Chapter 286:

Chapter 286:

286

The Scoundrel (6)

I had grown quite close to Marso after working on the Munster sculpture project for two weeks straight.

He was a rascal, but I had gotten used to him after being with him for almost a year since last winter.

He would often show me his new ideas for his works.

Today, he brought a sketch of his work for the Scoundrel exhibition, but it was just a plain emerald.

He was very talented at expressing himself, but that was not enough.

His work lacked the brilliant composition that Marso had always boasted.

“Why are you silent?”

I wondered how to say it.

We had many arguments because of my honest words, and Marso had a temper as bad as Gauguin’s. It would surely lead to a fight.

“Tell me the truth.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

If I told him that it looked like the most worthless emerald in the world, a result of his mannerism and inflated narcissism, he would attack me right away. He was good at talking.

I softened it a bit.

“It’s not good.”

“What?”

He glared at me.

“You emphasized the emerald too much. It’s not distinctive from your other works.”

“...”

He was sulking.

He took the sketch and closed his mouth.

He must have realized it himself.

He had made over 800 self-portraits and self-awareness paintings, so no matter how talented and hardworking he was, he must have reached his limit.

Maybe he had already overcome several crises.

He had been active since he was young, so it was strange that he didn’t have any changes at his age.

Speaking of which.

“Marso.”

He didn’t look back.

“Marso.”

He didn’t answer, clearly angry.

“Henri.”

Henri turned his neck like a broken doll.

He wouldn’t make that face even if a fly came out of his pizza.

“What did you just say?”

“I said Henri.”

“What?”

“It’s about time, isn’t it?”

We had been together for three years and became quite close, so calling him by his name was no big deal.

“Anyway. How old are you now?”

He looked me up and down.

“What did you eat wrong?”

“What are you talking about? How old are you?”

He asked again, then grabbed my shoulder and shook me.

“I told you not to eat anything you find! What did you eat! Huh? What did you eat!”

“Ah, ah, ah.”

“Are you still taking drugs?”

When I was painting outside, I sometimes found flowers that I could eat, and they reminded me of the old days, so I occasionally ate them. He must have thought I ate something bad.

I had been abstaining from drugs since I quit, but he still doubted me.

“Let go of me!”

I couldn’t win with strength, so I jabbed his palm and barely got away.

It must have hurt, but he didn’t care and stared at me.

“I’m fine.”

I took out my smartphone and searched for Henri Marso. It said he was born on December 12, 1995.

Today was October 30, 2029, so he was 33 years old.

He had been pursuing his dream since he was 13, so he had been active for almost 20 years.

He definitely needed some change.

“How about trying something other than self-portraits?”

I lifted my head and saw Henri frowning.

Kim Ji-woo, who came to the Scoundrel orientation, found Bang Taeho and Lee Inho, a reporter, in front of the building.

“Director, Inho.”

“Huh? Why, why are you like that?”

“Spy?”

“Haha. No way.”

Ban Tae-ho paused at the story that sounded like a movie. He saw the serious look in Kim Ji-woo and Lee In-ho’s eyes.

“No. It can’t be.”

Ban Tae-ho shook his head.

He reassured Kim Ji-woo and Lee In-ho by recalling the excellence of the portfolio and the desperate expression at the presentation.

“He looked really desperate. If that was acting, he should be an actor, not a painter.”

Ban Tae-ho added a laugh, but the two journalists, one current and one former, did not give up their doubts.

“But it’s strange. Choi Kyu-seo wouldn’t like it if he joined Bulhandang. And he’s a secretary, too.”

“Oh, I heard he graduated from the art school of Korea University. He’s a junior to Professor Jang and Mr. Choi Kyu-seo.”

“Then isn’t it even stranger? He was always with Choi Kyu-seo, and now he’s here.”

“Dreams are not easy to give up.”

Ban Tae-ho’s words made sense.

“I think it’s one of two things.”

“What?”

“Either he’s trying to get something out of here by listening to Choi Kyu-seo, or he had some trouble with Choi Kyu-seo.”

“What if it’s the latter?”

Lee In-ho agreed with Kim Ji-woo’s guess.

“He must have seen a lot of stories related to the Korean Art Association as a secretary.”

“He would have a lot of complaints if they had a falling out. Choi Kyu-seo is notorious for his bad temper.”

Lee In-ho and Kim Ji-woo were almost certain.

Unless Choi Kyu-seo was crazy, he wouldn’t hire someone to leak his idea.

Baek Seol-gi was also a sane person who wouldn’t take such a risk.

It was natural to think that they had a falling out, since Choi Kyu-seo wouldn’t let his own secretary work for Bulhandang.

“He might know something about his husband, too.”

“That’s actually a bigger problem. The selection of the commissioner for the Korean Pavilion.”

As Kim Ji-woo and Lee In-ho were talking, Baek Seol-gi recognized Ban Tae-ho and greeted him cautiously.

“Hello.”

Kim Ji-woo and Lee In-ho, who were spreading their wings of imagination, were startled and jumped up, and Baek Seol-gi also backed away.

“Welcome.”

Ban Tae-ho checked the time and greeted her with a smile.

“You came right on time. Let’s go up. I’ve prepared a seat on the second floor.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, these are the reporters who came to cover the story. Reporter, this is Baek Seol-gi, the writer who joined us this time.”

Lee In-ho bowed his head and greeted her.

“Hello. I’m Lee In-ho from Daehan Ilbo.”

Baek Seol-gi was glad to hear that he was from a leading daily newspaper in Korea.

“Hello. I’m Baek Seol-gi. Nice to meet you.”

Baek Seol-gi received a business card from Lee In-ho and felt embarrassed.

“What do I do? I don’t have a business card right now.”

“You don’t work at Cyclamen Secretary Office?”

Kim Ji-woo popped his face out.

Baek Seol-gi was flustered, but she smiled calmly in front of the reporters.

“Yes. Until recently.”

“Then.”

“I quit.”

If Baek Seol-gi’s words were true, the chances of matching the two’s expectations were high.

Kim Ji-woo tried to calm his pounding heart and greeted her cheekily.

“Oh. I’m sorry for being late. I’m Kim Ji-woo, a columnist. I used to work at Yehwa.”

“Oh. Kim Ji-woo, the reporter. I’ve read a lot of your articles.”

Baek Seol-gi, who occasionally looked at Yehwa, greeted him warmly.

‘How do I ask?’

Kim Ji-woo, who couldn’t catch the tail, had no intention of letting go of Baek Seol-gi.

He was determined to get the evidence and testimony of the corruption and irregularities of the Korean Art Association and Choi Kyu-seo, no matter what.

“Really? It’s hard to meet someone who reads my writing. Haha!”

To do that, he had to reduce the emotional distance as much as possible.

“Mr. Ban praised you a lot. Can you tell me a little bit about your work after the orientation?”

“Oh. Is that okay?”

“Of course! It’s an honor. A solo interview with someone who’s participating in the Venice Biennale.”

Kim Ji-woo smiled all over his face.Th.ê most uptodate novels are published on n(0)velbj)n(.)co/m