The Mysterious Art Museum

Chapter 124 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum

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In truth, I knew why Monica had come running.

I pretended not to know, even though I did. I thought I'd answer if she asked.

But Monica, thoughtful as she is, didn’t inquire about the paintings in the store, showing her trust in me.

“How’s the hotel?”

“It's great, there's a supermarket right next to it. Can you believe they have Korean ramen? I was so happy.”

“Ha-ha, a few years ago, there was a craze for Korean spicy stir-fried noodles. Since then, many people have been looking for Korean ramen.”

“Really? That's super spicy, isn’t it?”

“Italians like spicy food too.”

“Oh, I see. I didn't know that.”

“You call for a car from the hotel to the store, right? You don't walk feeling sorry for the driver, do you?”

“Of course not. Marco is so observant that now when I call, he’s already there.”

“Really?”

“He's really good at his job. Efficient and quick-witted. I'd like to take him to Korea with me, you know? He knows the roads so well, I've never seen him use a navigation system.”

“That's good. How do you find living in Milan? It's been a week now, right?”

“Honestly, at first, I missed Monica's hometown, but then I got a taste of the city and quickly felt comfortable here. I guess that's just how I am.”

“Ha-ha.”

I looked at Monica, who was making small talk and circling around the topic, and smiled softly.

“Thank you, Monica.”

Monica paused as she was about to eat. Cicci had brought her food and then sat down at a distance, so only Monica heard my words.

Monica quietly looked into my eyes and then put down her fork.

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For not asking.”

“···············..”

“For trusting me.”

“···············..”

I think she faintly understood.

If I had seen a designer I hired for my first business cover the entire store in a ghastly blue paint, I would have rushed to grab him by the collar.

But Monica didn't say anything, didn't ask anything.

That was her way of showing trust in me.

Monica looked at me silently, then chuckled and picked up her fork again.

“I was going to ask, but now I feel like I can’t for the rest of my life.”

“Ha-ha, you were going to ask?”

“Maybe, when the time was right?”

“Ha-ha.”

Monica, with her big eyes, smiling.

I am very grateful for her feelings.

“You've seen the store, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I became the talk of the town there, known as the eccentric artist.”

“Why?”

“Didn't you see people laughing as they passed by the store?”

“I did.”

I saw my precious first store become the laughing stock of passersby.

But even so, Monica didn't ask anything.

Understanding how significant that was, I smiled and said,

“People stop by to take pictures, and some even come in to ask me things.”

“What do they ask?”

“I don’t know, it’s in Italian.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Their tone seemed to ask, ‘What on earth are you doing?’”

“Hmm.”

“You probably wanted to ask something similar, didn’t you?”

“If I say yes, would you take back your thanks from earlier?”

“Ha-ha, no.”

“Then can I ask?”

“Of course, it's your store.”

“Then I’ll ask. Why did you paint the entire ceiling blue?”

I propped my chin and looked into Monica's eyes, smiling slightly.

“Let me ask you first. Why do people wear clothes?”

“············..?”

“To cover their shame? To hide their bodies?”

“Hmm.”

“The Bible says Adam and Eve originally lived naked. After eating the forbidden fruit and receiving punishment, they became ashamed and began to cover themselves.”

“The first clothes were made of leaves, later evolving to animal skins.”

“So do modern people wear clothes because they’re ashamed?”

“Hmm···”

I shrugged and continued,

“Of course, it would be embarrassing to go out naked. But is that really why people wear clothes? Especially those who wear pretty and expensive ones? I’ve thought about that.”

“No, it’s not.”

“What do you think, Monica?”

After pondering my serious question about fashion, Monica replied,

“People tell stories with their clothes.”

I smiled slightly and rubbed my thumb and index finger together.

“That’s right. They express their personality, their thoughts, their existence.”

“That’s true. But what does that have to do with you painting the shop blue?”

I raised my index finger and said.

“One last question.”

“Go ahead.”

I leaned in closer to Monica’s face and asked.

“What is fashion for?”

“·····················”

Monica momentarily lost her words.

I looked at her and winked.

“Does it exist for the sake of extreme beauty?”

After a moment of thought, Monica replied.

“It’s true that it seeks beauty.”

“Just like art. Therefore, fashion is art.”

“I agree.”

“So, what is art for?”

“··················.”

Monica fell into thought again. After a while, she spoke.

“For people.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at Monica.

“Bingo.”

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