After the workshop concluded, preparations for the exchange exhibition began.
A weekend at an exhibition hall of Tokyo University of the Arts.
The space was filled with noises reminiscent of a construction site as preparations for the exhibition were underway.
The sounds of power drills and hammering echoed everywhere.
A staff member from the transport company approached me for a final confirmation.
“Could you please sign here in the ‘Representative’ section?”
“Oh, sure.”
I took the two sheets of paper handed to me by the professional transport staff. They were certificates verifying that the artworks left at Busan Port had safely arrived in Tokyo via a Japanese cargo ship.
After examining the artworks that had arrived, I didn’t find any issues. I had taken extra care with the packaging, and Geonwoo oppa had meticulously documented the condition of the pieces with photographs back in Korea, making comparisons easy.
Instead of signing right away, I carefully checked the documents to ensure there were no problems. Only after verifying both sheets did I neatly write “Go Hana” on them.
‘Ugh, now that I’ve signed, I’m suddenly feeling anxious.’
“Um, excuse me. Could I check one last time?”
“Of course. Take your time.”
I ended up scanning the documents twice—an act that would seem utterly inefficient to the efficiency-obsessed Koreans. However, the staff, used to such thorough inspections, stood calmly and waited.
“…”
“…”
I couldn’t help it. After all, the transportation costs were astronomical, and the shipment included over 20 pieces from the Birth of a Moment series, each selling for at least 5 million won at auction. There was no way I could afford to be careless.
Roughly speaking, the value of the shipment was around 100 million won. These were mostly my own works, excluding those I had donated to museums for non-profit purposes or sold to auction houses.
Thinking of my paintings in terms of money felt a bit materialistic, but I couldn’t avoid it.
I had poured everything into these works—scraping together materials by winning professional art competitions and even shooting a children’s crayon set commercial to fund the projects. It was only natural that I’d be on edge.
‘Oil paintings larger than a meter on each side cost a fortune from start to finish—each piece probably ate up nearly a million won. And the custom frames, costing tens of thousands, were practically a necessity.’
If you didn’t put this much effort into your work, you wouldn’t even be taken seriously as an emerging artist. Artists who relied on fame alone to produce half-hearted imitations quickly disappeared.
It had been that way in the past, and it would be the same in the future.
Because of this, despite the buzz surrounding me, I wasn’t exactly swimming in wealth.
Compared to other emerging artists, I had earned a decent amount, thanks to a few big investors who had bought my works with a “Let’s bet on this genius kid” attitude, paying a premium price.
If I were to compare my total earnings to something, it would probably be like winning second place in the lottery.
‘Still, I haven’t touched the money I made from the Birth of a Moment series. I’m living off advertising fees and prize money from competitions.’
– Conclusion: If these artworks were damaged or lost, Hana-chan might have to quit being an artist and start dressing up dolls at Mari’s place.
Not that I’d actually quit, but the mental blow would be about that severe.
Sob…
“….”
Anyway.
For me, 100 million won was still an incredibly large amount of money. (I mean, it’s a lot for anyone, but I’m speaking psychologically here.) My armpits were practically drenched from the tension.
Moments like this made me realize I was still far from becoming a true master.
“…”
In the end, I confirmed there were no issues with the documents.
“All checked.”
“Understood.”
The staff member took both sheets of paper, returned one copy to me, stored the other in a file, and then bowed politely.
“Well then, Ms. Go Hana, I’ll see you again in two weeks. Wishing you a successful exhibition.”
“Thank you for ensuring the safe transport of the artworks.”
After shaking hands with the staff member, I approached Palgon and Geonwoo, who were organizing the works. As instructed, they were wearing soft gloves.
Palgon looked over and asked, “Ms. Artist, did the paperwork go smoothly?”
“Yes, no issues.”
“Great, then we can start the setup now.”
“I had all the frames matched to the same style, so the nail positions will be identical. Plus, I’ve brought the exhibition layout plan I designed beforehand. The height and order for each piece are marked with stickers on the back.”
“According to this plan, we can just use a laser level to draw a straight line, mark the spots, and hammer in the nails one by one. Hanging the paintings will be quick.”
“The real issue isn’t hanging the paintings—it’s the lighting. We might need to swap out the lights if they don’t match the ones we used in Korea. If the lighting tracks here are incompatible, it could affect the colors. What do you think?”
“Hahaha! That’s no problem at all. I’ve handled countless jobs like this while doing interior work. It’ll be fine. And for the small wall installations, Taeo already showed me what to do, so it shouldn’t take long.”
“….”
I quietly observed Palgon’s hearty laughter.
“…And, Uncle Palgon.”
“Hmm?”
“You don’t have to keep speaking so formally to me while we’re working. Technically, I’m like a niece to you, right?”
“Oh-ho! Kim Palgon, the man of honor, maintains strict respect for his employers and superiors. This is still a job I’m being paid to do, isn’t it?”
“…”
Even as he said this, Palgon gently patted my head with a smile. His touch, rough yet warm, conveyed his unchanging sincerity. The heat of his kind heart was unmistakable.
“You’re going to do great, Ms. Artist! Keep your chin up!”
“…Thank you.”
I found myself thinking that I wanted to pay Uncle Palgon more than I had originally promised.
‘He mentioned he’s planning to have children soon, so he’ll probably need the money. Once I’m back in Korea, I’ll withdraw some extra from my account and give it to him.’
If it was for him, I wouldn’t mind using the money I earned from Go Hun’s posthumous works.
After all, Go Hun would have wanted to repay Palgon’s kindness as well.
Geonwoo wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve. He was meticulously inspecting the paintings one last time.
“Whew… In dramas, they make this kind of thing seem like it just gets done in a snap. Turns out there’s a lot more to think about than I expected. This is practically a mini construction project.”
“…”
I felt a bit guilty hearing that.
“To be honest, if we had more money, we could’ve just hired professionals for this. But hiring contractors here in Japan isn’t easy for us, and I figured it was better for us to handle it ourselves than to risk leaving it to someone unreliable.”
“That’s true. It’s hard to find companies that take responsibility when foreigners hire them. They’ll switch workers without notice or do a half-baked job and tell you to file a complaint if you dare. It’s a mess.”
Geonwoo seemed to be recalling some bitter memories. He’d probably encountered similar issues while helping with Mija’s family business, dealing with overseas workers.
“Hang in there, Geonwoo oppa.”
“Haha.”
“?”
“It’s just funny. On the first day, you hesitated so much to call me ‘oppa,’ but now it’s so natural. Oh, I’m not teasing—it just makes me happy.”
“R-really…?”
Geonwoo scratched the back of his head awkwardly and began rummaging through the toolbox.
“…”
To be honest, I did have some initial reluctance to use the word “oppa,” but…
‘After talking with Chen at the museum, I came to terms with the fact that all of this—my mannerisms, my speech—is just part of being “Go Hana.” Once I accepted that, everything felt easier.’
Eventually, after saying “oppa” over and over, it just stuck. Now it felt completely natural.
From a distance, Palgon, who was knocking on the wall, called out.
“Squad leader! Shall we go ahead and set up the laser level?”
“Over where Mr. Kim is standing?”
“Yes, that’s correct!”
We pulled the laser level out of the toolbox and began discussing the direction of the installation. Using the green laser as a guide, we marked spots with a pencil and calculated any discrepancies with the layout plan.
Just as we were about to dive into the real work, a cheerful voice called out from afar.
“Snack break~!”
“Secha-moo, wasamunida~!”
“Mija…?”
Mija was carrying bags of food from a bento shop in both hands, and following behind her was Yamada, holding a convenience store bag filled with drinks and waving enthusiastically. Throughout the workshop, Yamada had always been in her school uniform, but now she was dressed casually.
Yamada looked at me and spoke in English.
“Hi, Hana-chan.”
“…”
“Huh? Don’t you remember who I am?”
“Yamada.”
“Oh!”
“…”
Yamada seemed satisfied and clamped her mouth shut. She really was a bewildering character.
Why is she still hanging around even though the workshop is over?
I tried to ask Mija,
but the timing slipped away because of the lunchbox that arrived before my eyes.
“Hana-chan! They didn’t have spicy pork over rice, so I got katsudon instead. That’s okay, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Thanks.”
From behind, Yamada clumsily mimicked Mija’s Korean.
“Hana-chan, je-yuk-deop-bap-un uh-peu-seo-go, ka-tsu-dong-eu-ro sa-at-neun-de gaen-chan-ji?”
“…”
Mija approached Palgon and Geonwoo as well.
“Uncle Palgon, here’s karaage set. Oppa, just water for you.”
“Mija, thanks a lot!”
“Hey, Yoo Mija, are you messing with me…?”
“Kidding, kidding, oppa. Don’t get so serious.”
Yamada clapped his hands enthusiastically and repeated after her.
“Palgon sa-mu-chon-un ka-ra-a-ge jeong-sik, oppa-neun geun-yang mul.”
“…”
A Japanese high school girl standing behind a white middle schooler echoing Korean lines word for word was… unsettling.
Even though the workshop ended, she came all the way here in casual clothes. Judging by that, Yamada must be from Tokyo… But why is she so insistent on speaking Korean?
I looked at Yamada and spoke in English.
“Why exactly…? The workshop’s over.”
“Huh? Oh, right. Goto, Chen, and Chai all left too, didn’t they? Goto and Chen only said goodbye to you guys. They felt a bit hurt, you know? And you only exchanged email addresses with Chai.”
The last day of the workshop.
Goto and Chen headed for the bus stop to the airport, saying:
“Hana-san, Haruko-san… If you ever come to Kyoto, contact us. We really, really want to see you again. It was so great to spend time with you two.”
“…If you ever visit Beijing, let me know. I’ll have tea with you. At the most expensive place, too. Let’s have another debate there.”
Come to think of it, back then…
“That was because Yamada suddenly left for the restroom without saying anything during the send-off. Chai was just waiting for her.”
“Really?”
“…”
Yamada widened her eyes in confusion, tilting her head.
I can’t with this girl…
Talking to her feels like my brain is breaking down.
I returned to the main topic.
“Anyway, why are you here? And where did you meet Mija?”
“Oh, I live just over there.”
“…”
“It’s the weekend, so I was bored. I went for a walk and saw the blonde kid going into a lunchbox shop. So I joined her.”
“…I see.”
“After the workshop ended, I felt kind of lonely. And with Chai gone, it was dull. So I just came along. Thought I’d try learning some Korean too.”
“Korean…?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Well, I could understand Korean because my mom loves K-dramas, but I couldn’t speak it well.”
“…”
So she was understanding everything Mija and I were saying from behind…?
I gave up trying to understand Yamada any further.
Just as I was about to sit down and eat my lunch, Yamada, glancing at my works that I had organized for the exhibition, spoke. Her gaze lingered on the large monitor.
“…‘Chris Descends’?”
“Huh? Oh… yeah. That’s my main piece, for now.”
“All day long?”
“No, I wouldn’t last the two weeks of the exhibition if I performed it nonstop. I’ll only showcase it as a performance during scheduled times.”
“What about Japanese?”
“Oh. Since I’m not fluent, I was planning to ask Mija and Geonwoo oppa to help interpret.”
“Oooh, I want to do it too.”
“To… interpret?”
“Yeah, it sounds fun. What time will you perform?”
“Around evening, for about two hours…”
“Oh! I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”
“Well… sure, go ahead.”
And just like that, Yamada randomly joined the party.
“Helping out with the famous Chris that everyone’s talking about, huh? You’re going to have your hands full.”
“Not really. I think the hype’s died down since most people have already seen it. I doubt many will come.”
*
The next day.
Yamada knocked on the hidden room where I was hiding and spoke in a small voice.
“Saintess, they’re asking if you can extend the time because the queue is way too long. Everyone coming now says they’ve waited at least three hours…”