The art room had become a battlefield.
Not a graceful artistic battlefield.
A chaotic one.
Paint stains everywhere.
Open paint tubes rolling around the table.
Brushes abandoned dramatically.
And somehow there was blue paint on the floor even though neither of them understood how it got there.
Ji-Ah leaned back in her chair staring proudly at her painting.
Then proudly became less proud.
"…why do you look divorced."
Ha-Joon glanced at the canvas.
His painted version looked exhausted.
Sharp eyes.
Dark colors.
A suspicious amount of forehead.
He looked like a man who paid taxes emotionally.
Ha-Joon looked at her calmly. "You painted me like a tired crow."
"That's your face."
"That's insulting."
"That's realism."
Ji-Ah burst into laughter before pointing at his own canvas. "AND WHY DO I LOOK LIKE THAT?"
Ha-Joon's version of her sat unfinished but beautiful already.
Warm eyes.
Messy brown hair.
Soft light around her face.
The kind of painting someone only made after staring too long without realizing it.
Ji-Ah narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You cheated."
"I painted."
"You added emotions."
"That's generally how portraits work."
She stood dramatically and walked around the canvases.
Then pointed at his. "No. Explain this."
"It's you."
"I don't glow."
"You talk too much."
"That's not an answer."
Ha-Joon quietly hid another almost-smile.
Ji-Ah saw it immediately. "There! Again!"
"You're imagining things."
"You keep smiling like a suspicious husband in dramas."
"That sentence makes no sense."
"Neither do your feelings."
Silence.
Tiny dangerous silence.
Ji-Ah blinked.
Ha-Joon blinked too.
Then Ji-Ah immediately pointed at her painting.
"LOOK AT YOUR TIRED CROW FACE."
Cowardice successful.
Eventually both of them started laughing again.
Not loud.
Just soft easy laughter filling the room naturally.
The kind that arrived without effort.
Ji-Ah sat back onto the stool holding her stomach dramatically.
"This is your fault."
"How."
"You distracted me."
"You painted my eyebrows angry."
"They ARE angry."
Then suddenly Ji-Ah reached forward quickly and grabbed his portrait of her.
Ha-Joon looked up instantly.
"That's mine now."
"No."
"Yes."
"I painted it."
"And I inspired it."
"That's not ownership."
"It is in my heart."
She hugged the canvas protectively against herself.
Ha-Joon stood calmly and walked toward her.
Ji-Ah immediately backed away.
"No."
"Give it back."
"You made me too pretty. It belongs to me now."
"You ARE pretty."
Ji-Ah froze again.
Completely.
Utterly.
Hopelessly.
"…you need to stop saying things like that casually."
"You need to stop reacting dramatically."
He gently took the painting from her hands anyway.
Not fighting.
Just carefully.
Ji-Ah surprisingly let him.
Mostly because her brain was still buffering.
As Ha-Joon moved toward the shelves to place the paintings away, Ji-Ah's attention shifted elsewhere.
Toward another canvas still standing farther in the room.
Half-covered by old supplies.
Her smile faded softer this time.
The old portrait.
The other Ji-Ah.
Han Ji-Ah from before.
Before the pain.
Before she Left.
Before the world sharpened around her edges.
The painting was beautiful.
Bright smile.
Eyes full of light.
Hair messy from laughing.
Paint stains on her fingers.
The room around that version of her looked alive.
Ji-Ah stepped closer quietly.
Her eyes moved slowly between the old portrait…
and the newer one Ha-Joon painted today.
Different.
Different Person, but the same smile.
"She's beautiful," Ji-Ah said softly.
Ha-Joon looked at the old painting.
Then at her. "…yes."
His voice quieter now. "Very beautiful."
Ji-Ah looked at him slowly.
And for once she didn't joke.
Didn't argue.
Didn't hide behind sarcasm.
She just smiled.
Small.
Real.
"…you can keep it."
Ha-Joon paused.
Then nodded once.
Carefully he placed both paintings together on the shelf among older messy beautiful artwork.
Like they belonged there.
As he adjusted them slightly, something caught his eye near the corner of the table.
A hair tie.
Old.
Slightly faded.
He picked it up quietly.
Ji-Ah recognized it immediately.
"That used to belong to the other Ji-Ah."
Ha-Joon turned it over in his fingers once.
Then stepped toward her slowly.
Ji-Ah blinked. "…what are you doing."
"You'll get paint in your hair again."
Before she could respond he gently gathered her hair back.
Careful fingers brushing lightly against the back of her neck.
Ji-Ah's heartbeat immediately malfunctioned.
The old hair tie stretched around her hair softly.
Holding it back neatly.
Then Ha-Joon leaned forward slightly again.
And wiped a streak of paint from the tip of her nose with his thumb.
"There," he said quietly. "…that should keep you from getting your hair dirty again."
Ji-Ah stared at him.
Too close.
Again.
Always somehow too close lately.
"…we should do this again sometime," she said softly.
Ha-Joon nodded once.
"This time," he answered calmly, "I'll teach you."
Ji-Ah smiled immediately.
"Impossible. I'm naturally talented."
"You painted me like a divorced crow."
"That was artistic suffering."
Outside the partially open doorway—
Min-Ji stood frozen.
Watching.
Her nails dug sharply into her palms.
Because inside that room—
Ha-Joon looked happier.
Lighter.
Real.
Not polite.
Not distant.
And it wasn't because of her.
It was because of Ji-Ah.
Again.
Always Ji-Ah.
The jealousy burned so hot it almost made her chest hurt.
Back inside the art room, Ji-Ah and Ha-Joon were still laughing quietly over a paint stain accident. "You pushed my elbow!"
"You moved first."
"You distracted me emotionally."
"That's not my responsibility."
"It absolutely is."
Then buzz. Ji-Ah's phone vibrated in her pocket.
She pulled it out casually.
Seo-Jun.
Her smile faded slightly as she read.
I'll send you the real address of Min-Ji's parents.
You and Yoo-Na should go meet them.
Please be careful.
Another message appeared immediately after.
The address.
Ji-Ah stared at it for a few seconds.
Something heavy settled quietly in her chest.
The truth was finally getting closer.
She locked the phone slowly and slipped it back into her pocket.
Then looked toward Ha-Joon again.
He was cleaning paint from his hands now.
Sleeves rolled.
Hair slightly messy.
Calm.
Familiar.
Safe.
Ji-Ah smiled softly.
"…thanks."
Ha-Joon glanced up.
"For what."
"You made me happy today."
Silence.
Gentle silence.
Then she pointed toward the hair tie.
"And thanks for this too."
His eyes rested briefly on the tied-back hair.
"…treasure it properly."
Her smile softened again.
"I will."
Then she stepped backward toward the door. "I should go freshen up."
Ha-Joon nodded lightly. "Before you spread paint across the mansion."
"I bring color."
"You bring destruction."
"Same thing."
She laughed once more before finally leaving the room.
And behind her—
the art room stayed warm with sunlight, messy paintings, and the quiet feeling that something between them had already started changing long ago.
Morning had fully settled over the mansion now.
Staff moved quietly through the halls.
Cars waited outside.
The air smelled faintly like flowers from the garden mixed with fresh coffee and sunlight warming stone pathways.
And near the front entrance—
absolute complaining was taking place.
Yoo-Na stood beside the car wearing oversized sunglasses despite there barely being enough sun for them.
Arms crossed.
Expression offended.
"Why are we going to a rural area."
Ji-Ah adjusted her bag calmly. "To investigate."
"I hate investigating."
"You love gossip."
"…that's different."
"You literally exposed Min-Ji with a microphone."
"That was performance art."
Ji-Ah snorted softly and opened the car door.
Yoo-Na didn't move.
Instead she stared dramatically toward the long road ahead. "Do you know what exists in rural places?"
Ji-Ah sighed already. "People?"
"Bugs."
"Yoo-Na."
"Nature."
"You're acting like trees personally insulted you."
"They probably would if they could."
Ji-Ah laughed quietly despite herself.
Yoo-Na immediately pointed accusingly. "Also if I die out there, I'm haunting you specifically."
"You say that every week."
"Because danger follows you like perfume."
"That's unfair."
"Last month you got arrested."
"That was temporary."
Yoo-Na finally climbed into the passenger seat dramatically.
Still muttering. "If I see one chicken walking freely, I'm turning back."
"Why are you scared of chickens."
"They know things."
"That sentence concerns me deeply."
Ji-Ah started the car while shaking her head. "You're impossible."
"And yet everyone loves me."
"No one said that."
"You implied it emotionally."
The car slowly pulled away from the mansion gates.
Neither of them noticed—
from an upstairs window—
Min-Ji watching silently.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as the car disappeared farther down the road.
Good.
Perfect.
One problem temporarily removed.
Back inside the mansion—
the atmosphere was quieter now.
Too quiet.
Most people had gone out or returned to work.
Even Halmoni was resting.
Only faint kitchen sounds echoed softly downstairs.
Min-Ji stood alone inside the kitchen.
Beautiful marble counters.
Morning light reflecting against polished surfaces.
And in her hand—
a small white bottle.
She looked down at it silently.
Then toward the glass of juice waiting nearby.
Orange juice.
Ha-Joon's favorite in the mornings when he skipped proper breakfast.
A slow smile appeared on her face.
Cold.
Wrong.
She opened the bottle carefully.
A few pills slipped into her palm.
Not enough to harm seriously.
Just enough to make someone dizzy.
Sleepy.
Disoriented.
Like being drunk without alcohol.
Min-Ji stared at the pills quietly.
Then dropped them into the juice.
They dissolved slowly.
Quietly.
Disappearing completely.
Like nothing had happened at all.
Her reflection stared back at her faintly through the kitchen window.
And for a second—
even she looked unfamiliar to herself.
But then the bitterness returned immediately.
Because every time she looked at Ha-Joon lately—
he was looking at Ji-Ah instead.
Every smile.
Every soft glance.
Every moment.
Ji-Ah.
Ji-Ah.
Always Ji-Ah.
Min-Ji tightened her grip around the glass slightly.
"If he won't choose me willingly…"
Her voice barely rose above a whisper.
"…then I'll make sure he has no choice."
The plan twisted uglier inside her thoughts.
Simple.
Cruel.
If Ha-Joon woke up beside her…
if things looked believable enough…
if the family believed something happened…
then his responsibility would trap him.
That was the kind of man he was.
Too honorable.
Too controlled.
Too bound by duty.
He would never walk away after something like that.
And once marriage happened—
Ji-Ah would finally disappear from between them forever.
Min-Ji smiled slowly.
Then laughed once under her breath.
Soft.
Sharp.
Almost empty.
The dissolved pills vanished completely into the juice.
No trace left behind.
Only sweetness.
Only color.
Only danger hiding quietly underneath.