Hearing her husband's words, Song Mi-kyung, who was busy at the stove, poked her head out of the kitchen, her apron stained with a bit of gochujang. She looked just as bewildered.
"I don't know either. When I came home, people who usually just nod at me stopped to chat. I was wondering what was going on."
Song Min-soo placed his worn leather briefcase on the shoe cabinet and entered the kitchen, starting to set the table while discussing the oddity with his wife. They talked it over for several minutes but couldn't crack the mystery.
As for our protagonist, Eun-woo, he was sequestered in his room, utterly absorbed in a task at his desk.
The desk was covered with ceramic fragments—one large pile and several smaller ones. Eun-woo was trying, with increasing frustration, to sort pieces from roughly the same historical period.
He'd been at it for hours since returning home and had only managed to isolate all the pieces with visible blue and white (cheonghwa) glaze. Determining if they were from the same era, or even the same type of vessel, was completely beyond him.
The work was exhausting, mainly because many fragments were plain, off-white (baekja) with no discernible patterns at all. To his untrained eye, they were hopelessly anonymous.
"Aish! This isn't human work!" he muttered angrily, tossing a greyish-white shard back onto the pile. He rubbed his aching temples in irritation.
Just then, the door to his room creaked open. His father peered in.
"What are you up to in here so quietly? Your mother and I thought you'd fallen asleep. Studying? Why the sudden diligence, cramming at the last minute? Tsk. Well, stop for now and come eat. Huh? What's all this on your desk? Ceramic fragments? Where did you get so many?"
Initially, seeing his son at the desk, Min-soo had felt a flicker of hope—maybe he's finally buckling down. But up close, it was clear the boy was just fiddling with broken pottery. The hope evaporated, replaced by familiar resignation. Of course.
"Wait, that's not right," his father continued, stepping closer. "You've always hated this stuff. Every time I asked you to come to the Insadong flea market with me, you acted like I was torturing you."
Caught in the act, Eun-woo offered an awkward smile. "Heh. I was just thinking… my father's hobby shouldn't die with me, right? Abeoji, since you're here… you're practically an 'expert' in this field. This shouldn't be hard for you, right? Take a look for me. I've been staring at them forever and can't make heads or tails of it."
His flippant remark sparked an idea. Why was he struggling alone? He had a walking, talking reference book right here—his father, who had studied ceramic fragments for over a decade. With his help, categorizing these pieces would be trivial.
As expected, the combination of flattery and the siren call of the pottery shards worked. Song Min-soo immediately walked over to the desk and looked down, a professional glint entering his eye.
"Hah. You've got a good eye, recognizing my expertise. I'm not bragging, but my knowledge in this area rivals those so-called 'appraisers' on TV."
He paused, then let out a sigh of genuine sorrow. "Aigo… It's just a shame. That box of late-Joseon blue and white fragments I managed to collect… your mother hid it again the other day. Otherwise, I could have shown you what real quality looks like."
As he spoke, he performed a practiced motion: pulling a pair of pristine white cotton gloves from the pocket of his house pants and slipping them on. The fact that he carried appraisal gloves in his loungewear spoke volumes about the depth of his obsession.
His words, however, made Eun-woo, standing beside him, cough awkwardly into his fist. That particular box of fragments hadn't been hidden by his mother. He had… repurposed them via the system. But since his mother was now the convenient scapegoat, Eun-woo felt a wave of relief. As long as his father was sober, he'd never dare confront 'Empress' Song Mi-kyung about it.
Flick!
Just as Eun-woo was secretly amused, a sharp flick landed on his forehead, making him wince.
Before he could protest, his father's voice, full of theatrical disappointment, scolded him. "Can't you apply yourself to something useful for once? What is this mess? Your 'categorization'?"
Seeing his father's raised hand poised for another flick, Eun-woo resisted the urge to call for his mother and instead rubbed his forehead, putting on a wounded expression. "Abeoji! The Suneung is in two days! If my scores drop, it's because you're damaging my brain! I put all the pieces with similar colors and patterns together. I did categorize them! What's wrong with that?"
Song Min-soo was rendered speechless. He reached into the pile Eun-woo had labeled 'blue and white' and randomly plucked out five fragments of varying sizes.
"This is your categorization? It's a disaster!" He pointed at them one by one. "Forget everything else, just look at the glaze color and brushwork. This one and this one are clearly late Joseon craftsmanship. And these two? They're obviously from the Japanese colonial period or just after—cheap reproductions."
He then picked up three of the 'colonial period' pieces and pointed to a slightly larger shard. "Now look at this. The curvature of this fragment and the exposed part of the pattern clearly indicate it's from a large vessel, like a vase or a jar. These other two are from small bowls or plates."
Listening to the rapid-fire analysis, Eun-woo was dumbfounded. A wave of regret washed over him. I wasted an entire afternoon! He should have just dumped the two bags of fragments in front of his father from the start. What a miscalculation!
Despite his internal sigh, he couldn't help but be impressed. He gave his father a thumbs-up, his face a mask of admiration. "Wow. A true expert reveals their skill with a single move. No wonder they say my abeoji is a master in this field—well-deserved! Sigh. It seems I still have much to learn. But I've decided! Tonight, I will carefully observe and learn how you distinguish all these pieces!"
Even though he knew his son was buttering him up, Song Min-soo couldn't suppress a pleased chuckle. He patted Eun-woo's shoulder. "Hmm. A promising student. Wait a minute, you rascal…" His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you trying to trick your old man into doing your grunt work for free?"
[To be continued…]