“What are you talking about? Why would I go to your house?”

“…You can’t?”

“It’s not that I can’t, but… give me a reason.”

Hong Yea-Hwa hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“I’ve seen your Peach Blossom Village. There’s a similar painting at my house.”

A painting similar to Peach Blossom Village? That didn’t seem possible.

Even if someone deliberately tried to mimic it, Peach Blossom Village was not an easy piece to replicate.

The ambiguous painting, teetering on the edge of a masterpiece (by my standards), was far from common.

“Why would I need to see that painting?”

“I’m just asking out of curiosity. It’s not yours, but it has a similar vibe.”

And why exactly does that require my involvement?

“The painting is called Hosung (The Call). The artist is unknown. My father bought it a long time ago.”

“So, you want to find out who painted it? And you think I might be a candidate?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Why didn’t she just say that from the start instead of making it sound so vague?

“Do you have a picture of it?”

She shook her head.

“The painting is in my father’s study, and no one is allowed to go in.”

“Then what do you expect me to do about it?”

“You’re a rising star. My father acknowledged you and said that if I brought you over, he’d allow us to access the study.”

Finally, her explanation made sense. But seriously, could she stop throwing around terms like “rising star”? It was embarrassing.

“Let me think about it. For now, it’s not possible—I have work to do.”

“Oh… is it for the World Art Prize? You’re already preparing for that?”

“‘Already’? It’s only four months away. Honestly, even that’s cutting it close for most people.”

If she doubted me, she could ask Lee Ah-Reum.

“Let me know when you’re free. I’ll clear my schedule for it.”

I hadn’t even agreed to go yet.

Before I could reply, we reached the textbook distribution area.

“Please line up according to your number!”

We also received our student IDs along with the textbooks. The ID cards indicated our class and assigned number.

I was number 17 in Class 1, making me fifth from the back.

Hong Yea-Hwa was number 18, right after me.

‘Missed my chance to tell her no.’

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to take a look. As an artist, I couldn’t help but feel curious about Hosung, a painting supposedly similar to Peach Blossom Village.

After all the textbooks were distributed, I headed back to the classroom. On the way, I passed Class 3.

And there he was—Lee Do-Yoon.

When he noticed me, he smiled broadly. That awkwardness from earlier was nowhere to be seen.

Yet, I still felt uneasy. Not because he was the protagonist of the original story, but…

‘We’ve known each other for ten years as childhood friends.’

I needed to figure out what had caused the change in his personality.

As I passed him, I whispered quietly.

“Let’s talk later.”

He flinched but then smiled bitterly.

“Alright. I’ll come to your class after school.”

The brief encounter ended, and Class 3 moved on.

“Lee Ha-Eun, are you and Lee Do-Yoon close?”

The question came from Hong Yea-Hwa, who had been walking behind me. I nodded.

“We’ve been childhood friends for seven years. He’s been acting off lately, so I plan to have a talk with him.”

“…Creepy.”

Don’t girls have their own version of this? They even go to the bathroom together.

Men and women really are incomprehensible to each other.

By the time I returned to the classroom, I was thinking about how closely the original story was being followed. Had Ye-Seo met Do-Yoon at the concert? Had Yea-Hwa given him the towel?

I shook my head to clear the thoughts.

Getting involved would only lead to unnecessary complications.

I stuffed my textbooks into my desk and took my seat.

The classroom soon became noisy.

“Teacher, what do we do now?”

“Hmm… That’s it for today. But we’ll have lunch and a brief wrap-up session. After that, it’s free time!”

Lee Ah-Reum left the classroom after making the announcement.

When our eyes briefly met as she exited, I decided to get up.

She was exhausting to deal with.

Clatter.

“Where are you going?”

As I stood, Hong Yea-Hwa tilted her head curiously. She usually didn’t care about other people.

“To the restroom. Want to follow me?”

“…Gross.”

Could she not look at me like that? If you’re curious, don’t voice it.

Following the teacher out the door, I spotted her waiting just outside.

“So, Lee Ha-Eun, can we talk for a moment?”

Her cheerful smile felt oddly unsettling. What was with this woman?

“You were just thinking something bad, weren’t you?”

“That’s the problem with women’s intuition…”

Grumbling, I followed her to a secluded area behind the school.

There stood an old, abandoned building.

“Now, where did I put that key…”

As she rummaged through her pockets, I asked, “We’re going in there?”

Was she trying to get lung cancer? Just looking at it made me feel like I’d suffocate.

“Don’t worry. It may look like this, but the inside is cleaned weekly.”

“This abandoned place…?”

“There’s a reason for it. Ah, here it is.”

Holding up a rusty key, she opened the door to the decrepit building.

“This is the old school building. It used to be where we held sculpture and clay art classes.”

That was about ten years ago. I’d never seen it myself.

As if reminiscing, she sighed wistfully.

“My brother used to work here. His sculptures were incredible.”

Why was she telling me this? I didn’t need the extra backstory.

Noticing my lack of interest, she smiled and stepped inside.

“Ta-da! What do you think? Pretty clean and cozy, right?”

“It is. So, why did you bring me here?”

“Patience, Lee Ha-Eun! You should work on that.”

Why did this atmosphere feel so familiar? It reminded me of the person in charge of our kitchen at home.

“The first floor is empty. Let’s check out the second floor.”

Without a word, I followed her to the first classroom on the second floor.

Contrary to my expectations, the space was indeed clean and cozy. It felt perfect for a nap.

The room was empty except for… What was that?

My eyes landed on the large green chalkboard that dominated the wall.

It wasn’t just a chalkboard—it had a painting etched into it.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

“…I hate to admit it, but I’m glad I came.”

The painting was photorealistic, depicting a single sturdy plum tree in bloom.

If it were just that, I wouldn’t have been so impressed.

“The coziness I’ve been feeling… It comes from this.”

The plum blossoms herald spring, and spring symbolizes warmth.

“So? Do you like me a little more now?”

“Not really. But thanks for showing me this.”

“…At least you can feel gratitude?”

“What do you think I am? I have manners, you know.”

She chuckled, her youthful demeanor making her seem my age, despite being eight years older.

‘I didn’t expect to find a masterpiece here.’

This building had once been used for sculpture classes.

When was this painting created? It didn’t seem very old.

“This was painted by Seol Yoon from Drawing Korea.”

“…What?”

That airheaded woman?

“She may seem a bit scatterbrained, but she became a department head at her age. Of course, painting skills and management are separate things.”

So that’s why she was in the creative planning division. She didn’t seem the part at all.

“You’re close with her?”

“She’s my junior. Both of us graduated from this school.”

This was turning into an endless stream of personal connections. The world was small, after all.

If Seol Yoon had been hired straight out of college, that was impressive.

And the evidence of her talent was right before my eyes.

“Still, there are some parts that feel a bit off.”

“…Really?”

As I’d mentioned earlier, masterpieces needed constant checking and care. Otherwise, they’d deteriorate.

Even this plum tree painting, while a masterpiece, had areas where the colors were fading.

For a masterpiece to remain intact, it needed to be finished perfectly.

“To me, it looks fine.”

Narrowing her eyes, Lee Ah-Reum scrutinized the painting.

“Got any chalk?”

“Should be some by the door.”

The room, though empty, still had a small supply area.

I found a container of chalk near the door and picked up a brown and pink piece.

“There’s a saying that beauty is in the details. The same goes for paintings.”

I used the chalk to subtly correct the parts that felt off.

“No matter how thoroughly you examine a painting, there are always things you can miss.”

Here, the colors were a bit faded. I adjusted the plum blossoms slightly.

“But if you add a touch of softness to your scrutiny…”

The branches seemed a bit too high. It might clash with the others.

“…You start to see the discomfort, and that’s when the painting begins to reveal its flaws.”

A painting can never be truly perfect. Perfection is an abstract concept, after all.

Even if I considered it perfect, someone else might find it lacking.

Clap, clap.

I dusted off my hands and put the chalk away.

“An artist’s job is to bring a painting as close to perfection as possible.”

And yet, every artist’s flame eventually burns out. When that happens, the joy of painting is all that remains.

“What do you think? Doesn’t it feel a bit warmer now?”

“……”

Lee Ah-Reum didn’t answer.

Or perhaps, she couldn’t.