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Chapter 66: The Sea Where the Sun Sets, the Sea Where the Sun Rises (2)
TL: Enuma ID
A rustle.
The sound of something knocking against something.
It was a small sound. Water lapping. Something scraping.
So-young opened her eyes.
Е n u m̂ а̌.ì d̀
The living room had gone dark.
The sofa was too soft.
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She must have drifted off without meaning to.
How long had she slept?
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass she could see the sky. A color somewhere between red and purple.
The sun had set.
Ën̄ūm а̂
A rustle. The sound came again.
It came from the big living-room window.
So-young turned her head.
Lee Jun was standing in front of the easel.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
A brush in his hand. He was painting something on the canvas.
That was the sound that had woken her.
Е̃ n̈umа
So-young got up from the sofa and went over. Quietly.
She stood beside him.
Lee Jun didn't look around.
She could see his small face.
There were marks on his cheeks. The tracks of dried tears. Two of them.
His eyes were a little swollen.
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So he'd been crying.
Something tightened in So-young's chest.
"Jun."
She called to him. Softly.
No answer.
"Jun?"
Ẅё b n̈ оv е̊ l Еn̄u mа
She called once more.
But Lee Jun's eyes stayed fixed on the canvas. He didn't look at his aunt.
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
He didn't seem to hear her. Or maybe he heard and simply didn't respond.
Lee Jun's brush didn't stop.
Every nerve in him was fixed on the canvas and the brush.
So-young closed her mouth.
Еṅumа̄
She decided not to call to him.
She took a step back and looked at his canvas.
A sea was taking shape.
The horizon. The line where sky and sea meet.
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On the sky side, orange bled into red, red into purple.
The sea side was laid over in deep indigo. It was a sea the sun had dropped into.
Е n u m_а̄
Just above the horizon, an afterglow lingered.
The place where the sun had vanished. The last of the light.
And below. The tidal flat.
Across the dark brown, pools of water were scattered here and there.
Each pool caught the color of the sky. Small oranges. Small reds.
Lee Jun's brush was setting light into each and every pool.
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So-young watched him in silence.
It was a beautiful painting.
But something about it nagged at her.
Beautiful, and yet sad.
So-young couldn't say why she felt that way.
But she felt it.
W еb n̂ о̄v̈е̂ l̄ E n ŭm ӑ
That there was something in this painting. Something that left an ache in her chest.
So-young went back to the sofa and sat down.
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She decided not to disturb him.
In the room there was only the sound of the brush grazing the canvas.
Scritch. Swish. Scritch.
Time passed.
Ӗńu m̀ӓ .їd́
Outside the window, it grew dark.
The purple faded too, and only deep indigo remained.
Lee Jun didn't stop.
The sky in front of him had already gone dark, but in Lee Jun's eyes the earlier light still lingered.
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He was painting from memory. The eyes of this child, which copied exactly what they saw, remembered even light that had vanished.
So-young grew worried.
Е nu_m̈а̇.і̄d̄
It was dinnertime.
Lee Jun hadn't eaten a thing since lunch.
She felt bad about breaking that concentration to tell him it was time to eat.
But if she didn't call him over, he was bound to go hungry.
What should she do?
Just then. The phone in the room rang.
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Startled, So-young rushed over and snatched up the receiver. Afraid the ringing would disturb her nephew.
"Yes? Hello."
She spoke in a near-whisper.
"Han So-young-nim, good evening. It's dinnertime. Will you be coming down to the restaurant, or shall we bring it up to your room?"
Bring it up to the room?
So-young looked at Lee Jun.
Wеb́ n̂ о v̈ êl̀ Е̂n̈ úmӑ
Lee Jun painted on, not even aware the phone had rung.
"Please send it up to the room."
Dilarang mengopy novel dari Enuma.id.
So-young lowered her voice.
"My nephew is painting right now. I don't think we should disturb him. Could you bring it up quietly?"
The voice on the other end answered as though it already understood everything.
"Yes, of course. What would you like from the menu?"
W̌ e b̌n о̃ v̊ėl̆ Е̄ nŭm а̌
So-young thought about it.
Something Lee Jun liked. Something easy to eat.
Something he could pick up with one hand while he painted.
"One pork cutlet, and... do you have anything like rice balls or sandwiches? Something he can eat with his hands."
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"We have a mini sandwich set."
"One of those, and for me anything...... one pasta."
Ӗň u m̆а
"Yes, of course. We'll have it up to you within thirty minutes."
She hung up.
So-young looked at Lee Jun.
Still painting. His face gave no sign he even knew a call had come.
About thirty minutes later.
A quiet knock came. Tap tap.
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So-young opened the door.
A room-service attendant stood there with a cart. A young man.
On the cart, draped in white cloth, sat the plates.
"Room service."
"Thank you. Please come in quietly."
So-young put a finger to her lips and pointed behind her.
Еnu m_ä
The attendant pushed the cart in. Slowly, without a sound.
Stepping into the living room, the attendant stopped.
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In front of the floor-to-ceiling glass.
A canvas sat on the easel.
And before it, a small child standing with a brush.
On the canvas, a sea was taking shape.
Ë nu mа̊ .ĭ d
A sea after sunset. A sky of red and purple. Pools of water on the tidal flat.
The attendant's eyes went wide.
So-young mouthed the word at him.
'Quiet.'
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The attendant nodded.
He lifted the plates off the cart and set them on the table. Without a sound.
Ёn u m̊ á .і̄d̆
After setting down the last plate, the attendant looked once more at the back of Lee Jun's head. And at the canvas.
He turned and walked toward the door.
So-young followed him out into the hallway.
"Thank you."
"Not at all."
The attendant hesitated a moment, then asked.
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Very carefully.
"Um...... if it's not too much to ask, would it be all right to film Lee Jun-gun while he paints?"
So-young's expression hardened.
"Film him?"
"Yes. For the hotel's records...."
"No, that's... not really."
Ën u m̊ а̃
So-young's voice had changed.
It was no longer the careful whisper of a moment ago.
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At her firm response, the attendant pressed no further.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything......."
"...Wait a moment."
A thought crossed So-young's mind.
Е̃.ń u m̂a._ī d̈
Back at the art competition, Lee Jun had been dogged by ghost-painting accusations.
Had a six-year-old really painted it? Wasn't it some adult who did it for him? There was no proof, after all.
In the end, Jun had even had to do a live drawing on the award-ceremony stage.
And there's nothing to say it won't happen again this time.
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On top of that, this one is being entered in a foreign competition. If anything, the pushback against an outsider could be worse.
In that case, it might be wise to leave behind proof that Jun painted it himself.
E̊nu̇m а̀
And besides.......
So-young stole a glance at the hotel attendant.
'We've taken an awful lot for free.'
The suite. Free meals. The pool float. Room service.
And on top of that, they'd even gotten the art supplies ready.
'To take all this and then refuse them a little filming....'
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So-young opened her mouth.
"......All right. Filming is fine."
The attendant's eyes widened.
"Really?"
"But there are conditions."
So-young held up a finger.
Е n ům̈_а̊.і̂ d̆
"One. The bare minimum, nothing that gets in the way of his painting. No flash, no shutter sound, nothing he could possibly notice."
"Understood."
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"Two. Send any photos or footage to us first. We'll review them and then decide whether they can be used."
"Understood."
"Three. We decide when anything goes public. This painting may be entered in a competition, so it can't be shown to the world before then."
The attendant blinked.
W è b́ n о v е l̀ Еn u ṁа
"A competition? You're entering this painting in a competition?"
"What? Oh, I think it's going into a competition over in Japan......."
So-young caught herself mid-sentence and stopped.
"Ah, was I not supposed to say that yet? The competition isn't confirmed. Anyway, please hold off on making anything public until later."
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"Ah, yes. Understood."
The attendant bowed his head. He was keeping his expression in check.
Е n.ûmа
"We'll honor every condition you've named. Thank you."
The attendant left, wheeling the cart away.
So-young shut the door and came back inside.
"Honestly...... did I have to go and blurt all that out?"
But the words were already out.
Lee Jun was still in front of the canvas.
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Oblivious to any of it.
"Jun. Eat something."
"Mm."
He did answer.
But absently.
Just like any kid his age glued to a video game, Jun was lost in the painting.
Е nü m ã.
So-young cut the pork cutlet up ahead of time and set it on the table beside the easel. Bite-sized.
The sandwiches too, right next to it.
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"Jun. Your food's here. Eat if you're hungry."
"Mm."
An answer, and nothing more.
She picked up one mini sandwich and slipped it into his mouth.
Е nu mа
It went into Lee Jun's mouth. Chew, chew.
He ate. But his eyes stayed on the canvas. His brush didn't stop either.
After slipping a piece of pork cutlet into Lee Jun's mouth, So-young took her own pasta and sat down on the sofa.
She twirled her fork. Put it in her mouth.
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It should be the same pasta she'd had at lunch.
But somehow she couldn't taste it.
Е̊ňu m а̄
*
The marketing department. Manager Jung Min-woo's desk.
A call came in from the room-service attendant.
"Manager. Lee Jun-gun is painting in his room right now."
Jung Min-woo lifted himself up out of his chair.
"Really? He's painting?"
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"Yes. In oils, on canvas. He was painting the sea. And the guardian even gave permission to film."
"She okayed filming too?"
"Yes. But there are conditions."
The attendant relayed So-young's three conditions.
No interference. Prior review. The guardian decides when it goes public.
"And, Manager."
Е́ňú m̂ӓ
The attendant lowered his voice.
"In the middle of talking, the guardian...... let slip that this painting might be entered in a competition in Japan."
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Jung Min-woo swallowed dryly.
"......A competition in Japan? Is that true?"
"Yes. It's not confirmed yet. She looked flustered the moment it was out of her mouth. I think it's still supposed to be a secret."
"All right, got it for now."
Ẃ е́ bn̊ о v е l̇ Е nu m̈ а_
Jung Min-woo hung up and went over to the team leader.
"Team leader."
"What is it?"
"Lee Jun-gun is painting right now. The sea."
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"Is he now?"
"And the guardian let something slip. Apparently this painting might be entered in a competition in Japan."
E n uḿ а .і̀ d
The team leader shot up out of his chair.
"A competition in Japan?"
"Yes. It doesn't seem confirmed yet, but...."
The team leader started pacing where he stood.
"Let me get this straight. A six-year-old who took the Grand Prix, in our hotel's suite, watched the sun set over the West Sea and is painting it onto a canvas. And that painting might be entered in an international competition in Japan."
He said it back to himself, word by word.
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"And if, if that painting wins a prize in Japan?"
The two of them locked eyes.
"'The very room where an international award-winning work was painted, the Grand Signal Hotel suite'."
The team leader muttered.
He thought back to the earlier live drawing. The buzz that day had been unreal.
Not just the online papers, the broadcast news ran it nonstop too. The publicity that banana milk and McKing Burger got out of it back then was worth tens of billions of won.
Е̂ num̌ a
Before that fever had even cooled. That child was painting in this very hotel now.
And with the aim of entering a competition in Japan, no less.
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"If he wins, this is something we can milk for decades, not just years."
Jung Min-woo took out a notepad.
"The guardian has conditions. No interference, prior review, and she decides when it goes public."
"Give her all of it."
Еn̈ ǔ m̃а
The team leader said firmly.
"Every last one, no exceptions. If the guardian's uncomfortable, it's over. The only thing that matters to us right now is letting that child paint in peace."
"And the filming?"
"Do it by her conditions. Minimum staff, no disruptions. Silent equipment. Show the guardian first and get her sign-off. Don't break a single term."
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The team leader tapped the desk with his fingers. Tap tap.
"And after dinner, keep checking in to see if they need anything. Drinks, snacks, whatever, have it ready. There can't be a single discomfort while Lee Jun-gun is painting. If he paints till dawn, we look after them till dawn."
Ѐ ñ ǔ ṁ_а̃. і d
"Understood."
"Oh, and."
The team leader said.
"Send breakfast up by room service tomorrow too. Even if the guardian doesn't ask. And give them plenty of leeway on checkout. He might still be painting come morning. Let them know ahead of time that they can extend for free."
Jung Min-woo jotted it down quickly.
"And report this one straight to me. No middlemen."
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"Understood."
Jung Min-woo nodded and went back to his desk.
The team leader quietly clenched his fist.
*
Before Lee Jun was the darkened floor-to-ceiling glass.
The sea was already black.
Еn̆ u̇ m̆ a
But in Lee Jun's eyes, the light still lingered.
What he'd seen earlier. The sun sinking above the horizon. The red mass dropping down into the water.
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The little sun that had shone in every pool on the tidal flat.
Those lights going out one by one.
He remembered it all. Vividly.
He loaded the brush with orange. Laid it above the horizon.
Е̇n̄uḿа̂
The afterglow the sun had left. The place where the light had vanished.
As he painted, what rose in his mind was a morning in Busan.
The sun climbing up from beyond the horizon.
Red at first, turning orange as it rose, the whole sky brightening.
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His father went out into that light.
His mother changed the water in the fish tank. Morning sunlight fell into the tank.
W еb́ ǹ о v̇ е̊l̂ E n ù m̂ a
Here, it was the other way around.
The sun wasn't rising; it was going down.
It wasn't brightening; it was growing darker and darker.
He loaded the brush with indigo. Laid it across the sea.
The sea that had swallowed the sun. A heavy color.
And yet, it was strange.
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The hand painting the indigo was remembering dawn on the Busan sea.
The sea just before sunrise had been this color too. Deep indigo.
The sea after the sun had set, and the sea just before it rose.
The end and the beginning were the same color.
Lee Jun didn't stop.
He painted the pools on the tidal flat. One. Two. Three.
Ĕn u̇ m а. і̌ d
One at a time, with a small brush.
Into each pool he set an orange glow. Little mirrors reflecting the sky.
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The fish tank at the Sashimi Restaurant back in Busan came to mind.
The tank had been like this too. Light came into the little box and lit it up.
Here, the pools on the tidal flat were the tank.
Things that held a small light.
Еn̊ůmа̌
The brush moved. On and on.
He was painting the sunset over the West Sea. He was painting what his eyes had seen.
But what his hand remembered was Busan.
Two seas were overlapping on the canvas.
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Lee Jun didn't know it. He just painted.
He remembered what he saw, felt what rose up in him, and what he felt came out through the brush.
W̄ е̄b̊ ńӧ v̂ е̃l Е̂n um̃ a
The night was growing deep.
Lee Jun's brush didn't stop.
*****
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