northernbook Chapter 258:
Chapter 258:
Chapter 258:
258
Admission (1)
I boarded the bus that Bugrenelli Mall had sponsored for the kids.
Even though I didn’t tell them to wear it, they were all wearing the bee outfits that the children’s clothing brand Lily had given us.
“I ate three breads yesterday?”
“Audrey is hungry!”
“Don’t say it so loud.”
“Audrey is hungry.”
Olivier repeated the urgent news for Audrey, who was embarrassed.
He was cute, whispering in a low voice.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes. Can you hold on?”
Bong Taeho asked, and Audrey nodded with difficulty.
The bus stopped for a moment, and a social worker from the city hall ran off with Audrey somewhere.
I was about to sit down when I met Bida Rabbani’s eyes. She looked cheerful for once.
We sat side by side and put a piece of chocolate in our mouths.
“It feels like we’re going on a picnic.”
“Yeah.”
“Is this right?”
“What do you mean?”
“A picnic.”
I didn’t understand the question for a moment. Maybe she had never been on a picnic before. I nodded.
“Yeah. It’s a picnic.”
“Are we going to fight?”
“Fi, fight?”
Blanche Fabre, who was sitting in front of us, leaned her face in and Bida Rabbani flinched.
“It’s an opportunity to show how awesome Chocolatier is as a group of painters. You have to get your act together. You’re a Chocolatier too.”
“I, I’m not yet.”
“Are you not going to join?”
“I want to, but...”
Rabbani looked at me and Fabre.
“I don’t know if I can.”
“What are you talking about? Are you ashamed of us?”
“No! Of course not!”
“Then why?”
“...”
Rabbani didn’t answer.
Maybe she was worried about causing trouble because she was a Muslim, but Fabre didn’t care at all.
She urged her impatiently.
“Do you want to join or not?”
“I want to.”
“Then you have to show the boss and Hoon that you can do well this time.”
Fabre gave me and Bong Taeho a look.
It wasn’t necessary to go that far, but Rabbani seemed to take Fabre’s words positively.
“Uh, okay! I’ll do my best!”
She was more motivated than when she spoke kindly and politely. Maybe sometimes it helps to be blunt like Fabre.
Bida Rabbani showed her enthusiasm.
“By the way.”
I asked Fabre.
“You go to Henri IV High School, right?”
She nodded.
“We might see each other. The principal said that high school students can study with us too.”
Henri IV High School and its affiliated Henri IV Middle School seemed to have a lot of talented kids.
They offered special lectures for students who wanted to study more deeply than the regular subjects, and the art class by Principal Pusang was very popular.
Since the time was limited, he seemed to teach middle school and high school students together.
“Yeah.”
Fabre nodded.
“How is it?”
He seemed like a good person from the experience I had met him before, and he was also a benefactor of Marso.
But teaching was another matter.
I was curious what I could learn from him.
“It’s useful. The principal is an angel.”
“What kind of class did you take?”
“Art therapy.”
It was one of the subjects that Pusang had told me about.
I had a vague interest in it, as I had never approached it as a systematic discipline, but only as a way of finding peace of mind by drawing pictures and comforting myself.
“What are you learning?”
“I’m not learning.”
Even if they postponed the payroll for a while, there was no more hole for the money to come out.
“Thank you for everything. I’ll appreciate your help for the remaining time.”
He regretted focusing on physical magazine publishing rather than online business with his own stubbornness.
It would have been different if it was his own thing.
Although he hit the limit, it was something he did to achieve his dream, so he would have been proud of himself.
But he could not raise his head in front of the employees who trusted and followed him.
He could not let them sacrifice themselves when they had a bright future ahead.
After the whole meeting.
Kim Ji-woo, who returned to her seat, could not get anything done.
‘I have to organize the source.’
‘I have to call Hoon.’
‘I have to go to Seo Inho’s exhibition.’
She had a lot of things to do in her head, but she could not grasp anything.
Even after the work hours passed, the editor-in-chief, Lee Sangcheol, who saw her sitting blankly, came over.
“You should go home.”
She had an unsettled word in her mouth. She did not know what to say or how to say it.
“...Yes.”
Kim Ji-woo, who went outside the building, bowed to Lee Sangcheol and walked away.
Suddenly, she wanted to hear something, and when she turned her head, she saw the editor-in-chief sitting in the smoking room installed in the corner of the company building.
He was sitting with his head down, not even lighting a cigarette.
Kim Ji-woo approached him. She sat next to him and lit a cigarette.
The two spent some time in silence.
“It’ll be okay.”
“It’s not okay at all. It’s ruined.”
Kim Ji-woo retorted to the consolation given by the editor-in-chief.
“Yeah. It’s ruined.”
The two laughed bitterly.
“Do you have somewhere to go?”
“Where would I have? You have a lot of places to call you, right?”
“Don’t be like that. Don’t feel burdened.”
“...”
The two took out new cigarettes.
“You’re good at planning and writing articles, so you’ll be fine. I mean it.”
“...Then what do you do. You’re the one who’s recognized everywhere.”
Lee Sangcheol chuckled.
“If you want to keep talking about art, why don’t you take this opportunity and go out?”
“What?”
“It’s more popular overseas. Thanks to Marso and Ko Hun, the recent art trend is good. England is a bit hard, so France might be nice.”
“Where would I have a place to accept me if I go to Europe. I just started walking in French.”
“If they don’t accept you, you can do it alone. These days, there are many cases where reporters do well by criticizing. Han Yesul or Cha Chaeun.”
Lee Sangcheol mentioned Han Yesul, a critic who became a world-renowned figure by covering various aspects of culture and art, and a famous person for music columns.
But to Kim Ji-woo, it sounded like a dream.
“I don’t know.”
Lee Sangcheol looked at Kim Ji-woo intently.
“When you interviewed for the job, you said you came because you loved art so much. Do you still?”
“Of course.”
“Then try to be brave. It’ll be okay.”
Lee Sangcheol handed Kim Ji-woo an envelope.
“What is this?”
“A reply.”
“What?”
“I have someone I know in Bozar. It’s hard to get a job, but I asked him to make a column for you while telling your story.”
Beaux Arts was a prestigious art magazine in France that Kim Ji-woo was well aware of.
“I was going to give it to you when you were in a good mood. But it turned out like this.”
“Editor-in-chief...”
“Don’t get your hopes up. It could be a rejection. I haven’t opened it yet.”
Kim Ji-woo tore the envelope with a snicker.
She thought it would be hard.
It didn’t make sense that she, who couldn’t even speak French properly, would write a column for a French magazine.
But she was grateful that he had tried so hard for her sake, even if it was rejected.
“...”
“What?”
“...”
“Don’t tell me you can’t even read that much?”
Kim Ji-woo slowly lifted her head.
“Editor-in-chief!”
She hugged Lee Sangcheol, the editor-in-chief, tightly.