Van Gogh Reborn!

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.”

Tae-ho Bang and In-ho Lee also recognized Ji-woo Kim and greeted her warmly.

“How have you been?”

“Of course. I’ve been doing great.”

Ji-woo Kim looked at In-ho Lee with a smile and shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s hard to be doing well when there’s too much work.”

“Haha. That’s true. By the way, I heard about Ye-hwa.”

“Ah.”

“But I heard from Mr. Bang here that you got a better position.”

“Yes. I got to write a planning column for Bojar.”

“Wow. That’s amazing, isn’t it? Should I call you a writer now?”

“That’s not it. How are you doing these days, In-ho?”

“I’m always the same.”

“I saw your article last time and it seemed like you studied a lot.”

“Ah, sigh. There’s still so much I don’t know. Haha.”

Tae-ho Bang looked back and forth between In-ho Lee and Ji-woo Kim. He wondered if they were this friendly.

“Are the participants still not here?”

Ji-woo Kim, who had exchanged greetings with In-ho, asked Tae-ho.

There were about 10 minutes left until the appointment time, but she was curious why Tae-ho and In-ho were outside.

“Some of them are waiting inside. Eun-chan Ma said he had some trouble staying in Korea for a long time, so we decided to meet next time.”

“That person! I was most curious about him. He’s a college student, right?”

Ji-woo Kim clapped her hands as she recalled Eun-chan Ma and Seol-gi Baek, whom she had no information about.

“Yes. He’s studying at the National Art University of Munster.”

“Ah~ He’s a foreign student. That’s impressive. He caught Mr. Bang’s eye. How is it in Munster?”

It was a question from the thought that there might be some small talk if Tae-ho had chosen him.

She wanted to hear some stories about Eun-chan for when they met later.

“He seems to be doing well quietly. He usually draws portraits on the street.”

“Portraits?”

“Yes. He drew Hoon and Marso too.”

“Pork villain!”

Ji-woo Kim shouted.

She was a fan of famous artists’ personal broadcasts and remembered the pork rice bowl villain who was famous on Hoon’s broadcast.

She had seen a story that he had drawn portraits of Hoon and Henri Marso on a broadcast a while ago.

Tae-ho Bang and In-ho Lee blinked their eyes in surprise.

“Don’t you know? The pork rice bowl villain.”

Ji-woo Kim asked in disbelief and Tae-ho tilted his head.

“Are you talking about Hoon’s broadcast viewer?”

“Yes! That person is Eun-chan.”

“Really?”

Tae-ho, who had been busy with other things for almost a month preparing for the Villain, had no way of knowing.

He had hired a professional editor to take care of the Pingoo channel video, so he didn’t know what had happened in the meantime.

He laughed after hearing the explanation from Ji-woo.

“I didn’t know that. He would have told me if he knew.”

“Hoon doesn’t know?”

“He probably didn’t say he was participating.”

“Well. He only talks about pork rice bowls.”

In-ho, who didn’t understand the pork rice bowl story, just stood there blankly.

“Wow. The world is small. Things turned out like this.”

“So you picked Eun-chan without knowing he was Hoon’s broadcast viewer?”

“Of course. The documents were blind in the first place. I didn’t ask for personal information either.”

He had evaluated them fairly based on their portfolios alone.

‘Well. That’s the only way.’

Ji-woo understood Tae-ho, who didn’t know much about the participants.

“Then you don’t know much about Seol-gi either.”

“Oh, I know her a little.”

“How?”

“She’s a Cyclamen employee. I used to meet her sometimes when I worked at the Ba-eum Art Museum.”

“Are you talking about the gallery run by Kyu-seo Choi?”

In-ho, who heard a familiar name for the first time in a while, asked.

Cyclamen was a company with Kyu-seo Choi as the representative, a gallery that did both agent and management.

“Yes. That’s right. She worked as Kyu-seo’s secretary.”

Ji-woo opened her mouth wide.

“No way. How is that possible? Seol-gi is joining the Villain and Kyu-seo is just watching? Ugh!”

“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.