KMH – Chapter 3

It was around the time the screaming tantrum had started to die down.

The boy came tumbling down the stairs as if he were flying, like a swarm of bees. Then he abruptly shoved his face right up close. The force of it made Jugyeong flinch, and she was just about to shuffle backward—

When Seju snapped, almost as if firing the words at her.

“I know you.”

Jugyeong did too. She’d just heard about Seju from Professor Im. Jugyeong’s fingers fidgeted as she replied slowly.

“…Yeah. Hi.”

Seju suddenly clamped a hand over the lips that were about to part, his eyes flicking left and right. Then the shape of his eyes above the edge of his hand crinkled—flash—prettily.

“Why do you talk like Chopin’s Ballade No. 4?”

What was he even talking about…?

Was this really the same kid who’d been screaming his head off a second ago?

It didn’t seem like they’d ever get close. Not that it mattered—she hadn’t come here to make friends.

Still—

His face was uncomfortably close. Jugyeong glanced sideways at Professor Im, wondering when she’d be shown to her bedroom—

And Seju cut in, suddenly.

“You’re Jugyeong, right? Ha Jugyeong. I’m Seju. Cheon Seju.”

“…….”

Those eyes that had been folded into a bright grin grew rounder and more intense the longer Jugyeong took to answer. She felt like she might break into a cold sweat. As she started to look toward the adults, he abruptly pressed the outer corner of his eye down with the back of his hand—then stopped, shooting Jugyeong a sulky glare.

“You’re really shy, huh?”

“…….”

“It’s fine. I’m not.”

Seju shrugged and tried to grin, but then he bit down hard on his lower lip. Scratching at the now mottled red of his nape, he said,

“I was bored to death waiting for you.”

The hand that had been fussing over his thigh since he’d flown down the stairs reached out.

“Come on.”

“…Huh?”

“It’s your turn to come to my studio and play with me.”

Jugyeong blinked, not understanding. She was still processing his words. The way he’d waited on his own without anyone asking and now demanded compensation with total confidence made no sense to her.

“Ah—wait…!”

Jugyeong startled and clutched at the hem of her dress. Come to think of it, even that big man had been at a loss dealing with this tiny kid. After hesitating a moment, Jugyeong asked,

“…Where is it?”

Seju looked back and forth between Jugyeong’s cautious eyes—chin tucked in—and her empty hands. He puckered his lips with a tch and stepped back.

“…Well, if you’re shy, that happens.”

Rubbing under his chin, Seju nodded solemnly, then bounded up the stairs two steps at a time, calling back,

“Don’t lose me—keep up.”

“…….”

“…Hm. If you want, you can hold my hand.”

The way he even turned his head away, putting on a prim little act as he said it, made Jugyeong slowly pinch her brows together.

He really did seem strange.

“…….”

“…….”

Left alone in the hall without realizing it, Professor Im and her husband exchanged a look. Seju’s studio was a place where they couldn’t easily come and go. Touching her cheek, Professor Im muttered,

“…Honey, our son just tried to escort Jugyeong, didn’t he?”

President Cheon smiled gently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Looks like it. When did that kid grow up like that?”

***

The moment the studio door opened—whoosh—air thick with the scent of oil paint hit them.

Unlike the entryway, polished enough to reflect the chandelier, the studio was pure chaos.

Paint-splattered wooden floors and walls. Tubes of paint were tangled and strewn everywhere. Palettes caked thick with pigment. Cups packed with brushes in disarray. Easels lined up messily. A single arched window left half open, white curtains flinging themselves in the wind….

As Jugyeong looked around, Seju spun beside her in crooked circles, drifting away and then swooping back close.

“I like wooden floors. It’s fun when I think this floor’s been here since way before I was even born. How about you?”

Jugyeong nodded.

‘I see,’ was all it meant. She’d never really thought deeply about liking or disliking things.

“Thought so. I figured you’d agree.”

Seju swiped under his nose with his index finger, but what caught Jugyeong’s eye was a mound made of flattened, shriveled paint tubes. She picked one up—there was a brand she recognized.

One was a paint known for using top-grade pigments, with unrivaled depth and clarity. The other was known for strong color payoff and durability—good for handling sensitive, finicky tones.

That was why her father liked them. And why he used them sparingly.

Jugyeong rubbed her thumb over the uneven surface of the tube. She hadn’t seen anything like this in a long time—ever since her father died and her mother threw away every last art supply left in the house. After that day, Jugyeong never even pretended to draw, not even as a joke.

“No one’s allowed in here.”

“…….”

“But you are.”

“…….”

“You can come anytime.”

Seju wandered around Jugyeong, and a crease dug into his brow. It couldn’t be helped—his hair fell soft and smooth, like satin.

…Would it be wrong if she touched it, just a little?

Just a bit….

“Hey, Ha Jugyeong. Your hair—”

The instant the tips of his fingers brushed a fine strand, lightning cracked through the crown of his head. He nearly bit his tongue. Even his shoulders started to tremble.

‘Softer than cat fur by a hundred times….’

What… what is this?

Seju blew out harsh breaths through his nose. All at once, he felt dizzy, and a sharp irritation surged up.

He stomped on the floor—thump, thump—flung the remaining window open, then threw himself face-first onto the nearby couch.

He gathered the index and middle fingers that had brushed her hair with his other hand and bit down hard on his lips. With his forehead pressed into the couch, Seju seethed faintly—then, unwillingly, lifted only his eyes.

Even then, he couldn’t stand not knowing what Jugyeong was doing.

Jugyeong was standing blankly in front of an easel that had been set up facing him.

He wanted to get a better look at her face, but the jumble of easels blocked his view. It was because her face was too small. What did she even do while everyone else was growing?

Cheeks flushed, Seju cleared his throat—ahem—loudly on purpose and sprang up. He shook out his hair, then smoothed the linen shirt that had already gotten rumpled.

Jugyeong, brow deeply furrowed and lips pursed like a duck’s, didn’t even seem to notice him approaching—yet for some reason, Seju felt much better.

His shoulders lifted. His chest swelled with a quiet, subtle pride.

“…You like that?”

Long, straight lashes rose and fell calmly, and then that tiny face turned toward him.

The movement unfolded very slowly.

A beam of light cut between them, dust scattering in fine strands. Her irises, lightened by the sun, glimmered. Behind Jugyeong, the white curtain fluttered, then drifted down gently.

Without thinking, Seju’s fingers twitched.

‘I want to draw her.’

‘I want to steal that face and lock it in my canvas so only I can see it.’

‘When I sketch her, I’ll use a pencil sharpened blunt, but draw delicately—then I’ll rub in the shading on her nostrils and cheeks with the inside of my wrist.’

‘Then I’ll hide it under my bed.’

‘And keep it to myself….’

“…Well. I think it’s not bad, in my own way.”

Still half entranced, Seju asked,

“Want me to give it to you?”

At the low question, Jugyeong blinked.

‘Did she like it? Thought it wasn’t bad?’

She’d scribbled in a sketchbook beside her father when he worked, but she didn’t really know anything about art. She only felt what she felt and saw what she saw.

The painting, layered thick with intense primary colors, was twisted beyond recognition. In marks that looked dabbed with a knife or a brush, scraped away—almost even thrown—paint texture seemed to wriggle and live. Sometimes it looked like nothing but a lump of filth, and then like a person with their bones melting away.

It wasn’t beautiful at all. Honestly, it was unsettling and frightening.

In the studio where wet paint and dried paint were jumbled together like some hybrid creature, Jugyeong suddenly wanted to run out at any moment.

The way people usually do when facing a wall.

Maybe talent was something other people noticed first.

Something her father hadn’t had.

Jugyeong slowly unclenched the fist she’d curled so tight.

And she thought:

‘I’m never going to get close with him.’

***

That certainty was shaken in only ten days.

“Hey.”

In a secluded corner of the villa’s garden, under the shade of an oak tree as big as a house, Jugyeong—listlessly turning pages—jerked upright.

“Ha Jugyeong.”

Seju’s face had dropped right in front of her nose—

He was hanging upside down like a bat, knees hooked over an oak branch.

Heart hammering, Jugyeong bit down on her tongue and barely swallowed a scream. She’d slipped out of the villa quietly so Seju wouldn’t notice—how had he known she was here and followed her?

Stunned, Jugyeong only worked her lips.

Seju’s lower eyelid twitched, and with a swift spin in midair, he landed lightly on his feet. At the same time, Jugyeong sprang up and craned her neck.

The branch he’d been hanging from was dizzyingly far above.

What if he got hurt—why would he climb that high?

Then Seju flicked the grass up with the tip of his shoe—tap.

“Why don’t you like me?”

Only then did Jugyeong slowly, haltingly turn to look at him. It wasn’t that she liked him or didn’t. She just didn’t want to do whatever Seju told her to do.

Go downtown for gelato. Watch Seju surf. Take a garden stroll together. Sit in the studio together and soak in sunlight….

She just wanted to be alone.

But this was the first kid she’d ever met who asked so bluntly.

Jugyeong dropped her gaze awkwardly. Seju wrinkled his nose bridge.

“There’s a person right in front of you—can’t you even pretend to look?”

Because Seju had popped out of nowhere and caught her so many times, Jugyeong had already broken a sweat more than once. And whenever she actually listened, it was all pointless nonsense.

“You let your hair down today—why? I like it tied. I can’t see your face well.”

“Why are your feet so small? Can you even walk on those?”

“Have you ever seen a cat’s teeth? They look exactly like your nails.”

“Do you know that warm puppy smell? You smell like one drop that fell into a lilac field.”

So she’d thought she was getting used to it, in her own way—but maybe she still had a long way to go.

She couldn’t understand why he asked things like that.

And her heart beat so fast, her chest actually hurt.