’t take it personally. She’s always been heartless like that—selfish, using people when it suits her, and disappearing once she’s gotten what she wants.”

“And yet you liked her so much. Why was that?” Park laughed, amused by Yoonjo’s unexpected criticism of Yul.

Yoonjo looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. Why did he like Yul? Memories of their time together, from their first meeting to their farewell, flashed through his mind. After a moment, he smiled faintly and said, “Because of that one part.”

“What?”

“The other 99 parts were perfect,” Yoonjo clarified.

But as he said it, he realized it wasn’t true. He had liked even that flawed part of her. The moment he met her, she had lodged herself in his mind and refused to leave. He kept looking for her, wanting her, needing her.

“I should go. I have an appointment,” Yoonjo said, glancing at his watch.

“By the way, isn’t your father’s memorial soon?” Park asked.

“Yes. We’re holding the ritual and a Buddhist ceremony at the temple.”

“Which temple? I’ll try to make time to go.”

“Don’t come.”

Park’s warm expression faltered at Yoonjo’s blunt rejection.

“Hey, I’ve already made peace with your father.”

“Still, don’t come.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous,” Yoonjo said with a faint smile, his tone light, as if joking.

The odd glint in Yoonjo’s eyes made Park hesitate. For a moment, he felt a chill.

“Alright,” Park finally replied, nodding seriously.

Outside, Yoonjo’s secretary, Choi Seongwoo, was waiting for him. Seongwoo, an orphan whom Jinseok had mentored from a young age, had once been a figure Yoonjo disliked for his cold demeanor and efficiency. Now, he was the only person Yoonjo trusted completely—a testament to Jinseok’s eye for talent.

“I’ll drive myself. You can take a cab,” Yoonjo said, pulling out a cigarette.

“Understood. But are you sure your shoulder is alright?” Seongwoo asked, lighting the cigarette for him.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s not,” Yoonjo replied indifferently, taking a deep drag. The sharp bite of the smoke was oddly comforting.

“By the way,” Seongwoo added, lowering his voice, “we’ve located Park Sangdo.”

“Where?” Yoonjo asked, his cigarette balanced between his fingers.

“He was hiding in Vladivostok, but after some persuasion, he’s returned to Mucheon Port. Our team is tailing him now.”

“Idiot,” Yoonjo muttered with a crooked smile. Hiding among other fish only to end up in the net—Sangdo had no idea. Now, it was just a matter of confirming who he’d meet next.

“Keep me updated,” Yoonjo said, exhaling a long plume of smoke.

“Yes, sir,” Seongwoo replied with a bow as Yoonjo leaned back, savoring the fleeting dizziness the cigarette brought.