Come Back

It was a weekend morning in Hannam-dong after a long while.

Since the decision was made for Lee Hye-seong to move into this mansion and bring his new belongings, he hadn’t left the place much. His house in Seocho-dong and the one in Bundang had become nearly empty. Then, when movie production had started up again, he had spent a while living in Seocho-dong. The phase of completing the division of his business interests made it easier to stay in Seocho-dong, closer to the office.

During the time he was trying to figure out Yoon Hye-an, he had stayed at his Seocho-dong house without question.

The clothes and items that Choi Hong-seo often wore, the bed where he used to sleep, the comic books that had his fingerprints, the keyboard, and MacBook he had used for composing—none of these things had been moved or touched. There was no intention of bringing anyone else into this house.

“The weather is not very clear today.”

Director Kang, who was serving breakfast, added in a worried voice as he looked at the sky over the Han River.

“There’s a forecast for rain in Gangwon-do today as well.”

To conduct a ritual at the **Cream Mansion**, Lee Hye-seong had to leave early in the morning for Gangwon-do.

“The event will be held indoors, so the weather won’t matter,” Lee Hye-seong answered absentmindedly without taking his eyes off the report on his tablet.

The most sensitive and busy period had passed since the business separation was officially completed. The time for him to intervene had passed, and now, all that remained was overseeing the process of the two companies moving forward with the plan they had agreed upon.

But the report Lee Hye-seong was reviewing today wasn’t related to ARA.

“After a brief memorial service at the memorial hall, we’ll move to a restaurant that has been fully booked for the remaining event. Here are the photos of the restaurant.”

Director Kang briefly explained the photo where Lee Hye-seong’s eyes had stopped.

“Where is it located?”

“We decided on a location near Gangnam Station, so it will be convenient for everyone to head home after the event. We’ll also have chartered buses to take people from Hanam to the restaurant.”

“Good choice. It’s not a very accessible area, so that’s wise.”

Choi Hong-seo’s first memorial was just days away. Less than a week remained.

Lee Hye-seong had learned about the memorial event being organized by Hong-seo’s fans a couple of months ago. It was meant to be a small event where they would watch videos of Hong-seo’s activities and share messages and artwork to comfort each other in their sorrow. Lee Hye-seong was supporting this event under the anonymous name of a fan.

“At the back, you’ll see the list of meal options for the attendees. Since I thought the vice president might want to make the final choice, I’ve left it for now.”

Lee Hye-seong flipped through the photo with meal options, trying to suppress his emotions.

“How many people are expected?”

“About a hundred, I believe.”

“…Really? It’s much fewer than I expected. Didn’t you say it was around 150 originally?”

“After the initial applications, the number naturally dropped.”

After Lee Seok-yeong was murdered in Bangkok, Lee Hye-seong was able to enter the memorial hall where Choi Hong-seo’s ashes had been placed for the first time.

He had just finished an audition for the role of Hwang Ji-woo in **Cream Mansion**. The memory was still vivid. It was as if he had been compelled or drawn to go there. That day, he had mustered the courage to step inside. But that had been the only time. Since then, he hadn’t been able to enter again.

Once a week, he sent someone to the memorial hall to place fresh flowers, receiving photos of the current situation in return. Each time, the photos or drawings left by fans were a great comfort to him. He wanted them to remember Hong-seo for as long as possible.

It would have been nice if more people came. But the numbers were likely to keep decreasing. How many would come next year? The year after that? What about five or ten years from now? Would anyone even remember that a person named Choi Hong-seo had existed?

When would he be able to stop holding onto the memory of that child?

As he flipped through the photos, Lee Hye-seong’s hand suddenly stopped.

He pushed aside the plate with half-eaten sandwiches and placed his tablet down.

“Let’s go with the best menu. These are people who are taking the time to come for Hong-seo, so we should treat them well.”

“Yes, of course.”

Lee Hye-seong felt the need to drink something more, so he wet his lips with a sip of water, but it still didn’t seem enough.

“I’ll have a glass of whiskey.”

“…”

Lee Hye-seong looked up at Director Kang, who didn’t respond or show any reaction.

Director Kang looked down at Lee Hye-seong with a face that seemed to say, *“Are you really asking about this first thing in the morning?”*

“Can’t I have a drink? Especially on a day like this?”

Lee Hye-seong raised his voice slightly, as though even a little alcohol wouldn’t be enough to soothe him. Only then did Director Kang turn away with an expression that said he had no other choice.

Leaning his elbows on the table, Lee Hye-seong let out a deep sigh and rubbed his face with both hands. The days leading up to that moment were driving him crazy. The emotion couldn’t be described just by the word *sadness*. It felt more like madness, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He had done everything he could.

He supported the memorial event, of course, and used the production company name of *Cream Mansion* to send out news to the media about the fan-organized event for Choi Hong-seo. He also sent many gifts here and there to encourage articles to be written, asking for Choi Hong-seo’s honor to be restored, especially after the *X Scandal* trial was re-examined.

Still, it wasn’t enough. He needed to do something more to survive the first anniversary of that child’s death.

He had even thought about going to Bangkok. He wondered if he could visit the places where that child had jumped and where his body had turned to ash, as a way to hurt himself mentally. He wanted to cover up this confusion and helplessness with even greater pain.

The sound of a glass being placed down broke his thoughts. Lee Hye-seong lifted his face from his hands and saw Director Kang setting down the glass with whiskey on the rocks.

The remaining whiskey in the glass was about one-third full, and Lee Hye-seong drained it in one go.

Looking down at him, Director Kang hesitated before speaking.

“What about the flower decorations… how do you want to handle that?”

Despite being busy, Lee Hye-seong had personally chosen the flowers for Choi Hong-seo’s memorial hall, so Director Kang couldn’t avoid asking about this detail.

After swallowing another sip of whiskey, as if taking painkillers, Lee Hye-seong grabbed his tablet and spoke.

“Fans will probably want to do something. It’s not a day for me to be involved. We can think about it after the memorial.”

“Vice President.”

“…”

“How about I handle the rest of the details?”

Director Kang was trying to be discreet, clearly worried about how painful the situation seemed for his employer.

Leaning back in his chair, Lee Hye-seong looked down at his glass, absentmindedly scraping the crystal surface with his fingertips. He seemed lost in thought, staring blankly at something outside the window.

Suddenly, he spoke, almost as if to himself.

“Director Kang… you have a unique way of speaking, don’t you?”

It was a sudden and unexpected question.

“Is that so? I think it’s actually quite plain, with no special traits.”

“That’s exactly what makes it unique. It’s rare for someone’s speech to not have their own habits or characteristics.”

“I see.”

Director Kang wasn’t particularly interested in such things. His main concern was his employer’s mental state.

“Do I have any such traits?” Lee Hye-seong asked.

“Yes. You don’t have any very noticeable habits, but you certainly have your own tone.”

“Then, can you recognize me just by my way of speaking?”

Lee Hye-seong asked the question as he lifted his glass and took another drink. His gaze was still directed outside the window, though he wasn’t really looking at anything.

“I think I could recognize you by your voice. It’s pretty unique.”

Leaning slightly forward with his back bent, Lee Hye-seong looked down at his almost empty glass, shaking his head slowly.

“No, I’m not talking about the voice. Even if the voice was different, could you distinguish me by just my way of speaking?”

“Are you talking about voice modulation?” Director Kang asked.

“Voice modulation? Yeah, something like that,” Lee Hye-seong replied, letting out a bitter laugh and nodding.

“If it’s something like that artificial, modulated voice… well, I guess it might be hard to tell,” Director Kang said. He didn’t quite understand why his employer was asking such questions, but he answered sincerely anyway.

“Or do you think you could imitate my way of speaking?” Lee Hye-seong asked.

“As you know, I’m not particularly good at that kind of thing.”

Even though Lee Hye-seong was continuing to ask questions, his eyes and tone made it clear that he wasn’t very interested in the answers. It seemed more like he was speaking to himself, using the questions as a form of self-reflection.

“Let’s say a crime happened,” Lee Hye-seong continued.

“…”

“And the suspect left a written message or… recorded an audio memo of the situation at the time. That evidence is found. Do you think it would be possible to determine how the suspect spoke just from that evidence? To figure out their tone and style?”

Lee Hye-seong was spiraling deeper into his own thoughts, growing more unstable. His fingertips continued to scrape the surface of his glass, as if desperately trying to distract himself.

“Different features, but the same look when they looked at me. Different voice, but the same tone when they called me.”

Director Kang’s concern for his employer grew. At this point, he could no longer remain silent.

“I’m sorry, Vice President, but I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that I might have to entrust ARA to a professional manager instead of myself,” Lee Hye-seong said flatly.

“…What?”

Normally, Director Kang could read his employer’s intentions easily, but this time he couldn’t follow Lee Hye-seong’s train of thought.

“I can’t leave the company’s management in the hands of a crazy person, can I?”

With a cynical self-assessment, Lee Hye-seong finished off the last of his whiskey. He placed the napkin he had spread across his lap on the table and stood up, as though he had finally snapped out of his trance.

“We’ll leave in five minutes.”

His tone had shifted back to normal, but his walk as he left the restaurant seemed unsteady. It wasn’t likely that a single glass of whiskey could have thrown Lee Hye-seong off balance, but something seemed wrong.

Director Kang, watching his employer’s retreating back, turned once more to the misty view outside the window, sighed, and muttered to himself.

“Maybe it’s time to let go of him, this person.”