I. Deep Cover and Old Vinyl
Chairman Kim Taehyung rarely left his secure compound now, but this mission was too delicate for proxies. He arrived at the outskirts of the city, near the university district, dressed not as a CEO, but as an anonymous art collector—dark trench coat, prescription glasses, and a quiet, observant demeanor.
The gallery belonging to Mr. Park's former secretary—the unknown Architect—was named The Quiet Study. It was small, filled with natural light, and smelled precisely of old books and new vinyl, just as Ha-eun had subconsciously described. Soft, complex jazz music drifted from a hidden speaker.
The secretary, Choi Min-ho, stood behind a simple wooden desk. He was a man in his late fifties, unassuming, with the patient eyes of someone who observed more than he spoke. He looked up as Taehyung entered, his expression utterly neutral, though Taehyung knew the man recognized him instantly.
"Welcome," Min-ho said quietly, his voice polite and measured. "We specialize in conceptual art—pieces that reflect hidden truths."
"I am interested in hidden truths," Taehyung replied, walking slowly through the gallery. He scanned the walls, looking for anything related to Taewon, the 'harami' history, or Ha-eun.
Most pieces were abstract—color fields representing corporate stress, or intricate diagrams of social contracts. But then, Taehyung stopped.
II. The Broken Brushstroke
In the corner, displayed under a single spotlight, was a piece titled 'The Failed Promise.' It wasn't a painting, but a display case containing a child's worn-out paintbrush. The bristles were frayed, and the wooden handle had a tiny, faded crimson stain near the tip.
Taehyung felt a cold jolt of recognition. This was more than a clue; it was a direct taunt. The crimson mark—the sign of the Vow. Min-ho was telling him he knew everything.
"That piece," Taehyung said, keeping his voice carefully even. "What does it represent?"
Min-ho approached, his gaze soft but firm. "It is the artist's first, deepest ambition, sacrificed for an outcome dictated by others. When the brush broke, the identity shattered."
"And the crimson mark?"
"That," Min-ho replied, his eyes finally meeting Taehyung's, "is the debt of the oath. The stain that cannot be washed away, regardless of who claims the spoils."
Taehyung realized Min-ho hadn't just arranged the chaos; he was orchestrating Taehyung's moral awakening. He wanted the Chairman to face the original sin, forcing him to keep the true promise this time—to protect Ha-eun.
III. The Comedic Interruption
Just as Taehyung was about to confront Min-ho directly about Ha-eun's amnesia, his high-security watch began to vibrate wildly. It was a video call from the secure mansion. Taehyung answered, stepping behind a large canvas.
The screen immediately filled with the distressed, blue-stained face of Ha-eun ('Eun-ji').
"Taehyung! You promised me you wouldn't abandon me to the rival poets!" she wailed, ignoring the fact that the rival poets were currently in a detention cell. "The talk show host is talking about financial literacy, and it's too boring! I need a funny limerick about derivatives, or I will paint the security chief!"
Taehyung quickly covered the mic. "Eun-ji, I'm busy. Focus on your corporate melancholy!"
"No! Give me the limerick now! And demand a forehead kiss from the security chief on my behalf to prove your loyalty to the 'Affection Clause'!"
Taehyung was mortified. He quickly ended the call, shoving the watch under his trench coat.
Min-ho, who had politely stepped away, was now looking directly at the spot where Taehyung had been standing. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
"The art of hidden truths is often messy, Mr. Chairman," Min-ho commented softly. "Especially when the artist has forgotten her own name."
Taehyung knew he was caught. He stepped out and faced the true Architect. "You know where she is. You put her there. And you know about her condition. Why?"
Min-ho turned back to his desk, picking up a vinyl record. "The question is not 'why,' Chairman. It is 'what did you find out about her condition today?'"
Taehyung's gaze darted back to the display. The broken paintbrush—the symbol of her shattered identity. The Architect had deliberately planted the clue for him to find.
"You didn't just give her amnesia," Taehyung stated, the truth chilling him to the bone. "You gave her the identity she always wanted—the artist—but you broke her memory to protect her from the trauma of the Chairwoman. You are running a kindness conspiracy."
Min-ho merely smiled and placed the needle on the vinyl, filling the gallery with music. "Sometimes, Chairman, the kindest act is to dismantle the past entirely. Now, what will you do with the little artist who is waiting for her limerick?"