Chapter 2
As the lights dimmed, bold subtitles appeared over the beam projector.
[INTO Project]
It was an urban regeneration project jointly planned by Inho City and Hyun Architects to transform a modernist building from the 1920s into a multi-cultural space for youth, called ‘INTO’.
Minju drew a light breath and glanced at the conference table. On her left, Kwon Yong-hyun, CEO of Hyun Architects, raised and lowered his eyebrows gently, as if to tell her not to be nervous.
They were in the business center conference room of the hotel where Shin Su-yeon, director of the Jeongseon Cultural Foundation, was staying. To secure the one-hour briefing, Minju had flown to Beijing that morning with CEO Kwon.
After flipping through the brochure introducing Hyun Architects, Director Shin looked up. When their eyes met, Minju gave a small smile and adjusted her pointer.
“Let’s begin.”
At the same time, her phone, set to silent, blinked on the podium. She flipped it over without checking.
It was probably her father. Did you eat? Cut back on coffee. Be careful on the road. Likely affectionate nagging, which she could call back about after the briefing.
“The building you’re seeing is…”
Minju, the art director overseeing the INTO project, pointed to the sign of the crumbling, single-story building on the screen. It was an old building so weathered that the paint reading ‘Taeyang Mill’ had mostly peeled away.
“Built in 1921, it is the oldest modernist building in Inho City and has changed ownership several times among Koreans since liberation. With the development of the new city, this area has declined and is now nearly abandoned.”
She moved to a rendering showing how the INTO project would revitalize the two adjacent old buildings, along with the Taeyang Mill, into a themed space for youth.
“And the city?” Director Shin asked.
“The current mayor has extensive insight into urban regeneration, such as leasing remodeled closed motels to young artists as workspaces.”
She also noted that a local lawmaker, serving on the National Land Committee, strongly supported the project. Reading the active support of both a congressman and the local government head, Director Shin nodded and flipped through her papers.
With her neat silver bob, flawless skin, and soft gaze through brown-framed glasses, she carried a gentle authority.
Her consistent support for international cultural heritage repatriation made her interest in reconstructing and repurposing modern buildings a stroke of luck for the INTO project.
Securing support from the Jeongseon Cultural Foundation would be a monumental advantage for Hyun Architects—a chance too valuable to miss.
“The rendering you’re seeing is divided into five zones. ‘INTO’ represents diving into various fields—culture, arts, careers, aptitude, and creation…”
The blueprint for INTO was projected in clear, concise language across the white screen. Between the carefully prepared briefing, her phone blinked again.
As Director Shin studied the materials, Minju cautiously flipped her phone to check the caller…
“…Ugh!”
With a startled scream, the phone slipped to the floor and shattered with a sharp crack. Minju’s face, previously lit with a pleasant tension, turned ashen in an instant. Thick tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Team Leader Seo!”
CEO Kwon rushed over to support her collapsing shoulders, his own gasp cutting off mid-sound.
No… no, this can’t be…
She had assumed it was just her father calling to remind her to eat lunch, cut back on coffee, or not stay out too late—affectionate nagging again.
The two clear characters visible on the broken screen told her otherwise. The barrage of missed calls confirmed the reality. The vibrating call from No Sang-hoon sounded like a summons from hell—he was her father’s driver.
“I’m sorry… I won’t… I was wrong… I…”
With disjointed words of apology, Minju caressed the shattered screen, sobbing. Her trembling fingers caused the two ominous characters to flicker on and off.
Obituary, followed by her father’s name.
The cause of death: multiple fractures and head trauma. They said for someone who jumped from the 15th floor, it wasn’t as extensive as expected.
He had always said he hated apartments and planned to move back to a house in spring. But his last season on Earth came in autumn.
I should have answered, I should have called…
Between preparing the presentation for Director Shin, renovating a Japanese-era house in Gyeongsang-do into a stylish space for young artists, and ten days without checking in with him, the tragedy occurred.
“Take care of yourself.”
CEO Kwon, who had attended the funeral, told her to take about a week off to gather herself before leaving.
Even after placing her father in the columbarium, four vacation days remained. Had a week ever felt this long? The rest of her life would likely feel even longer. How would she live it all?
Her father’s death didn’t feel real. Throughout the funeral, she felt suspended in midair. Come eat, drink some water, greet your father’s friends… With her soul absent, she obeyed every instruction.
No Sang-hoon, her father’s longtime driver and secretary since she was twenty, had taken care of her father on her behalf while she lived independently.
He arranged the funeral and handled all the personal matters Minju hadn’t been able to attend to. Sang-hoon was the only remaining family she truly had, like an older brother.
“You haven’t been here in a while, huh?”
The funeral concluded almost without her realizing it. She found herself in her father’s last 19-pyeong apartment.
Since completing her master’s degree, she had been in Europe working on a cultural heritage repatriation project and had lived apart from her father—partly by choice, partly by necessity. Her return to Korea and joining Hyun Architects naturally led to independence.
Seeing her father weakened over the years, she had only guessed at the company’s struggles, never asking details. That was her greatest regret now.
“Don’t worry, Dad. You trust me, right?”
She had assumed his company, the embodiment of his pride, would recover on its own. She never imagined the worst could happen.
“Will you throw this away too?”
Sang-hoon gestured to the clothes, miscellaneous items, and a few old pieces of furniture in the living room. She asked him to discard them; he said he could find someone to buy the remaining usable furniture and appliances cheaply.
“…Okay.”
“We’ll put the house on the market, but there’s a mortgage, so the price may have to be below market value. It’s because of an unfortunate situation.”
Acknowledging this, she followed Sang-hoon into her room as he adjusted his work gloves.
“It’ll be a bit noisy while I sort things. Stay here and rest.”
By the time she emerged near sunset, Sang-hoon had cleaned the apartment. The only sign of him was the packet of porridge he’d brought, neatly placed in the middle of the empty living room. Minju sat down and surveyed the hollow apartment.
The leather sofa, molded to her father’s frame; the hand gripper he had fiddled with; the unfinished book left folded…
Her gaze suddenly froze on a pair of neatly placed indoor slippers on the balcony.
“…Why are those there?”
Her heart crumbled. She crawled across the floor and buried her face in the slippers, imagining how much he must have struggled, feared, and suffered.
“Ah…”
The rising sorrow choked her voice. Only the metallic sobs escaped before cascading into a torrent of tears.
“Ugh… ah!”
Minju banged her head against the floor, calling for her father. She cried like a lost child, searching for her mother. Fear gripped her—she was irreversibly alone.
Her long cries continued until the red sunset faded from the living room and darkness settled.
“Are you comfortable there?”
At the forty-ninth-day memorial, Minju retrieved her father’s framed photo from the columbarium. He had always insisted on smiling for pictures; in the photograph, he was radiant.
“He must be happy to see Mom,” she murmured.
Her mother had died of cancer when Minju was in the second year of high school. Losing her father at thirty, Minju had become a fully grown orphan, adrift like a buoy with no roots.
Even though she resolved not to cry, tears welled up as she gazed at his face. Wiping them with her sleeve, she returned the frame to the columbarium and gave a small wave.
…Goodbye, Dad.
Outside, the biting wind cut across her cheeks. Looking up at the sky, her eyes watered. Minju brushed the tears away and walked with determination. There was no time to hesitate—tasks awaited her.
