Chapter 09

“A camera.……………?”

“I have eyes, too.”

At Junhyuk’s threatening tone, Park Jaeman changed his attitude and pretended to think hard.

“I really have no idea.”

When Jaeman let his voice trail off, Junhyuk gave him a look of exasperation and offered a hint.

“Sea Velvet 7.”

Jaeman rolled his eyes around with a serious expression for a moment before finally pointing at the camera.

“Ah……………….. This is that camera from the cruise. The one that creep used to take those hidden photos!”

As if he had only just remembered, Jaeman raised his voice excitedly.

There was no doubt about it. This was the very camera he had personally taken away from the voyeur.

“No, but why do you still have this……………….”

Before Jaeman could finish his question, Junhyuk cut him off with another question.

“Do you remember anything about the owner of this camera?”

“Come on, what are you going to do about it now? He was just a paparazzo who didn’t know who he was messing with. Nothing happened all this time, so what could possibly happen now?”

Jaeman stepped in to stop him, wondering if Han Junhyuk—who already seemed to enjoy tearing people apart and digging through every detail of their lives—had found another excuse to make trouble.

“Just answer what I’m asking.”

Junhyuk spoke through clenched teeth, his irritation obvious.

Jaeman hurriedly searched his memory.

“Probably a college student? They were unusually clean-looking, with this strange sort of atmosphere, so I actually wondered if they were a celebrity. You remember that paparazzo too, don’t you, Boss?”

As Jaeman grinned as though that pretty face had suddenly appeared in his mind, Junhyuk kicked him in the shin.

Luckily, Jaeman was wearing protective gear.

Without it, the impact would have been strong enough to buckle his knee in an instant.

“Ah! If I don’t remember, I don’t remember! Why do you have to hit me?”

Jaeman shouted indignantly. He had been doing his best to answer the questions.

But Junhyuk ignored him, irritably running a hand through his hair before speaking.

“Your expression was getting on my nerves. Let’s just stick to what matters.”

‘Maybe the meeting today went badly.’

Jaeman grumbled inwardly, feeling unjustly punished for Junhyuk taking his frustration out on him.

“Did you get the impression that they couldn’t see?”

At Junhyuk’s question, Jaeman rolled his eyes and answered.

“No way. How could someone take pictures with a camera if they couldn’t see? That paparazzo was definitely taking pictures targeting our principal. That’s why the camera is in our hands now.”

Jaeman looked at Junhyuk suspiciously.

Why was he asking such strange questions about something that had already happened?

Even the answer itself was unlike Han Junhyuk.

Jaeman had always known the head of Shield One as a cold and calculating man, but today, he seemed unusually unfamiliar.

After wiping the tip of his nose with the back of his hand, Jaeman added,

“But… you said it was a film camera. You must’ve developed the film, right? What on earth did they take pictures of for you to be asking about it now……………….”

“Finish what you were doing. And don’t forget Caron’s walk.”

Junhyuk ignored Jaeman’s question and gave him a light pat on the back.

His tone had returned to its usual indifferent manner.

He left without giving Jaeman anything but more questions.

Jaeman was left standing there alone, rubbing his aching shin, completely unable to understand what had just happened.

The interview was over, but the room was still buzzing with laughter.

“Director, look at this. The photos came out beautifully. It’s not even a proper photo shoot, so how did they turn out this well? You haven’t aged a day.”

“It’s only because your team is so professional that I look that way.”

The moment the official part of the event ended, their manner of speaking changed completely.

As if revealing their long-standing friendship, Cha Miyeon naturally switched to informal speech with the reporter.

“Seohah, you’re really lucky. It must be wonderful having a mother who loves her daughter so devotedly.”

Seohah smiled in agreement.

She couldn’t exactly deny it under the circumstances.

“How are your eyes? Has the treatment helped at all?”

When the reporter spoke gently to Seohah, Cha Miyeon, who had been quietly listening, smoothly joined the conversation.

“That’s how atypical optic neuritis is. Sometimes things look hopeful, and other times they don’t. But no matter what it takes, I’ll make sure I cure Seohah.”

“Of course. If you say so, Director, then that’s how it’ll be. I’m sure Seohah will be able to see again.”

At the reporter’s words of encouragement, spoken in complete ignorance, Seohah couldn’t even bring herself to smile.

It felt like watching, from the outside, as someone raised a toast at a funeral.

Whenever her adoptive mother confidently promised that she would cure her completely, Seohah was overwhelmed by a strange feeling.

‘It’s funny… The person who took away my sight is loudly promising to restore it.’

It wasn’t merely ridiculous.

It was cruel.

If she could receive proper treatment without the drug-induced toxicity, Seohah would eventually be able to see again.

It might take time, but she would recover.

But the person preventing that from happening for her own personal and external gains was Cha Miyeon herself.

‘So I must never let her realize that I know.’

For now, this was nothing more than a performance for the future.

If Cha Miyeon wanted to create the touching moment when she restored her daughter’s sight, she couldn’t allow Seohah to become completely blind.

But if something happened before the right time came, Cha Miyeon was the kind of person who would do anything to destroy Seohah’s eyesight completely.

She was completely intoxicated by all the praise and admiration she had received for adopting a poor, blind child and raising her with such devotion.

It was information that was half true and half false.

To Cha Miyeon, it was like an invisible medal pinned to her chest.

“I’m going to get some air in the garden.”

Seohah no longer wanted to be part of this hypocritical conversation.

After offering a brief farewell, she quietly left.

As she moved farther away, she heard the reporter’s voice behind her, impossible to tell whether it was praise or a complaint.

“I’m exhausted just raising one perfectly healthy child. Every time I see Seohah, all I can think is how amazing you are, Director.”

Seohah let out a hollow breath as she stepped outside and quietly whispered to Dodam.

“I could see the whole world once, too. I hope I can see our Dodam’s face again someday soon.”

There was a bitter note at the end of her voice.

‘Forget the interview. I should’ve just pretended not to understand and stayed when Han Junhyuk told me not to leave.’

Seohah immediately shook her head.

That was impossible.

Cha Miyeon, as well as Yoon Junghwan, had already invested a great deal into this marriage.

There was no room for a blemish like living together before marriage in the ‘perfect marriage narrative’ they had created.

Things were going smoothly enough as they were.

There was no reason to complicate matters unnecessarily.

That was when it happened.

Dodam suddenly stopped and let out a single loud bark.

The CEO’s office at Shield One Secure was completely soundproof, surrounded by acoustic-absorption panels that swallowed even the sound of footsteps.

On the matte dark-gray desk lay nothing but a few blueprints, an emergency tablet, and a single camera.

The absence of even a single personal item was enough to reveal Junhyuk’s restrained nature.

“Yoon Seohah…………….”

In the silence, he unconsciously murmured a name that alone made his thoughts noisy.

His eyes remained fixed on the compact camera.

‘I deliberately turned the aperture ring slightly.’

Yet unbelievably, every function on the camera was currently working perfectly.

Honestly, he had even considered the possibility that he had mistaken one person for another.

No matter how good someone was at remembering faces, there were surprisingly many people in the world who looked so alike they could be called doppelgängers.

But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, there was something about her appearance and atmosphere that couldn’t simply be explained by calling her pretty.

Despite her young age, her expression seemed to change depending on the angle at which the light touched her face.

Her porcelain-smooth skin had a texture that seemed to softly reflect light rather than absorb it, while the eyes beneath her long lashes were deep and clear, like those of someone carrying an untold story.

“What exactly are you hiding?”

Junhyuk’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t remember seeing dimples when she smiled.

Then again, he had never seen her smile openly back then, so perhaps that explained it.

Once again, he remembered Seohah touching the camera and smiling, dimples appearing in her cheeks.

An uncontrollable sensation settled heavily in his lower body, only adding to Junhyuk’s irritation.

Nothing about the current situation was under his control.

And that fact was driving him increasingly mad.

Junhyuk picked up the palm-sized camera.

“Didn’t she realize it was hers?”

The Leica CM was a high-end film camera manufactured by Leica, the renowned German camera brand.

Before digital photography became the norm, it was a genuine ‘tool of memory’ that allowed people who loved photography to preserve their moments in analog form.

Even now, long after its discontinuation, used models still traded at high prices, sought out only by people who considered photography itself something meaningful.

Junhyuk was attached to the brand as well, owning two other Leica cameras.

He had handled the Leica CM he had acquired in such an unexpected way so many times that he could now operate it even with his eyes closed.

‘I definitely touched the aperture ring.’