Chapter 120

Seo Jio was a kind and old-fashioned man.

'I never thought I would have such an embarrassing impression of someone.'

But that was the thought that came to mind at a glance.

"So today's refreshments were star candy."

"Yes, purple, yellow, and green star candy for each of them."

"Isn't it truly sweet?"

"Looking at the records... they only ever requested sweet snacks."

"Last time, they wanted lemon madeleines."

It was not a particularly meaningful conversation.

Seo Jio did not stop him from reporting over the radio, but he naturally brushed off the anomaly of The Sweet Tea Party by saying that "extraordinary luck will come."

The conversation they were having now was closer to ordinary small talk.

Thanks to that, the man could feel a little more familiar with The Sweet Tea Party.

"I have baked them myself before."

"You must be good at cooking."

"I have a knack for bringing imaginary foods into reality."

"I'm a little jealous of that."

Was this the power a good person gave off?

The more they talked, the more his stiff body gradually relaxed.

'... This conversation gives me a sense of peace.'

It was not a conversation with any special content, but Seo Jio's attitude toward the man gave him that sense of peace.

Even though he was not doing anything especially conspicuous, the man could tell the deep goodwill Seo Jio was showing.

'I heard he talked with another rookie last time. Is he managing the employees or something?'

It was a vast goodwill difficult to understand.

"... Do you often have conversations like this with the other employees as well?"

The man asked next.

"I heard you don't stay at the company for very long."

"I stay somewhere easier to find than you might think."

"Ah, perhaps... then... yes, do you live in the dormitory?"

"I live within this building."

"It's such a large building that I didn't even know it had facilities like that."

The man understood.

It seemed the Collector kept him very close.

That had to be it.

'Well, if he's someone with this kind of air about him...'

He could understand the Guild Master Bi Sabeol's state of mind.

'He feels as if he might quietly disappear at any moment.'

Seo Jio showed an aspect of being somehow detached from reality.

His voice was low and gentle, resembling sunlight spreading faintly on a spring day.

The gaze that reached him was clear, but because its color was soft, it seemed hazy, and his manner of dealing with people was polite yet careful, giving the impression of a slow lightness.

His soft-spoken way of talking and the faint smile on his face, which showed no sign of disappearing, seemed like a faded memory from a fairy tale children read or from a relic called a silent film.

"..."

Was this too naked a thought to have about someone he had just met?

'... But he doesn't look like someone who could be tied down anywhere.'

That did not mean he seemed like he would enjoy a noisy, bustling atmosphere either.

'His actions are elegant, and his air is weighty...'

As if he might suddenly vanish, wander the world, appear in an unexpected place, give an unexpected gift, and disappear again.

He felt like that kind of absurdly romantic existence, which made the man feel a little strange.

He gave off an atmosphere that could not be described in words.

The very fact that such a person existed beside him and spoke to him was unbelievable.

"..."

"Do you like sweet things?"

"... To some extent."

"I like sweet things too."

Was this unconditional empathy?

'Part of socializing?'

Before he had time to think further, the other man held out a small snack.

"Would you like one?"

"... What is this?"

"It is a lemon madeleine."

"..."

For a moment.

"... Thank you."

Something felt strange.

'I don't know what feels strange, but...'

Had they not just brought up lemon madeleines a moment ago?

Since he had said he enjoyed cooking, it must surely be a snack he had made himself or bought somewhere.

But the lemon madeleine that suddenly appeared in the middle of their conversation was wrapped in translucent white paper and decorated with a neat black ribbon that did not stand out.

The madeleine, wrapped in graceful paper and giving off a sweet scent, suited the porcelain dolls of The Sweet Tea Party more than it suited them.

But the black ribbon, used only to tidy the opening, looked as if it would taste more bitter than sweet.

"..."

RUSTLE.

He took out the madeleine.

"... Did you make this yourself, by any chance?"

"It is my joy."

"You really are good with your hands."

To speak honestly, he could not imagine the person before him personally baking and wrapping this.

'... Rather than that...'

It seemed like he would quite literally create it.

As if, simply because he wanted it, it would be in his hand.

'... I've been having nothing but strange thoughts since earlier. Pointless fantasies won't help me at all.'

Perhaps even the mold had been handmade, because the madeleine was smaller than expected.

The surface of the lemon madeleine, coated white like opaque frost spreading across it, had a texture that was both crisp and crunchy.

The madeleine, which faintly smelled of trees on a rainy day, was plainer and softer than expected.

"... It's good."

It was exactly that good, enough to loosen all the tension that had, for some unknown reason, made his body stiffen again.

"To be honest, I didn't believe you when you said you were good at cooking."

"That is sad to hear."

"Why did you think so?"

"You don't have the air of someone who would get their hands wet."

"I hear that often."

"You do give that impression."

"But..."

It was not that he thought it did not suit him at all.

"... You also give the impression that anything would suit you."

It seemed as if he could do anything.

He seemed as though he had once ascended to the pope's seat high above, and he also seemed like a beggar in the lowest, most wretched place.

But no matter what position he truly occupied, the man instinctively felt that he would be able to accept it all.

Even if he were a fabulously wealthy man beyond imagination, or a carnation child born in a slum on a cold winter day.

Yes, he would end up thinking that you certainly could be that.

"... The reason is..."

Well.

"I don't really know."

"That is a strange thing to say."

"... Is it?"

But there was one thing that was certain.

"..."

No matter what status he had, it did not seem as though anyone could hold this man down.

Just as it was natural for time to pass and the world to change.

'... I should stop thinking.'

Enough.

The man stared blankly into the air.

"..."

He had many things to do, so it was time to escape this terrible peace.

"... It's... later than I thought."

Before he knew it, it was six in the morning.

"I don't think we really talked about much."

"It was an enjoyable conversation."

"... I'm glad you felt that way."

Around then, he sensed a new presence.

"Jio?"

It was Curator Yu Seongun.

"Were you awake?"

"Yes, Mr. Yu Seongun."

The two conversed naturally, as if they knew each other well.

"I was talking with this gentleman."

"Oh, I wondered who it was, and it's Curator Binari."

When he had nothing to say and only gave a polite nod, Yu Seongun did not continue talking to him.

As if he was skilled at dealing with people and meant not to make him uncomfortable, he turned back to Seo Jio again.

"What were you talking about?"

"He was saying that it was hard to believe I was good at cooking."

"Oh, really?"

"I thought it suited you pretty well..."

"Your cooking is truly delicious, after all."

Curator Yu Seongun asked in his characteristically calm tone.

"It's already past six in the morning."

"The employees will be arriving soon. Are you going to stay in the gallery?"

"No, I intend to return before the other employees arrive."

Under the light falling straight down, the man was reflected in those vivid blue eyes.

"What will you do, Mr. Binari?"

"I plan to return to the dormitory, the one the company provided..."

"Is that place truly your home, Mr. Binari?"

"It's more like just a place I can stay than a home."

"You will have a comfortable home soon."

He showed goodwill again.

"Do you need guidance?"

"..."

Without realizing it.

"..."

The man looked around the gallery "without realizing it."

He looked once at The Sweet Tea Party, the porcelain dolls he was in charge of.

He looked at the glossy glass panes of the frames hanging beside them, hanging in front of him.

He looked at the light from the fixtures falling from the ceiling and the clock hanging among them.

He looked at the floor where the light fell.

In the light falling vertically, the shadow.

The blackness that was one short...

"..."

He saw it.

"... No."

When he raised his head, his eyes suddenly met Curator Yu Seongun's.

"It's all right."

His eyes curved clearly, revealing a smile.

"I've memorized the entire structure of this gallery."

"I see."

"I'll try leaving on my own."

"Thank you for speaking with me."

The man in the black cloak said.

"I remember you and affirm you."

"..."

"Have a good day."

It was a strange resonance.

"..."

The man bowed his head and left the gallery.

"..."

He passed through the corridors twisted this way and that in preparation for any possible incidents.

The lights on the ceiling created shadows along with his footsteps.

After the shadows moved again and again, he arrived at the elevator.

The boarding floor was basement level three.

The floor to exit was the first-floor lobby.

When he pressed the button, the elevator operated.

"..."

Without realizing it, he murmured.

"... He's an unusual person."

Even though he had only seen him for a moment, time had flown by.

Even though he had only seen him for a very brief moment, that was how it was.

That could happen.

Despite his rather large build, his presence was extremely faint, and even when he was beside him, it did not feel as though he was there.

And yet, because of the presence that could not be hidden, even when the man tried to turn his eyes away, he could not help but take him in.

"He seemed like an amazing person."

He was kind and old-fashioned.

He glittered like a prince from a fairy tale who had become an adult, seemed antique like an old relic of history now buried in the earth, and was special like a miracle from an era no one remembered anymore.

"A person who gives comfort..."

Why was he reminded of a countryside village he had never once seen?

Why had he heard the sound of dry grass crumbling in the silent wind?

He felt a longing similar to when appreciating the orange glow of the sea as the sunset calmly descended, or when hearing a lullaby a parent recited to put a child to sleep.

It was simple and lyrical.

So.

"He is a good person."

The man knows nothing.

"Yes..."

The one-hour gap in which he must surely have been bewitched by an illusion.

The sound of dry grass flowing from bare feet.

The shadow that alone did not exist beneath the light, and the vast forest reflected in the glass coating the frame.

The sun.

The sea.

The eyeball.

The eye.

Eye.

"..."

Even the gaze sent by that eye reflected in the glass—he knows none of it.

It is something he does not know.

"... He's a good person."

Because "Seo Jio" is a "good person."

He had to be.