The Mysterious Art Museum

From the group of journalists, three reporters break away and follow Yong-han. Watching coldly, Yeong-ju whispers,

“These are reporters from the top media companies in the country. They weren’t originally on the invitation list but used their company’s influence to secure spots. They might have been brought by their company to stir up some media trouble, so be careful what you say.”

I nod slightly and, after sending Leah to Monica, approach Yong-han to extend my hand.

“I heard you were in LA, thank you for coming all this way for the exhibition.”

“…….”

Yong-han quietly observes my extended hand.

I study his gaze intently. A face full of guilt, an expression laden with remorse. Of course, I don’t believe it. It’s all been media play on his part until now.

What will he pull off this time?

No matter what he does, this is my turf. Even if the three reporters he brought create a fuss, the rest will counter with opposing articles, so I'm not concerned.

Yong-han looks haggard.

He seems to have suffered a lot in his heart while hiding in LA and then returning to Korea.

I quietly observe Yong-han, who neither shakes hands nor speaks, and then say,

“Since you’re here for the exhibition, would you like to start by seeing the paintings?”

A flicker of surprise crosses Yong-han's face.

He must have thought I would start by berating him. Smiling faintly, I pat his back.

“Feel free to look around, and we can talk later. Oh, did the Prime Minister arrive?”

* * *

The Prime Minister of Italy.

It’s already remarkable for an Italian figure to visit a personal exhibition, let alone the Prime Minister himself.

Yong-han watches Jeong-hun, who after telling him to look at the paintings, turns to greet the Prime Minister.

He must have rehearsed a thousand times on the flight what to say and how to behave.

The script sent by President Kim Young-min. It contained three methods to trap Jeong-hun.

Of course, there’s not much for him to do. He just needs to silently show a guilty demeanor, and the reporters will handle the rest according to their reaction.

But is this really all he has to do?

The first mistake was his, but everything that followed worsened because he listened to others.

Yong-han shifts his gaze from the departing Jeong-hun to the cold eyes of the surrounding people.

Seo Yeong-ju, known as the director of Artist Company. She glares at him as if to kill.

Monica, the CEO of Rosellini, who he knew had an interest in fashion and often looked up in magazines, also looks at him as if he’s a bug.

Even the world-renowned pianist, who was showing foreign professors with white hair the exhibition, does the same.

Not just them, but art world figures far away, arms crossed, look this way with scornful expressions.

Yong-han hears the whispering of the reporters President Kim Young-min assigned to him.

“The reaction is completely different from what we expected? Doesn’t this mess up our scenario?”

“Exactly, there needs to be a reaction for us to write a story. We can’t just write that he was told to look at the paintings.”

“What about spinning it like this: Invited to a VIP exhibition and then just told to look at the paintings as if being ignored?”

“Will that create an issue?”

“We need to earn our keep, but this is serious.”

Yong-han turned to look at the journalists behind him.

It was as if he could see loathsome insects crawling all over his body.

“Journalists.”

Journalists who frequented the agency and recognized him looked back, wondering what he wanted.

“I would like to view the paintings alone.”

A journalist, relatively friendly to him due to past interviews, gestured with his eyes and said:

“Stay within 10 meters around us, and if Jeong-hoon comes, I’ll come right over. Look at the paintings. And this.”

The journalist handed over a small recorder.

“Press the record button in advance. It should record for at least three hours. Recording everything Jeong-hoon and his associates say to you will help us plan our strategy.”

Yong-han stared at the recorder given by the journalist and then put it in his jacket pocket.

“Alright.”

After parting ways with the journalists, Yong-han slowly moved towards the area where the paintings were hung. The journalists followed, maintaining a distance of about 10 meters, but their eyes never left Yong-han.

Yong-han clenched his hand in his pocket and bit his lip.

"What am I doing right now?"

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