"·········What?"
'Do I like buildings?' No way. He had a hunch, but dismissed it. That couldn't be it. Kang-seok erased the thought that had crossed his mind.
Because "liking buildings" was a highly ambiguous phrase.
'Did word get out about the Yongshin Land building?' On second thought, maybe the question really was just about whether he liked buildings.
Seoul was known as a city of concrete and skyscrapers. Kang-seok recalled hearing from Director Jin Do-wook and Teacher Yang Seon-gu that Park Seon-woo had always been known for loving large architectural structures.
He had been ecstatic when he got appointed as head of construction this time… Was this why?
Park Seon-woo, who looked visibly excited, prompted Kang-seok for an answer.
"I guess… it depends on the building."
"Oh."
Park Seon-woo's eyes widened in surprise. He repeated Kang-seok's words under his breath and gently stroked his lips with his thumb and forefinger, as if savoring the answer.
"'Depends on the building'… What a wise response."
At some point, they'd let go of their handshake.
As if acting as a guide, Park Seon-woo gestured for Kang-seok to sit next to Director Jin Do-wook. Kang-seok watched Park Seon-woo carefully.
He was holding a black clipboard from the table in front of where he'd been sitting. More precisely, he was handing the clipboard, with papers clipped inside, to Kang-seok.
Holding it out, gesturing with his chin and eyes for him to look, Park Seon-woo waited. Kang-seok slowly reached out.
"I hope it's a building you'll like."
Again, a deeply suggestive and ambiguous comment. Kang-seok lowered his gaze, wondering if Park Seon-woo always talked this way.
[Certificate of All Registered Matters (including cancellations) – Collective Building –]
One line, and it all clicked.
"Do you like buildings?" wasn't just asking about a preference for architecture or design.
Kang-seok began flipping through the pages, aggressively, with sharp thwack sounds echoing as his eyes scanned quickly.
"This is······"
After flipping to the final page—
He didn't know what to say, so he just looked up. As someone born with a natural poker face, his expression remained blank.
Park Seon-woo nodded knowingly.
He'd heard from Director Jin Do-wook that Kang-seok rarely showed emotion, so it was expected. Still, he had hoped for a more dramatic reaction… Clicking his tongue in mild disappointment, Park Seon-woo pointed to the last page and said:
"That's your commission fee."
The "commission fee" was the sale contract for the Renaissance Shopping Mall, where Kang-seok's fresco The Creation of Adam was housed — painted by Kang-seok himself.
How did he get this?
The Renaissance Mall: eight above-ground floors, one underground. Now that it was in Seoul, the rent would've been significant. Its value would've skyrocketed.
'There's no way they would've sold this…'
Kang-seok had hoped to make The Creation of Adam a private collection, but the place had just been remodeled and was ready to take off.
And he got it? How? Kang-seok stared at Park Seon-woo in disbelief.
To acquire something like this… money alone couldn't have done it. Kang-seok tilted his head in pure curiosity.
Park Seon-woo only smiled.
'Look at him, surprised.'
Even as he smiled, Park Seon-woo's mental calculator was running.
Honestly, compared to buildings in central Seoul, the Renaissance Mall was a bit cheap to be considered a proper "gift."
However, the fact that Café Sistina on the 8th floor was directly managed by the building and that Kang-seok's The Creation of Adam was installed there — which had recently started drawing people like the Pied Piper — gave the Renaissance Shopping Mall immense value.
Where people gather, money follows.
'Lucky for me that those idiots offended the building owner and failed to close the deal.'
Anyone with an eye for art would recognize how incredible The Creation of Adam on the 8th floor was.
But as its fame began to grow, renovations started, and most investors couldn't even visit the place. Interest waned. A few quick-footed buyers approached, but they all failed to please the owner.
Which allowed Park Seon-woo to swoop in.
'Really, I got lucky.'
The previous owner was elderly, not a businessman, and clueless about the art world. Thank god.
'I thought he'd refuse to sell just the 8th floor...'
But the entire sale went smoothly from start to finish.
All Park Seon-woo did was avoid stepping on the old man's pride, and everything fell into place.
It was pure luck — without that, no way he could've bought it at a reasonable price.
Of course, if he said it was easy to get, it would diminish the gift. So he had no intention of revealing the backstory.
He hid all of that, just as he had trained himself to do since childhood, and asked with a bright smile:
"Took a lot of work to get this. Do you like it?"
Kang-seok blinked.
Do I like it?
Of course!
Kang-seok had a fierce sense of ownership and pride in his art. Bringing one of his own works as a gift — especially that one — was the best possible move anyone could make when trying to win him over.
From the mansion in Seongbuk-dong to the Renaissance Mall… Life was more dramatic than fiction lately.
Just what was this guy about to ask of him?
With a mixture of excitement and concern, Kang-seok replied:
"I like it very much."
"Haha, 'very much,' even?"
Park Seon-woo chuckled and nodded.
Looked like he'd made the right first impression.
Tapping his fingertips together, Park Seon-woo glanced at the clipboard in Kang-seok's hand and spoke:
"It should be on the contract page too, but what we'd like to commission… is a sculpture."
A sculpture.
Director Jin Do-wook had mentioned that over the phone — that there was a sculpture he really hoped Kang-seok would do.
Kang-seok nodded for him to continue.
Park Seon-woo cleared his throat.
"Ahem. So I'm currently in charge of constructing a new hotel under the San-gang Group. It'll have an outdoor hot spring, and we'd like you — Kang-seok — to create a sculpture for it."
He smiled brightly.
In a hot spring?
Kang-seok had expected something for the hotel entrance or lobby — this was unusual.
Why place a sculpture in a hot spring? As Kang-seok tried to discern the hidden meaning, Park Seon-woo, who was quite perceptive, quickly added:
"Are you familiar with Article 9, Paragraph 1 of the Culture and Arts Promotion Act?"
A question.
"···No?"
He didn't go around memorizing laws.
Kang-seok shook his head.
Park Seon-woo nodded understandingly.
"You know how some buildings have these huge, abstract sculptures out front that don't seem to mean anything?"
"Yeah."
Things that didn't feel intuitive, had no explanation, weren't maintained — some had great messages, others made you wonder how they were ever approved. A mess.
As someone who was extremely particular and critical about sculpture, Kang-seok's face twisted.
Sometimes you'd get these self-important takes about how "you only see what you understand," as if that justified obscurity or mediocrity.
A truly great piece should move you at first glance — then, if you learn its meaning, elevate your appreciation even more. Tsk. Kang-seok clicked his tongue.
Sensing the drop in mood, Park Seon-woo hurried to continue.
"Sometimes it's paintings or something else, but either way — the reason buildings have these artworks in front is because of Article 9, Paragraph 1 of the Culture and Arts Promotion Act."
"Oh. I think I've heard of that."
He actually had.
If you build a structure above a certain size, you're legally required to allocate a portion of your construction budget — usually about 1% — to install artwork like paintings, sculptures, or crafts.
He remembered some sculpture majors being optimistic about that law, thinking their future was secure. Kang-seok nodded.
"Right. As expected from someone with an art background. So basically, any building with a total floor area over 10,000 square meters is required to install artwork out front. A 10 billion won construction project, for example, must spend 100 million won on art. But the law changed recently."
The law changed?
He hadn't heard that.
Kang-seok raised an eyebrow.
Suddenly, the faces of all his sculptor friends who believed they'd never go hungry because of that law flashed before his eyes.
Even setting aside his academy friends, most of the students from Cheonghwa Arts High had passed through the Buddhist Sculpture Club, so they probably wouldn't have trouble making a living.
He vaguely remembered hearing that these days, many were branching out into special effects makeup or 3D modeling... Kangseok, who had momentarily drifted into worrying about kids' future careers, snapped back to his senses.
"How did it change, exactly?"
"It was revised around 2011. Instead of installing art pieces, now about 70% of the installation cost is paid to the Korea Arts and Culture Commission," Park Sunwoo explained.
Director Jin Dowook added,"The money collected is used for public projects related to the arts and culture sector. But since there's a lack of transparency about how it's used, some people are calling for a revision of the law. On the other hand, others argue that without this law, the art market would collapse—so it's a very contentious issue."
"Ah, I see."
"Well, in any case," Sunwoo continued, "as Director Jin said, it's already a noisy topic. So when someone like the owner of the Sankang Group makes a public move, it sends a ripple through the industry."
"That's tricky, right?" Sunwoo added, scratching his temple with a light, clear laugh.
But then suddenly, the smile vanished from his face.
"I hate getting caught up in controversies like that."
He really looked like he meant it.
"I'm not interested in corporate power struggles or politics. I'm content with what I have. If my grandfather or father tosses a project my way, I do it. I wrap things up neatly, avoid getting criticized, maybe even get a little praise now and then, stir the pot just enough to keep things interesting in our lukewarm family management game, maintain good relationships with both family and staff, and in the end, I get to keep my place comfortably. I'm that kind of carefree guy. That's just me."
As the words poured out, Kangseok gave him a curious look.
If someone could actually live like that just because they wanted to... wasn't that proof of real capability?
It was a strange thought, but he didn't dwell on it.
Because right then, Sunwoo clapped his hands loudly to shift the mood.
"Anyway, that's why I can't just stick a sculpture in the lobby or the hotel's entrance. That could be seen as me making a political statement. And I try to avoid that kind of risk at all costs. Also…"
"Also?"
"There'll be an extra charge for hot spring use. Haha. You know how hotel business works—it's all about squeezing out profit from everything, or you end up in the red. It's a style-over-substance industry. So if people want to see the sculpture, they'll have to pay for hot spring access. We'll make sure to highlight the best viewing spots—especially the one where your sculpture looks best—as part of our ultra-premium hot spring package. Adds some margin, keeps management happy."
Hearing this, Kangseok made another strange expression.
Something about the explanation felt eerily similar to the way he usually pitched deals. The thought, "Could it be…?" started creeping up again, and right then, Sunwoo laughed as if confirming it.
"Of course, since I'll be profiting off your sculpture, I'll compensate you accordingly. 5% of all additional hot spring revenue, and 35% of the premium spot fees will be paid to you in the form of exhibition rights. Of course, promotions and commissions may vary, so I've prepared an addendum to the contract... How's the deal? Sound good to you?"
He lifted another paper off the floor as he asked, the fountain pen in his hand catching the light with a gleam.
Ha.
This is fun.
Kangseok smirked.
He'd never felt this kind of perfect alignment before.
Sunwoo, the youngest member of the Sankang Group's owning family.
Kangseok etched that name into his memory and reached out.
"Let's sign."
It was a ridiculously satisfying offer. Even as he thought so, instead of taking the pen, he picked up the contract.
"Just need to check this first."
Kangseok, after all, was known for his meticulousness. He began scanning the contract with sharp eyes to confirm that it matched the explanation exactly.
Seeing this, Sunwoo, who had been frozen in place holding the pen, burst into laughter. It had been a long time since someone didn't melt under his sweet talk. Most people flipped instantly at the gentlest coaxing. Ah, I really like this guy, Sunwoo thought, eyes sparkling.
"Wow, I think I'm really starting to like you, artist-nim."
His bright laughter filled the director's office.
But Kangseok continued reading the contract intently, unfazed.
Watching him, Director Jin Dowook and Executive Ryu Jeonghyeong exchanged wide-eyed glances. Their eyes silently asked each other what on earth was happening.
October 24, that night.
Kangseok was sitting in the first-floor living room of the Seongbuk-dong mansion for the first time in a while. After finishing dinner, he picked up a piece of fruit his mother had cut, but something felt off.
He made a puzzled face.
Was it because he'd been pulling all-nighters turning the abandoned Yongshin Land building into a piece called Psyche (Ψυχή)? The unease didn't seem to stem from that.
Across from him, his parents were laughing together watching TV.
"Honey, this is hilarious."
"Right? I didn't know that idol was so funny… Seok-ah? What's wrong? Is the fruit not tasty?"
"No, it's fine."
His mother, Baek Myeonghee, sat up from her half-reclined position on the couch. At the same time, his father, Kang Hyeondo, who had been sitting on the floor leaning against the couch near her knees, turned his gaze.
"Son. What is it? Something wrong?"
"Uh…"
"Is it that contract you signed today? Don't like it? Want me to go give them a piece of my mind?"
Kang Hyeondo looked ready to stand up.
Kangseok shook his head and glanced toward the second floor.
He thought he understood now.
They were having dinner together for the first time in a while—but Chaeyoung wasn't there. Maybe she was just busy since she'd just started high school?
Kangseok looked upward.
He couldn't hear a thing.
Seeing his expression, both Baek Myeonghee and Kang Hyeondo nodded knowingly.
"You're worried about Chaeyoung, huh?"
"Something happened?"
Baek Myeonghee stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork and nodded.
"Something did."
"What is it?"
Kangseok's eyes sharpened. Did something happen at school? She'd gotten into a top foreign language high school thanks to the family's recent stability, but who knew what kind of discrimination could happen inside?
He remembered hearing that her school in Seoul had strong cliques and even subtle class-based discrimination. Those little punks…! Kangseok stood up suddenly, ready to throw on clothes and storm into her dorm.
Seeing this, Baek Myeonghee and Kang Hyeondo both raised their hands with wide eyes, signaling it wasn't anything bad.
"Our son really doesn't know, huh?"
"Huh?"
"Chaeyoung's running your fan café these days."
"…She's doing what?"
Kang Hyeondo set his cup down and added,"Fan café. With that friend—Yoon Yuran, remember her? The one who visited the furniture store."
What?
Kangseok looked dumbfounded as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.
Inside Kang Chaeyoung's room, upstairs.
Tap tap tap, clack clack!The keyboard rang out faster than a piano. Kang Chaeyoung was typing furiously—in English.
At a speed of 970 characters per minute, she was writing a post about how Kangseok's new piece at Yongshin Land was opening soon, and viewing would be by reservation only.
Since 70% of the fan base was foreign, she was adding an English translation under the Korean.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard with dazzling speed.
On the brightly lit screen, in the top left corner, the name of the café was reflected faintly in her blue-light blocking glasses.
64,000.
The number of members in the fan café Kang Chaeyoung ran was an incredible 64,000.