Chapter 101 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum


    Monica''s hometown, Roseto Valfortore, is in the Puglia region of southern Italy. It''s a city that can be reached after a five-hour drive from Bari Airport, which itself is a domestic flight away from Mn Airport.


    All the while I was flying and then driving, I pondered Monica''s store design. But then, just past noon, gazing at the green Italian farms bathed in brilliant sunlight, I wondered if all this worrying was a waste of time.


    ''Monica already has a logo design picked out.''


    It''s just that the wool mock-up for attaching to clothing hasn''t been produced yet, but the design of the lotus is already there. All I need to do is replicate it.


    ''Besides, Monica is a designer herself. She might dislike it if I alter her logo design to my taste.''


    This is something I need to discuss separately with Monica.


    But let''s think about this logically.


    What if a famous Italian designer, like Versace, handed over their store design to a renowned painter? As everyone knows, Versace''s logo is Medusa.


    The founder, Gianni Versace, chose Medusa as a symbol, representing a character that once fallen in love with, one can never escape from, embodying confidence and a strong female image.


    How would it feel if a painterpletely altered the painstakingly created logo to their own taste? If it were me, I would be very upset. If I were the employer, I might even terminate the contract on the spot.


    I leaned against the window, looking outside, and bit my lip.


    ''But if it''s just replicating the logo as is, Monica wouldn''t have called me all the way to Italy.''


    Monica is already an excellent painter herself.


    I shouldn''t approach this with one-dimensional thinking. The simple thoughts I''ve had so far are things she could easilye up with on her own. There''s no need for me in such a case. I need to prove my own necessity.


    No matter how much I ponder, I can''t find an immediate answer.


    From experience, I know that overthinking leads to ruining the task. Now is the time to give my brain a proper rest.


    I looked at the Italian countryside farms and slowly drifted off to sleep.


    **


    ''Ban? We''ve arrived, are you still sleeping?''


    A groggy mind. I heard Monica waking me up, but I couldn''te to my senses easily. Having grown up in the small country of South Korea, I didn''t expect traveling within Italy would take this long.


    While freshening up with a ssh of water, I saw Monica, who had already gotten out of the car, walking towards the vige.


    ''This is Monica''s hometown.''


    The beautiful rural vigendscape I had only seen in pictures.


    I shook my head a few times to clear my mind and then followed her out of the car.


    The crisp evening breeze touches the tip of my nose.


    I briefly looked up at the darkening sky and then turned my gaze towards the vige.


    The vige, developed around the central cathedral, seemed like it came straight out of the 17th century.


    I wondered if even a modern architect could create a vige more beautiful than this.


    But there''s a strong sense of something crucial missing in this vige.


    ''There are no people.''


    It''s a small vige, but judging by the number of visible buildings, there should be at least three thousand people. However, there are no people on the streets even at this early evening hour.


    I followed Monica to the central square of the vige. Will we see people there?


    The square in Mn I saw was bigger than a ser field, but this small vige square is about the size of a basketball court. Fortunately, there''s a restaurant, a fruit shop, a butcher, and a small market. At least there''s that.


    As we entered the square, a man with a hooked nose sweeping in front of his store caught my eye. The man, appearing to be in his 60s, had an expression that could seem irritable due to hisrge, pointed nose upying a third of his face, but his drooping eyes gave him a less unfriendly look.


    He straightened up from his sweeping as he sensed our approach.


    The man, observing a woman in sophisticated attire that seemed out of ce in a rural vige, suddenly widened his eyes.


    Monica? Is that you?


    Monica shouted with a bright smile.


    Zio Augusto!


    The middle-aged man threw his broom aside and embraced Monica. They exchanged kisses on the cheeks and hugged tightly. Hmm, I wish I was born in Italy too. I''m a bit envious of such greetings being so natural.


    Incredibly fast conversation. Even if I could understand Italian, the conversation was so rapid that I wouldn''t be able to follow. Unable toprehend what they were saying, I simply watched Monica.


    The man, smiling brightly while leading Monica to a seat, noticed me and gestured for me to join them. Probably, he assumed I wouldnt understand Italian, given my Asian appearance.


    After speaking something, the man quickly washed his hands and went into the kitchen.


    Monica, reminiscing with a smile, looked around the restaurant and then noticed me sitting there dumbfounded andughed.


    Oh! Sorry, I forgot I was with you, Ban.


    Wait, did she forget about me?


    I didnt think I was that forgettable.


    It''s okay, how long has it been since you''ve been back?


    Hmm, about 10 years? Uncle Augusto has aged quite a bit.


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