BUZZ—.
The smartphone on the workbench vibrated briefly. The notification broke the stillness of the peaceful morning. Han-gyeol set down his teacup and casually glanced at the screen.
[Deposit] 10,000,000 won. (Sender: Kang Sang-cheol)
A familiar name and a clear number appeared on the screen. It was the restoration fee sent by Mr. Kang and Mrs. Choi, the couple who had returned home yesterday after seeing the restored folding screen.
Han-gyeol picked up the phone and stared silently at the figure for a long time. He had estimated the folding screen's value at over fifty million won and agreed on a corresponding twenty-percent fee, namely ten million won. But impressed by Han-gyeol's nerve and skill in producing a flawless miracle without taking any deposit in advance, Mr. Kang had handled even the taxes cleanly and transferred the entire large sum at once. Considering how completely Mr. Kang's attitude had changed after seeing the screen yesterday, it was not particularly surprising.
DING—.
Before the deposit alert could even disappear, new notifications began sounding one after another.
[Withdrawal] 354,200 won.
[Withdrawal] 128,500 won.
[Withdrawal] 55,000 won.
Various utility bills and overdue charges whose transfers had repeatedly failed while his account was empty now drained away like an ebbing tide the moment money arrived, as if they had been waiting.
Normally, watching the numbers shrink would have made his heart plunge. Today, however, the succession of withdrawal alerts sounded like a lively celebratory march.
Only a month earlier, he had picked up a box of twenty packs of the cheapest bulk ramen at the supermarket, compared prices down to the last ten won, and put it back and picked it up again several times.
"Haa......."
A long, deep breath escaped Han-gyeol's lips. It felt as though a heavy stone had finally been lifted from the pit of his stomach, leaving him free.
"Now I can finally breathe a little."
Han-gyeol slipped the smartphone into his pocket, removed his work apron, and hung it on the wall. Then he took his coat from the rack in the corner of the workshop.
With the immediate fire extinguished, it was time to make the most important investment he had postponed. It was no luxury item like flashy designer clothes or an expensive watch. It was highly practical, urgently needed equipment that would allow him to endure decades more as a restorer.
Han-gyeol headed to a showroom in Gangnam, Seoul, specializing in imported office furniture.
High-end chairs costing millions of won were displayed like artworks inside the glamorous glass-fronted shop. When Han-gyeol entered in work trousers and a plain jacket, the suited employee's gaze flickered with doubt for an instant before shifting into a professional smile.
"Welcome. Is there a particular model you're looking for?"
"I have to sit for long periods doing precise work by hand. I'd like an ergonomic chair that can support my back and neck perfectly. Budget isn't a concern, so recommend the model with the best functionality."
The employee's manner grew even more respectful at Han-gyeol's firm, professional request.
Han-gyeol did not even glance at the section displaying mass-produced Chinese chairs priced at one or two hundred thousand won. He lingered only before the finest models, which allowed precise tension adjustments along the curve of the spine and distributed the load on the pelvis even when the user leaned slightly forward to work.
'A restorer's back is his life. No matter how sensitive his fingertips are, once the body's center collapses, the brush will eventually shake.'
Han-gyeol sat in one of the display chairs. He adjusted the seat depth and aligned the height of the lumbar support precisely with the curve of his lower back. He narrowed the armrests' angle inward and carefully simulated holding tweezers and a brush to ensure his elbows did not lift.
His demanding standards were solely for work efficiency and protecting his body. After comparing several models, Han-gyeol finally rose from a chair made of sturdy dark-gray mesh.
"I'll take this one. I want to take the fully assembled chair with me right now."
"An excellent choice, sir. This model distributes body weight perfectly and minimizes fatigue during prolonged sitting......."
As the employee continued explaining, Han-gyeol took a card from his wallet and handed it over. The payment far exceeded one million won, but his fingers did not hesitate for an instant as he signed. This was not a luxury, but the minimum respect owed to the body that would produce dozens of times that value in the future.
An hour later, Han-gyeol returned to the workshop in a hired SUV taxi and placed the heavy new chair before his workbench. Its sleek, modern design radiated a strange sense of incongruity and sturdy stability at once amid the rough, aged surroundings of the Lee Family Workshop.
He paused while stroking the new chair and turned to look at the old wooden one pushed into a corner.
They had picked it up and used it since his grandfather was alive, and it was so old that its age was impossible to guess. The finish had completely peeled away to expose the bare wood, and one of its four legs was slightly short, so a thick folded piece of paper always had to be wedged beneath it to keep it level.
Han-gyeol approached and gently stroked the old chair's backrest. Every stretch of rough grain beneath his fingertips seemed to hold the fierce years he had endured and the weariness of his grandfather, who must have sat there and sighed.
"You've worked hard, my friend."
Han-gyeol whispered softly.
"Thank you for supporting my back all this time, even while you creaked. Rest well."
He did not carry the old chair out to the garbage. Instead, he carefully covered it with a clean cloth to keep off the dust and placed it reverently in one corner of the storage room at the very back of the workshop. It was not merely furniture, but a fragment of the impoverished yet brilliant history the Lee Family Workshop had endured.
Returning to his place, Han-gyeol sank deep into the new chair.
The resilient mesh wrapped his back, waist, and pelvis without a gap, offering weighty comfort as though he were floating on a cloud. The load crushing his spine vanished in an instant, a magical sensation. Han-gyeol closed his eyes and savored the comfort with his whole body.
His gaze settled on another small box he had bought that morning when he stopped at an appliance store before shopping for the chair.
Han-gyeol opened the box. Inside was a premium capsule coffee machine in sleek matte black. He had felt guilty having nothing but instant coffee to serve his guests, but more than that, it was a small reward for himself, given how often he worked through the night.
He installed the machine beside the sink and connected the power. After filling the reservoir with clean water, he selected a dark-red espresso capsule and pushed it into the slot.
WHIR—.
When he pressed the button, the pleasant sound of the pump awakened the workshop's silence. Coffee crowned with rich crema soon cascaded into a mug.
In an instant, the full, bittersweet aroma of freshly roasted beans filled the workshop. The peculiarly modern, leisurely coffee scent mingled with the decades-old fragrances of wood, varnish, and pine resin permeating the space, creating a strange ensemble. It was the smell of a new era arriving at the Lee Family Workshop.
Han-gyeol cradled the warm mug in both hands and leaned back in the new chair, feeling its heat.
As he took a sip of fragrant coffee, the deep flavor filling his mouth melted his frozen fatigue. The chair's perfect support and the warmth tickling his nose. At that moment, he wanted for nothing.
But the instant that warmth reached deep into his heart, Han-gyeol's vision suddenly spun, and a forgotten fragment of the past rose to the surface.
It was a bitterly cold memory.
It had been the depths of winter, when a knife-sharp wind blew fiercely through the workshop's window cracks.
Back then, they had been unable to light even the oil heater because they were saving on heating costs. The workshop's concrete floor was as cold as ice, and every time they opened their mouths, white breath scattered through the air like frost.
Fourteen-year-old Han-gyeol had been gripping sandpaper in his frozen hands, stripping the finish from an old soban table. His fingertips were red, swollen, and cracked, and searing pain rushed through them whenever they brushed the wood grain. Unable to bear it any longer, Han-gyeol set down the sandpaper, brought his aching hands to his mouth, and repeatedly blew warm breath over them.
'HOO—, HOO—.'
Then his grandfather, Lee Tae-jun, who had been planing wood on the other side of the room, stopped working and came over.
His grandfather seized Han-gyeol's small, young hands in two calloused palms rough as stone. His hands were as cold as ice too, but within that coarse friction hid a fierce warmth that seemed capable of melting the whole world. He drew Han-gyeol's hands close to his lips, repeatedly blew hot breath over them, and rubbed them warm.
'My little one, what will we do with your hands so numb from the cold? You're very cold, aren't you?'
His wrinkled face was steeped in guilt. Forcing a smile, his grandfather stroked his young grandson's head with a thick hand.
'Hold on just a little longer, Han-gyeol. This old man will work through the nights and earn plenty of money. I'll get you, my little one, a big kerosene heater that keeps your backside warm while you work. And I'll make you warm cocoa every day so your hands don't get cold.'
In the end, his grandfather had been unable to keep that promise. A craftsman who repaired other people's possessions but could not tend his own bent back and frozen hands. A foolish man who could never turn away from the stories of poor people and always had to empty his own pockets.
The fragments of memory scattered, and the present returned to Han-gyeol's eyes.
Steam curled from the mug of warm coffee. In one corner of the workshop, the space heater he had turned on that morning quietly blew warm air and heated the room. And then there was this perfect, comfortable chair supporting every inch of his body.
Everything his grandfather had wanted so desperately to give his grandson was now fully present in this space.
"Grandpa......."
Han-gyeol's voice grew wet.
He looked at the empty old workbench opposite him.
"Grandpa, can you hear me? That cold, vicious wind doesn't come into our workshop anymore. The warm heater is running strong. We even have a machine that makes coffee this delicious every morning. I got rid of the old chair that felt like it would break my back and bought a truly comfortable one too."
Han-gyeol gripped the mug with both hands. Its heat warmed his chapped heart, but at the same time, it drove an unbearable ache up behind his eyes.
"......You should've waited just a little longer. Held on just a little more. Enjoying all these good, warm things by myself...... makes me feel so guilty."
A single tear ran down Han-gyeol's cheek and fell onto the mug with a soft TAP.
Han-gyeol scrubbed away his tears with his sleeve. He thought he had no right to grieve. He knew better than anyone that proving to the world the value of this place his grandfather had devoted his life to protecting was the only way to repay his belated failure as a grandson.
"Watch me. The real beginning starts now."
Han-gyeol drained the rest of his coffee in one swallow and steadied his resolve once more. The coffee aroma filling the workshop settled softly around him as though embracing his monologue.
It happened then.
BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ, BUZZ—.
Han-gyeol's smartphone on the workbench began vibrating noisily. The caller name on the screen was 'Mr. Park of Gobojae.'
It was unusual for Mr. Park, whom he had met only days earlier for the porcelain sale, to call so urgently this early in the morning. Han-gyeol cleared his throat and answered.
"Yes, Mr. Park. Lee Han-gyeol speaking."
Mr. Park's excited voice burst from the receiver. It carried his usual merchant's fuss, but he also sounded distinctly tense.
"Gasp, Han-gyeol, are you at the workshop right now?"
"Yes, I was just catching my breath over a cup of coffee. Has something happened? You sound rushed."
"Of course it's urgent! I've brought you incredible news. I heard you, Han-gyeol, repaired that moldy folding screen for Mr. Kang and Mrs. Choi a few days ago."
"How did you hear about that?"
"It seems Mrs. Choi attended a gathering of wealthy Gangnam wives last night. It isn't an ordinary gathering. It's a cutthroat arena where the wives of business magnates and high-ranking political and financial figures show up wearing jewelry worth billions of won to exchange information. Apparently Mrs. Choi sang your praises until her mouth went dry."
Mr. Park's voice rose higher.
"She apparently spread the story everywhere, saying the young owner of the Lee Family Workshop recognized as genuine and perfectly revived a piece of trash that even Insadong's best appraisers had said to toss into a shit heap, as if the Hand of God had descended! Thanks to her, your full name is now being dressed up as that of a legendary restorer and spreading like wildfire among those ladies!"
Han-gyeol let out a wry chuckle. Gossip was truly frightening and amusing at once.
"That sounds rather exaggerated. All I did was clean off some mold and patch torn paper."
"That may be nothing to you, but to everyone else, it's a miracle like bringing the dead back to life! Anyway, those rumors have caused an enormous butterfly effect. That's why I'm calling you in such a hurry this morning."
As though checking his surroundings, Mr. Park lowered his voice before cautiously and secretively broaching the main subject.
"You know Taesung Group, right? Their secretarial office just contacted me in private."
"Taesung Group?"
Han-gyeol's eyes sharpened in an instant. Taesung Group was a colossal conglomerate that vied for the highest ranks in Korea's business world. There was no reason the chairman of such a place would have business with an ordinary neighborhood workshop.
"Yes, the Taesung Group that can make the Korean economy dance in its palm. The wife of Chairman Kang at Taesung Group heard Mrs. Choi's story, pricked up her ears, and apparently told her husband. They sent someone to me to double-check your workshop's location and your skills."
Mr. Park swallowed hard and drove home his final point.
"Steel yourself and be ready. A very interesting guest will be visiting soon—and not just any guest, but a titan among titans beyond anything you can imagine."
Han-gyeol gave no answer. He merely ran a finger along the rim of the empty mug in his hand.
"Are you listening to me? This commission is no joke. It's both an opportunity and a crisis that could change the entire course of your life. You absolutely cannot make a mistake, no matter what. Understood?"
"Understood, Mr. Park."
Han-gyeol answered in a low, calm voice and ended the call.
The languid comfort and ease that had surrounded him moments earlier vanished without a trace. In their place, cold reason and taut tension began ruling the workshop's air.
He slowly rose and picked up the work apron he had hung on the wall.
A new chair. A new coffee machine. It was no coincidence that the workshop had donned new clothes. They had been fated preparations for enduring the enormous storm approaching.
Han-gyeol neatly arranged the workbench and cast his gaze through the workshop's window.
He could not know what broken story might be headed his way. But his eyes shone fierce and unwavering, like those of a navigator facing a storm.