I Became a Scoundrel of a Chaebol Family Chapter 367

“We’ve arrived, Master.”

“Oh, yeah.”

I cracked my stiff eyes open and let out a huge yawn.

Falling asleep inside an AV... How long had it been since I last did that?

“Huaaaah...”

Any ssages? I opened Tok, and sure enough, there were nearly twenty unread texts.

Of course, they were all from Go Seonyul.

I replied that I had been sleeping and missed them, then turned to look outside the AV, which was descending slowly.

The sheer scale of the building was outrageous—it filled an entire island, and even that wasn’t enough. They had stretched artificial structures out across the sea and stacked more facilities on top of those.

“...It’s fucking massive.”

No wonder they call it the largest art museum in Asia. Honestly, it probably ranks in the global top three, even without checking.

To be frank, as soone who’s never really cared about art or fine aesthetics...

It just felt like a waste.

How much did all of that cost?

The only real use for it, if I’m being generous, would be for item display?

I got an absurd haul at the Namdong Industrial Complex. Problem is, 99% of it is junk.

And let’s be real—being the first-born heir of the gacorp that rules Asia, and the only direct male descendant, I don’t even need any more items.

It’s more like a hobby now—collecting anything interesting.

So unless we’re talking about gathering all those for an item wing to exhibit here... this whole place doesn’t really serve much purpose for .

Still, it was a gift from my sister. I can’t sell it.

Judging by the argunts she had with Go Minji, Go Seonyul was probably extrely attached to this museum.

And she gave it to as a present... I ought to honor that gesture and manage the place properly.

As the AV zeroed in on the pad, the tiny people below gradually grew larger.

Naturally, my sister and the staff, along with museum personnel, had co out to greet .

I could see the staff bustling around, moving about in a flurry.

Compared to that, Seonyul noona...

“...”

She gave a very different impression from the person who had sent all those long-winded texts.

Her long, straight hair draped forward as she hunched to look at her phone, both hands busily tapping away at the screen.

Late May ant the weather was starting to heat up, so she was dressed on the lighter side—half out of her sheer outerwear, a sleeveless shirt underneath.

Even as my AV descended nearly to ground level, she didn’t lift her head.

People around her were scattering and scrambling like a bomb had gone off, lining up with military precision.

But she? Still staring at her phone, tapping away.

Is she... different in real life?

Online, she’s a total tyrant, always talking in endless walls of text, but in person... not much of a talker, huh?

Co to think of it, even back when we saw each other in Pyongyang, we never had a real conversation.

And she gave a whole damn art museum.

She did say she’d explain it all to in five minutes or whatever, though... hmm.

She’s not seriously planning to explain it all via Tok, is she?

Chiiiik.

The door finally opened, and the staff gave a thunderous welco.

My personal secretary team stepped out first to form a path. When I followed, every person present bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle.

All except one.

“You really didn’t have to co out here for this. It’s been a while, noona.”

“Yeah. Good to see you, Muyeol.”

Even with the neckline of her sleeveless shirt exposing a generous view of her chest up close, Go Seonyul didn’t take her eyes off her phone.

She gave a curt verbal greeting and—

Zzzzing.

“?”

I opened Tok, half-dreading what I’d find.

Did you get here safe? It was a little chilly this morning, but the weather’s nice now. I had a jacket on but took it off a bit ago. Hope it doesn’t look too weird? I’m not really good at dressing myself, haha

“...”

The ssage ends with a “haha” smile, but her face is totally expressionless.

“Yes. As you can see, I got here just fine. Anyway, judging by your ssages, it seems like you got here quite early... You weren’t seriously standing here for hours, right? You were inside?”

Go Seonyul’s mouth and fingers started moving at the sa ti.

And yes, she was still staring at her phone screen.

“Of course. I’m not an idiot who doesn’t know how long it takes to fly from Incheon to Jeju.”

I spent ti inside the museum looking at so of my favorite pieces. I also picked out a few I want to recomnd to you. You said you wanted to go in without knowing anything first, right? So I figured we’d do a full walkthrough once, then re-view them in historical order based on my suggestions.

...Wow.

How the hell is she doing that?

She’s saying one thing out loud and texting a completely different thing simultaneously. And neither of them overlaps.

I can’t even imagine pulling that off.

But seriously, why the hell go through all this trouble? She could just say it out loud.

Curious, I tried talking to her a few more tis.

Each ti, she would reply—both with her voice and through Tok, simultaneously.

The strange part was... her spoken replies were always shorter.

And her face remained almost completely blank.

“Should we head inside now? Standing around outside like this is a bit much.”

“Yeah. Let’s.”

You’re right. Let’s head in. I’ve got so much I want to show you!

“Before that...”

I smoothly reached over and snatched her phone out of her hands.

“!!”

She stared up at , horrified.

“W-What are you—”

“When you’re talking to soone, you should look them in the eye, right? This is going into temporary confiscation.”

“M-M-Muyeol, y-you...!”

Whether to get angry or how to react at all—

Go Seonyul’s confusion was written all over her face.

Judging by the tension rippling through the surrounding staff, I must’ve just poked a nerve.

If it had been a regular secretary or employee who did that, they probably would've gotten obliterated.

But I’m fine.

Because I’m the only male direct descendant.

I slipped her phone into my pants pocket and casually wrapped an arm around her waist.

She gasped, mouth flapping like a startled goldfish.

“H-Hawawa...”

“Shall we go inside?”

“Lee Ufan, From Point.”

“Lee Kang-so, Untitled.”

“Jean-Michel Basquiat, Boy and Dog in a Johnnypump.”

Now that her phone had been taken, Go Seonyul had reverted to nearly monosyllabic answers.

Even when viewing the artwork, she’d just state the na and artist and stop there.

“You’re supposed to explain, too, noona.”

“...”

If I pushed for explanation, she’d roll her eyes around for a mont and then force out a few short sentences.

Even those were brief, though.

Took her phone and now she’s just a regular normie, huh.

It’s not like she can’t speak.

Her pronunciation is clear—no mumbling or fumbling.

She just doesn’t say much.

Whether she won’t or can’t, I’m not sure.

At least I won’t have to worry about losing a whole day to one of her massive text-dump lectures.

It was kind of disappointing but also a relief.

Better this than getting hit with another thousand-word info-nuke.

With how little she talks, I might even get to lead things for once.

I figured I’d keep things casual, appreciate the art with her for a bit, and slowly increase the skinship at just the right monts.

“This one. This was the first ti I ever felt like I wasn’t looking at the artwork—it was looking at .

It’s the work of Marta Minujín, a genius curator born in Argentina.

But this isn’t just an installation piece. You have to go through it with your whole body to understand it—it’s a sensorial narrative structure. So it’s not sothing you see, it’s sothing you experience.

You’re not a viewer; you’re a participant. And through that participation, you end up seeing yourself.

Do you get it?

You’re the viewer, the participant, and ultimately, the artwork itself. I beco the piece.”

Ah...

“There are eight sections inside. One room is cold like a refrigerator. Another slls heavily of perfu.

One person shines lights all over your body; another seats you on a sofa and turns on the TV. But all these acts reflect back at you like a mirror.

It’s a piece that re-asks, in the most visceral way, the question: Who am I?

Think about it, Muyeol. Have you ever seen a piece that spoke to you like this one? Here, who you are, what you feel, how you walk, even your expressions—everything becos part of the work.

Minujín didn’t just create a space; she crafted a structure for emotion.

Here, even the sll is a component. Humidity is a chanism. Even the distance between people can carry aning.”

Ah... Seonyul...

“When I first saw this, I was still a student. I just walked into the exhibit in Buenos Aires, not knowing ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) anything, and experienced it... later I found out—(abridged).”

So yeah.

Thinking she turned into a normie just because I took her phone—that was total nonsense.

As ti went on, Go Seonyul started warming up again. Her sentences got longer... and now here we are.

Go Seonyul, verbally bricking with long-winded monologues...

Ah...

“...Now, the final section I want to explain—”

“Noona.”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go in there and take a short break?”

“Huh? A break?”

“Yes.”